Chapter 11

Lana

Clothes. Fucking loose clothes. Here I am, standing in front of the full-sized mirror in my room, trying to convince myself that this tent disguised as fashion is something I need to get used to. Julia keeps saying it”s necessary, but damn if I don”t feel ridiculous.

”This is ridiculous,” I grumble, eyeing my reflection with a mix of disdain and disbelief. Behind me, Julia”s reflection meets mine, her eyes doing that thing where she sizes me up, probably trying to find a silver lining in this fashion disaster.

”It looks great on you,” she tries, her voice laced with that forced optimism she knows I can see right through.

Great. Great? I hate it, absolutely loathe it. ”No, it doesn”t,” I shoot back, unable to keep the scowl off my face.

”You need to hide it, Lana, and this is your chance,” she presses on, her tone suggesting this is some sort of golden opportunity rather than a massive inconvenience.

I turn to face her, my hands gesturing to the billowing fabric that”s supposed to be my new ”look.” ”Hide it? Julia, we might as well slap a sign on my back that says ”Something”s Up” with how drastic this change is. Subtlety, ever heard of it?”

Her lips twitch, a sign I”ve hit a nerve, but she”s quick to retort, ”Subtlety went out the window the moment you decided to become a mafia boss, Lana.”

Touché. I have to give her that one, but I”m not about to concede this battle. ”There”s a difference between running an empire and dressing like I”ve suddenly developed a passion for parachutes, Jules.”

She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, a sure sign she”s gearing up for another round. ”Look, it”s just until you figure out how to... announce it. Besides, think of it as a challenge. You love challenges.”

”A challenge?” I echo, my eyebrows arching in disbelief. ”Sweetheart, managing not to kill half the people I meet on a daily basis is a challenge. This,” I wave a hand down my attire, ”is a fashion crime.”

Julia laughs then, a genuine sound that fills the room and eases the tension just a bit. ”Fine, it”s a fashion crime. But it”s one you”re going to have to commit for a while. For the sake of the baby.”

The baby. Right. This whole circus is for a purpose, a damn good one at that. My hand drifts to my belly, a protective gesture that”s become instinctual. ”Alright, fashion police,” I concede with a dramatic roll of my eyes. ”I”ll wear the damn parachute. But the moment this kid makes their debut, I”m burning it.”

Julia grins, triumphant. ”Deal. And who knows? Maybe by then, it”ll be back in style.”

I snort, imagining the day when this monstrosity could be considered fashionable. ”And maybe I”ll have taught this kid how to shoot by then. Priorities, Julia. Priorities.”

Julia, ever the voice of reason—or at least, she tries to be—sighs, perhaps sensing my rising stubbornness. ”Maybe you need to rest,” she suggests, her tone shifting towards something softer, more nurturing. But I can tell she”s also preparing for my inevitable pushback.

Rest? The very idea seems alien to me. I”ve been on the go since... well, since forever. Slowing down, especially now, feels like giving in, showing weakness. And in our world, weakness can be a death sentence.

The moment she mentions rest, something inside me rebels. I”m not some delicate flower that needs to be coddled and protected. I”m Lana. I”ve faced down men twice my size, made decisions that could turn the tide of our entire operation, and I”ve done it all without flinching.

With a defiant spark igniting within me, I turn away from the mirror, from the loose, flowy clothes that feel like a costume rather than a reflection of who I am. Striding back to my closet, I pull out my usual attire—sharp, form-fitting, and unapologetically me. The killer heels come last, an exclamation point to the statement I”m about to make.

Dressed once again in my armor, I face Julia, my posture radiating the unspoken challenge. ”Yes, I”m a woman, yes I”m pregnant, yes I”m still in charge, and yes I will kick your ass if you suggest otherwise.”

Julia watches me, a mixture of exasperation and admiration in her eyes. She knows better than to argue when I get like this. Instead, she offers a small nod, an acknowledgment of my decision, of my refusal to be anything less than what I”ve always been.

”Fine,” she concedes, ”But promise me you”ll at least take it easy when you can. For the baby.”

I don”t respond. As Julia exits, leaving behind a trail of concern and unwavering support, I find myself sprawled on the bed, my gaze locked on the ceiling. It”s a rare moment of stillness in a life otherwise marked by constant motion and peril. My thoughts wander, tracing the intricate patterns of what-ifs and maybes, until my phone buzzes, slicing through the silence.

It”s Roman. Of course, it is. His timing”s always had a knack for the dramatic.

Roman: How”s the boss of all bosses feeling today? And more importantly, how”s our littlest boss?

I can”t help but smirk, even as my mind races to frame a reply that matches his tone.

Lana: Oh, we”re plotting world domination, one kick at a time. How”s my favorite troublemaker?

Roman: Causing mayhem, as per usual. But I”ve got to say, world domination sounds like a lot more fun with you two on board. Need a right-hand man?

His words, light and filled with an easy confidence, draw a genuine smile from my lips. The banter, the back-and-forth we”ve always had, it”s comforting in its familiarity.

Lana: Oh, you”re on the team, Roman. But remember, I”m the brains, you”re the brawn. And what”s this? Are you admitting I”m the better strategist?

I hit send, the challenge clear in my message. It”s an old game between us, this dance of wit and words.

Roman: Better strategist? Please, I”ve got moves you”ve never seen. But I”ll let you have this one. For the baby”s sake.

As the messages ping back and forth, a flicker of hesitation snakes through me. Roman doesn”t know that he is not the only candidate as a father. He has no idea that I’ve slept with both Grigori and Luca.

But even now, I can”t help but think about how things would be different if he did know. Would it change the way he views me? Would it change the way I view myself?

His next message pops up, snapping me back to the present.

Roman: Anything I need to know? Updates on our empire”s heir?

There it is, the opening I”ve been dreading and craving in equal measure.

Lana: There is something I need to tell you.

How do I admit to Roman, in a few short sentences, the complexity of our situation?

The first attempt is blunt, too direct. ”Hey, you might not be the only candidate as a dad.” But the words feel wrong as soon as they appear on the screen, too cold, too impersonal for something so profoundly intimate and complicated.

Delete. Start over.

The second try aims for a softer approach, but it”s no better. ”It”s about the baby...and who the father could be.” Still, it”s not right. It feels like I”m hiding behind words, using them as a shield to avoid the hard truth.

I delete the message, start again, delete. Rinse and repeat. It”s a dance of indecision, my fears tangling with the need for honesty.

Finally, I type out a new message, one that sidesteps the truth I”m not ready to confront.

Lana: Actually, I was thinking... we need a new strategy for the east side. Been too quiet lately.

It”s irrelevant, a deflection that buys me time I”m not even sure how to use. I”m Lana, fearless leader of a syndicate, yet here I am, dodging the truth because I”m scared of disrupting the fragile balance we”ve maintained.

Roman”s reply comes quick, a sign that he”s either oblivious to my turmoil or choosing to overlook it.

Roman: Agreed. I”ll start drawing up plans.

I let out a breath I didn”t realize I was holding, relief mingling with a twinge of guilt. This conversation, this moment, it”s just a band-aid over a wound that”s bound to bleed eventually.

There”s a part of me that wants to know, that needs answers. But there”s also a part of me that fears what those answers might bring.

I toss the phone aside, my gaze drifting back to the ceiling. The truth will out, it always does. But until then, I”ll keep playing this dangerous game of secrets and lies, all while trying to protect what”s mine.

A knock at the door jolts me from my thoughts. Irritation prickles at the edges of my mood. ”What is it, Jules?” I call out, not bothering to mask the annoyance in my voice. The door opens, but it”s not Julia who walks in.

”Oh... was it you?” My tone shifts, a mix of surprise and a residual hint of frustration lingering. Grigori stands there, his usual stoic self, but there”s a concern in his eyes that he doesn”t bother hiding.

”Yeah, I just wanted to check up on you.”

I prop myself up on one elbow, trying to muster some of my usual bravado. ”Worried that my sex appeal”s gonna plummet along with my blood pressure?” The words are out before I can stop them, laced with a sardonic humor that fails to mask the underlying tension.

Grigori”s expression shifts, a flicker of realization crossing his features. For all my swagger and my well-earned confidence, the barbs and the remarks get to me, slicing through my armor. ”Nothing could make you unattractive, Lana.”

”Well, well, is this the tough guy showing a soft side?” I tease, my voice dripping with playful sarcasm. Deep down, his show of care touches a part of me that I keep hidden beneath layers of bravado.

Grigori”s lips twitch in a small smile,

”Just making sure you”re holding up okay, Lana.”

A wave of heat surges through me at the sound of my name on his lips. Despite my penchant for control and dominance, there”s something about Grigori”s genuine worry that stirs a different kind of desire within me. ”You worry too much, big guy,” I reply flippantly.

He steps closer, the distance between us diminishing with each measured stride. ”And you don”t worry enough,” he counters, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate in the space around us.

”Is that so?” I challenge, tilting my head to meet his gaze squarely. ”Maybe I just hide it better.”

Grigori is now close enough that I can make out the faintest hints of color in his otherwise dark eyes, a stormy sea of emotions usually kept hidden. ”Or maybe you”ve got me to do the worrying for you.”

”Ah, so you”re my personal worrywart? How did I ever get so lucky?” The sarcasm is thick, but it”s laced with an undercurrent of affection that I don”t bother to hide.

He doesn”t miss a beat, leaning in just a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. ”Guess you must have done something right.”

The air between us crackles with an electric charge, the kind that precedes a storm. His proximity is a gravitational pull, and I find myself leaning in, drawn to him like a moth to flame.

”And if I asked you to stop worrying?” I murmur, our faces mere inches apart, the question hanging between us like a challenge.

Grigori”s gaze deepens, intense and unyielding. ”I”d say you”re asking the impossible,” he admits, his breath mingling with mine. ”But for you, I”d try anything.”

I feel Grigori”s gaze intensify, a hunger sparking in his eyes that mirrors my own desires. Without a word, he closes the distance between us, his touch igniting a fire along my skin that I can”t ignore. His hands roam with purpose, tracing every curve and dip of my body as if committing it to memory. My breath hitches at the sensation, craving more of his touch.

His lips crash against mine, fierce and demanding. There”s an urgency in the way he kisses me, as if he”s been holding back for too long. I respond eagerly, matching his fervor with equal passion.

I moan softly into his mouth, the sound muffled by our heated kiss. Grigori”s hands slide down to cup my ass, pulling me closer to him.

I can feel the hardness of his body pressed against mine, igniting a primal need deep within me.

His teeth graze my lower lip, nipping and teasing in a way that sends shivers down my spine. I arch into his touch.

I feel a surge of heat between my legs as his fingers trail along my inner thighs, teasing but never quite reaching where I need him most. My nails dig into his back, urging him on without words.

I feel his hands slide up my thighs, teasingly brushing against my sensitive skin. Grigori”s fingers hover over the lace of my panties, his warm breath caressing my neck as he leans in close.

”You”re so fucking sexy,” he whispers against my ear, his rough voice sending shivers down my spine.

I gasp as he suddenly pulls my panties down, exposing me to his hungry gaze. ”Look at you,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of my soaking wet pussy. ”You”re so ready for me.”

I gasp as he grabs my hair and pulls my mouth towards his. Our lips lock in a passionate kiss that sends shivers down my spine. His tongue slips inside my mouth and begins to explore, dancing with mine.

He leans forward, his hot breath fanning my nipples as he teases them with his lips. I gasp as he flicks one with his tongue, causing a wave of pleasure to wash over me.

”Do you like that?” he asks, his voice low and husky. ”Tell me.”

”Yes,” I whimper, arching my back towards him. ”Please, I want you.”

Grigori growls, his eyes darkening with desire. He slides his fingers inside me, feeling how wet I am for him. He thrusts them in and out, hitting my sensitive spot, causing me to moan loudly.

With one swift movement, he lifts me up and carries me to the bed. He lays me down gently, his eyes never leaving mine.

He climbs onto the bed with me, his hardened length pressing against my stomach. It”s hot and thick, like a living thing with an insatiable hunger.

As he caresses my slightly swollen belly, I know that missionary isn”t an option tonight. With a fierce hunger, I climb on top of him, taking control.

I straddle him, his erect cock throbbing against my entrance. I look down at his handsome face, so serious and focused, and I decide I want to be the one to make the first move.

I slowly lower myself onto him, feeling the tips of his manhood part my juicy folds and slide deep into my core. I moan softly as I take him all in.

Grigori”s hands are on my hips, guiding me up and down on his length. He watches my face, his eyes burning with desire. His muscles tension beneath me as he thrusts up to meet my movements.

With each thrust, my pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter in my belly. ”Yes, right there,” I pant, grinding myself against him.

I lean forward, my breasts brushing against his chest as I move faster, taking him deeper.

Exhaustion from my pregnancy is starting to take its toll. He senses this and takes control, thrusting upwards even though I”m on top.

I close my eyes, concentrating on the delicious friction between us as Grigori fills me up, his every thrust hitting that sweet spot deep within me. I need this release. I need him.

Sweat beads along our skin, and the room is filled with the sounds of our passionate union. Grigori”s hands move up my body, cupping my breasts as he continues to thrust into me. He”s relentless, his eyes burning into mine as he takes control of both our bodies.

”Grigori,” I whimper, my orgasm building. ”I”m close.”

”That”s it,” he growls, his breathing ragged. ”Come for me, baby.”

The words send me over the edge, and I cry out his name as my climax overtakes me. My body convulses around him, milking his cock until he groans and shudders, his release hot and wet inside me.

We collapse onto the bed, our chests heaving as we catch our breath.

It”s good that I”m still desirable. Grigori and I, we have this uncanny ability to stabilize each other with just a few words, a glance, or a touch. It”s like we”re two sides of the same coin, perfectly balanced, yet entirely different.

Catching my breath, I lay there with Grigori next to me, the heat from his body a comforting presence. A part of me, the part that”s always running on high, always plotting the next move, desperately craves a cigarette, a longing tug that”s become all too familiar. But I quit, cold turkey, the moment I found out about the baby growing inside me. It”s one of those decisions that didn”t feel like a choice, not really, not with what”s at stake.

Grigori too quit, at least that”s what he told me.

”Do you ever miss it?” I ask out of the blue, my voice a quiet confession in the still air. ”The smoking, I mean.”

He turns his head, his gaze meeting mine, and there”s an understanding there, a shared memory of countless nights spent on rooftops or in the back of cars, the glow of a cigarette in the dark. ”Sometimes,” he admits, his voice equally low. ”But there are better things to breathe in now.”

His words bring a small smile to my face, a flicker of amusement at the sentiment. ”Yeah?” I prod, teasingly. ”Like what?”

”Like this,” he says, and in a swift movement, he closes the distance between us for a gentle, reassuring kiss.

We don”t need words to communicate everything that follows; the silence speaks for us, filled with the weight of our shared dreams and the unspoken promises we”ve made. For now, it”s enough to simply be, together in the quiet, as we face the uncertain future with a united front.