Chapter 13

Lana

The dust has settled for now, and even Perez seems to be laying low. Alone in my office, I let my hand drift down to my belly, a protective gesture that”s become second nature. Boy or girl? The doctor said it was too early to tell, but a part of me hopes for a little girl. God knows, being surrounded by these testosterone-fueled knuckleheads day in and day out, a bit of female energy might balance out the scales.

Just as I”m pondering the future, my phone lights up with a call that promises nothing but a headache. Senator Jackson, the kind of man who thinks a power tie can compensate for a lack of, well, actual power. He”s as subtle as a sledgehammer, with a waistline that suggests he”s never met a lobbyist lunch he didn”t like.

Putting on my best business voice, which is as fake as his assurances of ”discretion,” I answer, ”Senator, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

His reply is predictably smarmy, his words oozing through the phone like oil. ”Ah, my dear, just checking in on my favorite... business associate. How”s everything on your end?”

I mentally roll my eyes. If I had a dollar for every time this man insinuated we could be ”more” than business associates, I”d be able to buy out his campaign. ”Everything”s running smoothly, Senator. Thanks to your... support.”

He chuckles, a sound that”s supposed to be charming but lands somewhere between unsettling and downright creepy. ”Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. You know, I was thinking—”

And there it is. The lead-in. Senator Jackson”s ”thinking” usually costs me more in patience than in payouts. ”Thinking?” I prompt, keeping my tone light, airy, and completely devoid of interest.

”Perhaps we could discuss our... partnership over dinner? My treat. Somewhere nice, somewhere private...”

Ah, the private dinner invitation. The hallmark of a man who believes in the power of expensive steaks and overpriced wine to sway a woman”s decision-making. ”Senator, you”re too kind. But you know how it is—business never sleeps. I”m afraid I”ll have to take a rain check.”

There”s a pause, then a resigned sigh from the other end. ”Of course, of course. Duty calls, right? But the offer stands.”

As I”m about to disconnect the call, Senator Jackson adds, with a tone that implies a self-satisfied grin, ”Oh, and Lana, I sent you a little token of my appreciation. For handling that... unpleasantness with Mr. Perez.”

Wonderful. Just what I need, another ”token” from a man who thinks gratitude can be expressed in extravagant, usually inappropriate gifts. ”You shouldn”t have, Senator,” I say, and I mean every word. The last thing I need is more clutter, especially from him.

”I insist,” he says, chuckling as if we”re sharing a private joke. ”It”s the least I can do.”

I manage to end the call without committing to anything more, and just as I”m pondering what this latest ”token” might be—a statue? Another ludicrously expensive bottle of wine?—the door to my office flies open.

Roman bursts in, his presence filling the room like a storm front, he practically bellows, ”Lana, we need to talk. Put that phone down.”

Startled, I barely manage a curt nod at Senator Jackson”s final words, pressing the end call button more abruptly than intended. ”Of course, Senator,” I manage to say just before the line goes dead, the relief of being able to escape the conversation battling with irritation at Roman”s lack of decorum.

I glare at Roman, my irritation now at the forefront. Really, what is it with his manners today? Is he trying to embarrass me in front of my clients? Sure, Roman and I have always had a... dynamic relationship, but bursting in like a bull in a china shop while I”m on a call is a new low.

Setting my phone down with a deliberate click, I fix Roman with a look that I hope conveys both my current annoyance and my expectation for a damn good explanation. ”Do you mind telling me what”s so important that you had to nearly embarrass me in front of a client?”

Roman”s chest heaves, his frustration palpable. ”Should I just put up with being embarrassed in front of the whole syndicate, then?” he shoots back, the volume of his voice rising with each word.

I pause, taken aback by his response. ”What the hell are you talking about, Roman?”

He”s pacing now, a caged animal. ”I thought I was the father of the baby, Lana.”

The guilt knotted in my stomach tightens, but I steel myself against it. This isn”t the time for weakness. Roman needs to hear the truth, however harsh it might sound. ”If you thought it was a good idea to go announcing to everyone who cared to listen that you were the father, that’s on you, not me,” I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Roman”s anger flares anew at my words, his hands balling into fists at his sides. ”So, I”m just supposed to sit back and play happy families with Luca and Grigori while you decide who plays daddy?”

I cross my arms, meeting his glare with a defiant one of my own. ”You knew the score, Roman. You”ve always known. Luca, Grigori, and you—we”ve never had secrets about what goes on between us.” I take a breath, forcing myself to remain calm despite the tempest before me. ”None of them are ”throwing a bitch fit about it,” as you so eloquently put it.”

”They don”t care, Lana!” he explodes, each word punctuated by his fists clenching at his sides. ”Because neither of them wants this baby. But I do. And more than that, I want to be with you. Exclusively.”

His words slam into me like a freight train, leaving me frozen in place. My mind races, trying to process his declaration. The idea of Roman, wanting exclusivity, wanting this baby—it”s both terrifying and intoxicating.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words get tangled up on their way out. This isn”t just about Roman and his wants. This is about us, our complex web of relationships, and the syndicate that”s always been the backdrop to our personal dramas.

”Roman,” I start, my voice steadier than I feel, ”you know that”s not how we operate. What we have... it”s complicated. You, me, Luca, Grigori—we”re in this together. It”s never been just about two of us.”

”I thought what we had was special,” he spits out, the hurt palpable in his voice. ”But maybe I was just another pawn in your game, huh? Just Roman, always ready to play his part, no questions asked.”

His accusations sting, each syllable like a lash against my skin. But I remain silent, rooted to the spot, as if his words have stripped me of the ability to speak.

”You know, I actually believed we had something real,” he continues, his voice breaking. ”But I guess to you, it”s all just strategy, isn”t it? How to keep Roman in line, how to keep the syndicate on top. Where do I fit into your plans, Lana? Or do I even fit at all?”

His questions hang heavy in the air, unanswered, because what can I say? That he”s right? That every relationship I”ve ever had has been a careful balance of give and take, always with one eye on the bigger picture?

But before I can muster a response, Roman”s anger reaches its boiling point. ”You know what? Forget it. I don”t need this... I don”t need someone who can”t see me for who I am.”

”Roman wait…”

And then he”s moving, striding towards the door with a determination that says this isn”t just an exit; it”s a departure, maybe even a goodbye. My heart lurches at the realization, but still, I remain silent, paralyzed by a mix of guilt, fear, and an overwhelming sense of loss.

The sound of the door slamming shut behind him is like a physical blow, a final punctuation mark on the end of our conversation — and maybe even the end of us.

I finally move, my legs shaky, as if waking from a trance. The fierce leader, the unflappable femme fatale, now just a woman grappling with the consequences of her own decisions. My heart aches, not just for Roman, but for all of us.

What we had was special, and perhaps, in my quest to protect everything, I risk losing what matters most.

Fuck. When did my life become this tangled mess of emotions? Being entangled with three incredibly complex, incredibly different men was never part of the plan, if there ever was one. And now, Roman”s departure has left a void, sharp and aching.

Feelings. For all three of them. It”s like juggling grenades, waiting for one to go off. The world I”ve built, this empire of shadows and power, thrives on certainty, on control. And yet, here I am, utterly at the mercy of my own heart.

Roman knew. They all knew. It”s not like I was keeping it a secret that I was sleeping with them. And hell, for all I know, Roman might have his own distractions. But that”s not the point, is it? The realization hits me like a gut punch in a street fight—I care about him. More than I thought. More than maybe I should.

A part of me wants to scream, to rail against the unfairness of it all. Can”t I just have them all? Is it so impossible to want everyone I care about to stay close, to not have to choose one over the others? In the cutthroat world I navigate, where alliances shift like sand and power is the only currency that matters, the idea of wanting something as simple as to not be alone feels almost... naive.

I need to clear my head, to think. But every thought circles back to Roman, to Luca, to Grigori. To the future that suddenly seems so uncertain, so fragile.

I slump back into my chair, a mix of exhaustion and frustration weighing me down. That”s when I feel it—a tiny flutter, like the softest of punches from within. My hand instinctively finds my stomach, and despite everything, a smile breaks through the storm clouds in my head. This little one, still unseen, already has a way of cutting through the chaos.

But the joy is fleeting. Roman”s angry departure echoes in the silence of the room, and the warmth from the baby”s kick turns cold. How will this child fit into our world, into this life we lead?

Doubt creeps in. Am I making a mistake, bringing a child into this mess? I”ve always known I wanted to be a mother, to give this child everything... just like my mother did for me, even when...

The memory hits like a sucker punch, dragging me back to a time I”ve tried so hard to bury.

I”m six again, hiding behind my mother”s legs, her skirt a flimsy barrier between me and the monster that is my father. His voice is a thunderclap in our small kitchen, every word a lash that leaves invisible scars.

”You”re useless, Maria!” he bellows, the veins on his neck bulging with each shout. My mother”s back stiffens, but she shields me with her body, her voice steady but soft. ”Don”t do this in front of Lana, please.”

He scoffs, a sound so full of contempt it chills me to the bone. ”Oh, teaching the girl early what a failure her mother is, aren”t I?”

I can feel her trembling. ”Lana, go to your room,” she whispers, but I”m frozen, my small world crumbling with each hateful word.

His hand moves then, quick as lightning, striking her across the face. She doesn”t cry out. Instead, she straightens, her hand flying to her cheek, a red mark blooming like a vile flower. ”That”s enough, Marco. You”re drunk. Go to bed.”

But he”s not done, his anger a beast that won”t be caged. ”You think you”re better than me? You and this little brat?” His finger jabs in my direction, a threat unspoken but clear as day.

I remember looking up, seeing my mother”s eyes glisten with unshed tears. In that moment, I saw a strength in her that I had never witnessed before. She was protecting me, shielding my innocence from the darkness that threatened to consume us both.

The memory fades, but the feelings linger, a ghost of fear and anger that I”ve carried all these years. My hand remains on my stomach, a pledge to this unborn child that history will not repeat itself. Not while I draw breath.

I won”t let it. This child, my child, will grow up in a world of strength, not fear. They”ll know love, not violence. And anyone who dares threaten that peace... well, they”ll learn why Lana Petrov is a name that commands respect.

But first, I need to mend bridges, to heal the fractures within our tight-knit family. Starting with Roman. If this baby is to have a chance at a life free from the shadows of our past, it needs all of us.