Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Lana

A week flies by, and Roman”s as absent as my patience these days. The vibe around here? Ice cold. Grigori and Luca try to pretend everything”s peachy, but it”s like walking through a ghost town—echoes of the past haunting every corner. Without Roman, we”re a trio that”s lost its beat, and trying to rejig this operation without him is like playing chess with a missing queen.

Stress is my new best friend, whispering sweet nothings about headaches and heartaches, especially with this little one doing somersaults in my belly. So, I do the unthinkable—I take a day. A whole day off. Leave the boys to run the show, with Julia playing messenger. Me? I”m bed-bound, swimming in a sea of thoughts and what-ifs.

Lying here, I can”t help but let my mind wander down memory lane, back to times when things were less complicated. Like that night Roman and I stayed up till dawn, talking about everything and nothing. His laugh, it was infectious, made you want to spill all your secrets without even realizing it. I never thought I”d miss it this much.

The truth hits me like a freight train—I had feelings for Roman. Real ones. The kind that sneak up on you and catch you off guard. And yeah, there”s Luca and Grigori, each of them holding a piece of my heart in ways I can”t even begin to dissect. But Roman? His betrayal slices through me, leaving a wound deeper than I want to admit. Why him? Why does this feel like the ultimate betrayal?

I remember a time, must”ve been a few months back, when the four of us were at this dive bar, laughing over beers. Roman was sitting across from me, his eyes catching mine in a way that made my heart skip a beat. He was always the one who understood my sarcasm without taking offense, the one who could dish it right back. That night, he said something so damn funny, I spat out my drink. We locked eyes, and there was this... moment. A flicker of something more. And now? That memory stings, tainted by the shadow of his supposed betrayal.

It”s maddening, feeling so torn. On one hand, there”s this deep-seated anger, a betrayal by someone I trusted with my life. On the other, this ache, this void that Roman”s absence has left. It”s a mess, a tangled web of emotions that I”m too exhausted to unravel.

The boys think I”m just stressed, chalk up my mood swings to the pregnancy. But it”s more than that. It”s the realization that maybe, just maybe, I let Roman in deeper than I ever intended. And now, with him gone, it feels like he took a part of me with him. A part I”m not sure I can get back.

So, here I am, stuck in bed, a prisoner of my own swirling thoughts. The irony? In trying to protect my heart, I”ve exposed it more than ever before. And the real kicker? I”m no closer to figuring out this mess of love and loyalty. All I know is that Roman”s departure has left a void, and no amount of sarcasm or stubbornness can fill it.

I decide to shower. The steam from the shower envelops me, a comforting embrace in this world.

Standing under the cascade of warm water, I let it envelop me, hoping it can wash away more than just the physical remnants of a day spent in bed. For a moment, it”s just me and the water, a cocoon of warmth in a world that”s turned cold. The tears and the sadness, I let them mix with the water, imagining them spiraling down the drain, leaving me lighter, freer.

But as the water runs over me, my thoughts drift, unbidden. How can I mourn a betrayal? How can I ache for someone who stabbed me in the back? It”s a battle within, between the heart and the head, and as I stand there, I take a deep, steadying breath. No, it”s not worth it. The sadness, the betrayal—I can”t let it define me. I need to wash it away, let it go with the water.

Just as I reach this semblance of resolve, my sanctuary is violated. A shadow crosses the thin veil of the shower curtain.

“Grigori? Is that you?”

No answer.

As the shadow looms larger, a sense of unease creeps over me. My heart quickens, beating a frantic rhythm in my chest. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable under the onslaught of hot water. ”Who”s there?” I call out, my voice wavering slightly despite my attempt to sound strong.

Panic begins to claw its way up my throat as I fumble for the shower knob, ready to defend myself against this unexpected intrusion. With a deep breath to steel my nerves, I yank the curtain aside, prepared for whatever—or whoever—may be on the other side.

It’s a masked man.

”Who are you? What do you want?” My voice, meant to be strong, comes out as a frightened whisper, betraying my fear.

The man doesn”t speak. Instead, he brandishes a knife, the gleam of the blade a sinister promise in the dim light. My mind races, terror gripping me tight. ”Please, just back off,” I plead, my voice rising in panic. My hands shake uncontrollably.

Before I can even process the danger, my instincts kick in. Adrenaline surges through my veins, sharpening my focus and quickening my movements.

Adrenaline surges through me, a fierce, protective wave. This masked intruder, his intentions clear as he lunges towards me, knife aimed with chilling precision at my stomach, at the life growing inside me. My mind screams, a feral mix of fear and anger. No way am I letting this happen.

As he thrusts the knife towards me, time slows down. My survival instincts kick in with a ferocity I didn”t know I had. I catch sight of the blade, its deadly gleam inches away from my skin. With a desperation born of pure instinct, I grab the knife by the blade, pain searing through my palm, but I hold on. Hold on for dear life, for the life of my unborn child.

With my other hand, I squeeze the shampoo bottle I”d forgotten I was holding. Aim and fire. The contents blast out, hitting him squarely in the face. He howls, the sound muffled by the mask, as the shampoo finds its target, seeping into his eyes.

He staggers back, flailing blindly, arms swinging wildly. One of his strikes lands hard against my shoulder, sending me crashing into the wall tiles. The impact sends shocks of pain radiating through my body, but the fear and the fight in me don”t dim.

I start screaming, top of my lungs, hoping, praying someone hears me. But I”m not just a sitting duck; I”m fighting back. With the little space his temporary blindness affords me, I ball my fist, swinging with all the might my precarious position allows, and land a punch right in his gut.

He doubles over, coughing, the knife clattering to the shower floor. I don”t waste a second. Grabbing the shower hose, I turn it into a weapon. Water sprays wildly, but I don”t care. I loop the hose around his throat, pulling it tight, every ounce of strength I possess focused on this one act of survival.

He claws at the hose, at me, his movements desperate as he fights for air. I can feel his strength waning, but mine doesn”t falter. Not now. Not when there”s so much at stake.

I can”t remember the exact moment I lost hold of the hose. It was either the pain in my shoulder, or the sudden realization that I was standing in a puddle of blood, the sharp stench of iron filling the air. But in that moment, I knew I had to fight for myself and for the life growing inside me.

Time seemed to stretch and twist as I struggled to keep the masked man pinned. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the sound of his panicked gasps. My vision blurred, and the pain in my shoulder intensified. I could feel the sweat pouring down my forehead, mingling with the water still cascading from the showerhead.

As my strength began to falter, I heard a noise from outside the bathroom. Then, like a scene straight out of an action movie, Grigori crashes through the door.

He”s on the intruder like a hawk on a mouse, all swift movements and deadly intent. Grabs the guy”s arm, twists it back in a move that probably doesn”t feel like a gentle caress. The knife? Grigori has it now, and with a precision that”s frankly a bit alarming, he ends it. One swift motion across the guy”s throat, and suddenly, it”s over. The intruder slumps, and Grigori yanks off the mask.

Shit. It”s Twitch from Roman”s crew. A kid, really. I”ve seen him grow up, always a bit too eager, always trying too hard to prove himself. And now, here he is, his life bleeding out on my bathroom floor.

Grigori collapses next to him, the realization hitting him like a truck. He knew Twitch since he was a little tyke, running around, trying to keep up with the big boys. Seeing him like this, a boy turned assassin, it”s a gut punch.

”Fuck,” Grigori breathes out, the word hanging heavy in the steam-filled room. He looks at me, his eyes a mix of anger, sorrow, and something else—guilt, maybe? Hard to tell with all the water still spraying everywhere.

”This... this wasn”t supposed to happen,” Grigori shakes his head, voice barely above a whisper, his eyes never leaving Twitch”s lifeless form. ”Not like this.”

I can”t find words to respond, my mind still reeling from the events that just unfolded. Everything happened so fast, and now I”m left with the horrifying reality of what occurred. I back away, my hand still stinging from the knife.

After the adrenaline fades, my stomach churns, rebelling against the night”s events. I lurch towards the toilet, the reality of what just happened hitting me harder than a freight train. Grigori, ever the unexpected knight in a tarnished armor, holds my hair back.

Once the wave of nausea passes, I sit back, feeling like the world”s been flipped upside down. My eyes find Grigori, searching for answers in his gaze. ”Did Roman send Twitch?”

Grigori”s eyes, usually so full of resolve, are clouded with uncertainty. He shakes his head, a silent admission of his own confusion and fear. ”I... I don”t know,” he admits.

I”m on the floor, a mess of emotions, the shock of the attack, the betrayal, all crashing down on me. The tears start, unbidden, tracing paths down my cheeks. Grigori”s there, though, his thumb gently wiping away the tears, his presence a silent promise of protection.

”It will be okay,” he murmurs, though it sounds like he”s trying to convince us both. With a strength that seems to come from somewhere deep within, he picks me up from the floor, carrying me to the bed.

Grigori hesitates at the door, his silhouette outlined by the dim light of the hallway, a clear sign he”s torn between dealing with the aftermath and staying.

”Can you... can you stay?” I ask.

He pauses, a moment of indecision that seems to last forever. Then, without a word, he nods. He makes his way back.

Carefully, Grigori lays down next to me. I hug him tight, seeking solace in his embrace, a safe harbor in the storm that just passed and the ones yet to come.