Chapter 9

Lana

Walking into the doctor”s office feels like I”m stepping into another world, one where my usual confidence and control don”t mean a thing. I”ve faced down rival gang leaders, negotiated deals that could make or break us, and stared death in the face without blinking. But this? This antenatal appointment? It”s got my heart racing and my palms sweating like nothing else.

Taking a deep breath, I try to steady myself. Luca and Julia, bless them, arranged for a more secluded area for this visit, away from prying eyes and loose tongues. And Julia, ever the rock, is right here beside me, offering silent support. I insisted the men stay behind. The last thing I need is their hovering making me more jittery than I already am.

I am pregnant. I am gonna have a doctor”s appointment now. The reality of it slams into me like a freight train. Fuck.

Just as I”m about to spiral into a full-blown panic attack, Julia”s by my side in an instant, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. She catches the look on my face, the sheer panic probably written all over it, and without missing a beat, she turns to the doctor. ”Can you give us a moment, please?” she asks, her voice firm yet polite.

The doctor nods, stepping out of the room, and suddenly it”s just Julia and me and a silence that”s too heavy to bear.

I sit on the damn stretcher, feeling like I”m about to jump out of my skin. This is all too real, too immediate. The thought of what”s to come, of the life growing inside me, it”s overwhelming.

Julia doesn”t say anything for a moment, just lets me process. Then, gently, she says, ”Lana, you”ve got this. You”re one of the strongest people I know. This baby? It”s going to have the best mom ever.”

Her words, meant to comfort, do pierce through the fog of my panic. A laugh, humorless but genuine, escapes me. ”Best mom ever? I”m a mob boss, Jules. My idea of a bedtime story is probably not what you”d find in parenting books.”

But Julia just smiles, her confidence in me unshaken. ”And yet, I can”t think of anyone better. You”re going to teach this kid to be strong, smart, and, most importantly, loved. That”s more than what most can offer.”

”I don”t know Julia…”

Julia leans against the cold, sterile wall of the examination room, her eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and reassurance. ”Remember when you pulled off that coup? Took the syndicate right out from under your father”s feet at just twenty-one?”

I can”t help but snort at the reminder, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. ”Yeah, because he murdered my mother,” I reply, the smile fading as quickly as it appeared. ”I did what I had to do. But Julia, I hate the thought of bringing a child into this... this chaos. This instability.”

Julia”s response comes quick, a laugh bubbling up from her as she offers a ludicrous but heartwarming alternative. ”Well, if the guys ever fuck up, you can always raise the kid with me. I”ll be the cool aunt.”

”Imagine that,” I say, the laughter still lingering in my voice. ”Us, with a kid in tow, running the syndicate by day and attending PTA meetings by night.”

Julia joins in my laughter, the sound echoing off the sterile walls, filling the room with a warmth that”s been sorely missing. ”We”d be unstoppable,” she quips, winking. ”PTA president in a month, tops. Who”s going to argue with us?”

”Do you think I”m making the wrong choice, Julia?” The question slips out, a whisper of doubt in a sea of uncertainty. Even asking feels like a betrayal of my usual unshakeable confidence.

Julia looks at me, her gaze steady, unwavering. ”No, absolutely not. You should always trust your gut, Lana. I don”t remember a time it has wronged you.”

A bitter laugh escapes me, tinged with nerves. ”There”s a first time for everything.”

”Lana... listen.” Julia”s voice is firm, pulling me from my spiral of doubt. ”I know you”ll be a great mom. Not because you”re some mob leader or anything like that... but because I know you. The real you. Not the ”mob Lana,” but... Lana.”

For a moment, I”m touched, reminded of the life outside the syndicate, of the person I am when I”m not ”Lana the mob boss.”

But I can”t help myself, the need to lighten the mood, to push away the seriousness of our conversation with a bit of sass. ”So, what you”re saying is, I”ll be the mom who knows how to dispose of the bodies if my kid gets bullied?”

Julia bursts into laughter, the sound bright and genuine. ”Exactly,” she says, grinning. ”No one messes with your kid. Plus, you”ll have the most well-behaved playdates. No one”s going to risk a time-out from Lana.”

The laughter that bubbles up from my throat feels like a release, a momentary escape from the weight of my decisions. For just a moment, in the safety of Julia”s presence, I allow myself to imagine it — a future where I”m not just Lana the mob boss, but Lana, a mother.

”Thanks, Jules,” I say, once our laughter subsides, a smile still playing on my lips. ”For everything.”

She nods, her expression softening. ”Always, Lana. You know I”ve got your back, no matter what.”

I give her a nod, but I don’t say anything else.

”I”ll go call the doctor. You just calm down.” She says.

Calm down. Yeah, right. As if being calm was ever a choice for me. I”ve lived on the razor”s edge of calm and chaos my entire life. Seeing death? Stay calm. Enduring torture? Keep calm. Killing my own father? Ice cold calm. It”s not just a state of mind; it”s survival. I grew up in a house where the air was thick with cigarette smoke and danger, a constant reminder of the world I was born into. I can almost still smell that stench, and it makes me gag.

Growing up, I held onto this naive hope that things would get easier, that somehow, I”d find a way out, live the life of a normal teenager. But it was a fool”s dream. The mob doesn”t release its grip so easily. The sound of a gunshot, the image of my father”s body hitting the floor—it”s etched into my memory. That bastard had it coming, but the price of freedom was steep.

I”ve borne the weight of my decisions, the scars they”ve left behind—both physical and mental. Being punished, beaten, it was all part of the daily routine. But I survived. I fought back, took control, and never looked back.

But this kid... my kid... I”ll be damned if they grow up like I did. Surrounded by violence, learning to numb their feelings just to make it through the day. They deserve better, a chance at something resembling a normal life, whatever that may mean in our world.

The thought of bringing a child into this life, into my world, is terrifying. But maybe, just maybe, it”s also a chance. A chance to do things differently, to break the cycle. I”ve fought for everything in my life—my position, my respect, my survival. Now, I”ll fight for this kid. To give them the peace I never had, the safety I never felt.

Julia”s footsteps fade away, and I”m left alone with my thoughts, the weight of my past and the uncertainty of my future pressing down on me. But one thing”s clear: this child won”t face the world alone. They”ll have me, and I”ll do whatever it takes to shield them from the darkness that”s been my constant companion.

The sound of the door opening snaps me back to the present, the doctor”s arrival pulling me from the depths of my reflections. It”s time to face this new chapter, whatever it may bring. For my kid, I”ll face it head-on, with all the strength and determination that”s gotten me this far. Because that”s what you do when you”re Lana: you fight, you survive, and you protect what”s yours.

The doctor, with her kind smile and small black glasses, enters the room, her movements slow, hinting at an issue with her leg. There”s a bubbly, almost quirky energy about her that feels oddly comforting in the sterile environment of the doctor”s office.

”How are we feeling?”

”Good,” I reply, adopting a mask of confidence I”m far from feeling. The truth is, I”m a bundle of nerves, every instinct on high alert, but I”ll be damned if I show it.

”Alright then,” she says, gesturing for me to lay down on the examination table. ”Please lay back.”

I comply, watching as she prepares the ultrasound machine, her movements practiced and precise. Then comes the cold, lubey cream on my lower belly, a sensation so unexpected it draws a shiver from me despite my best efforts to remain composed.

She begins the scan, moving the wand with a gentle, assured touch.

After what feels like an eternity but is likely only a few minutes, she points at the screen, a small smile playing on her lips. ”Ah, yes. Here it is.”

I lean forward, my gaze fixed on the screen, and there it is. The baby. It”s tiny, no bigger than a bean, maybe even smaller. In that moment, everything else fades away—the fear, the uncertainty, the weight of my past. All I can see is that tiny flicker of life, so fragile and yet so fiercely present.

It”s a surreal feeling, seeing a part of me, a part of us, growing inside me. This little bean, this potential for a future I never dared to dream of. For the first time since I found out I was pregnant, the reality of it all hits me. I”m going to be a mother. I”m going to bring a life into this world.

A tear escapes from the corner of my eye, and I quickly wipe it away, trying to hide my emotions from Julia.

”What do you see?”

”Just a tiny heartbeat,” she says with a reassuring smile. ”Everything looks good so far.”

She continues her examination, marking points on my abdomen with a pen, making notes on the paper chart. ”It”s still early, but everything seems to be progressing as it should.”

I let out a sigh of relief, feeling a sense of calm wash over me.

The doctor, still peering over her glasses with that bubbly demeanor, pauses for a moment, a hint of procedural duty creeping into her voice. ”And where is the father? It”s important for the father to attend these appointments too, you know.”

How am I supposed to explain that this kid has three fathers, technically? That”s not exactly a common situation, even in the most unconventional of families. But then again, when has my world ever been normal?

I plaster on a fake smile, one that doesn”t quite reach my eyes, already spinning the web of half-truths I”ll need to navigate this conversation. ”Ah, I”ll tell him to come next time,” I say, the words feeling hollow even to my own ears.

The doctor seems satisfied with the answer, or at least she doesn”t press further, for which I”m grateful. I”m not ready to dive into the complexities of my personal life with someone who”s essentially a stranger, no matter how kind or quirky they might be.

As I leave the room, the weight of her question lingers. How am I going to navigate this? The reality of my situation, of our situation, is far from conventional.

But one thing”s for sure: this child, my child, will never lack for protection, for love. Whether it”s from me, Roman, Luca, Grigori, or all of us together, they”ll grow up knowing they were wanted, cherished. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but since when have I ever done anything traditionally?

”Alright, you”re free to go now. I want to see you again very soon. And I”ll be prescribing you with some prenatal vitamins,” she continues.

I manage a nod, barely processing her words. My mind is miles away, tangled in a web of what-ifs and maybes. The reality of my situation—pregnant, potentially with Roman”s child, yet not exclusively—feels like a ticking bomb in my life, a life already fraught with danger and deceit. How do I navigate this? How do I protect this burgeoning life from the threats that shadow my every step?

The mention of prenatal vitamins snaps me back to the present, a reminder of the tangible, immediate steps I need to take. ”Thank you,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. ”I”ll make sure to follow up.”

I haven”t told Roman yet that he”s not the only candidate to be the father of this baby. Would he get sad, jealous? I”m not sure. Roman”s feelings are a labyrinth, one I”ve navigated with care, but this revelation could be the Minotaur waiting in the center. He deserves to know, but the timing... it has to be right. Right now, my focus, my energy, must be on safeguarding this child from predators lurking in the shadows, like Bella.

I”ll take her life if that”s what it takes. She will not touch my baby. My hand protectively reaches to my lower belly, a vow made not just to my unborn child, but to myself. In this life of violence and power, this small, growing life has become my beacon, my new center of gravity.