36. Alena

The silence in the manor is deafening.

Every guard and maid that I see is subdued and tense, with assault rifles in their hands and a fleeting look of sympathy when they meet my eyes. It's like everyone knows something I don't.

My father is here.

I don't understand how, or why, but he's here, and now I'm facing the very real threat that I'll be dragged back to America, back home to a family that doesn't care for me. To an outsider, it might look incredible that my father came all this way to get me back, but I know the truth. He's not here because he's concerned. He's here because he needs me back.

I'm sure he loves me in his own way, but not enough to care about what I want.

As per Kristof"s request, Chek and Andrev don't leave my side. They follow me up the stairs like shadows, but thankfully, they don't follow me into my bedroom. They take up posts at the door, one on either side, and while Andrev flashes me a tight smile as if trying to make me feel better, it doesn't help.

The bedroom is cold and quiet. The curtains hang by the window like dark streaks and the bed still has unruly sheets from my night of tossing and turning. It's insane to think that hours ago, when I woke up here and complained quietly that Kristof hadn't come to bed, I'd be back here with the man I love off to confront my father.

Kristof left with Ivan and Nastja. His kiss lingers like a ghost on my lips, and I lightly caress my lower lip as I replay the kiss in my mind. What if it's our last one?

What if he doesn't come back?

"No," I scold myself in a whisper. "Stop it."

I won't think about that. I won't think about how, if Kristof fails, I'll be back behind gilded bars, facing down a marriage to Mikhail. I'll be a resurrected pawn on the chessboard of the Orlov family games, and this bright future I've found will be snuffed out.

I won't survive Mikhail. Timid old me might have, but the woman I am now? No chance.

I tell myself over and over not to think about it.

I fail.

The harder I try, the more thoughts of Kristof plague me. The thought of him facing down my father and the might of the Pakhan's security makes my stomach twist into knots. I don't know what his plan is. He refused to tell me.

Will they talk? Will they discuss everything that's happened and find a way to move forward that's for the good of the family? Or will they come to blows, ending their lives in a hail of gunfire?

My stomach rolls painfully. Acid floods up my throat, and I barely make it to the sink in the ensuite before I'm throwing up. My body convulses as if trying to purge those very thoughts from my body. Nothing escapes me but bile that I wash away with the turn of the tap. Heat prickles up my spine, and sweat breaks out across my forehead as I slump against the counter, bracing on both hands.

The chill of the counter brings little relief, and a tremble shakes through me, head to toe, as another rush of bile sweeps up and hits the sink.

"Fuck," I croak softly, wiping the corner of my mouth.

"Alena?" Alyona's voice drifts through the door. Then, her face peeks through. I lift my gaze and smile weakly at her in the mirror.

"Everything okay?" Andrev appears next, pushing the door open wide with his rifle raised as if expecting to find some sort of assassin hiding in the bathtub.

"I'm fine," I assure them both, pouring water into the cup by the sink. "I'm just stressed."

"Alright." Andrev gives the bathroom a once-over with his gun raised, then he retreats to the bedroom, but this time, he doesn't leave. He lingers near the window, half shrouded in the curtain as he stares out at the grounds below.

"Still sick?" Alyona tsks softly and busies herself around me, refilling my water cup with colder water and ushering me to sit on the toilet.

"It's stress this time, I swear," I say as she presses the cup into my hand.

"Have you taken the test?"

"Now is hardly the time," I mutter. A new fear lances through my chest then. What if the test is positive? What if I am pregnant and I end up back with my father? How the fuck will I hide that?

"It is the best time," Alyona scoffs, beginning to clean the sink. "The sooner you know, the sooner you can take care of yourself."

I want to tell her to stop, that cleaning isn't what she should be doing right now, but I reason it's because she's worried. Cleaning is a distraction from what might happen.

"Do you think he will come back?"

Alyona glances over her shoulder. "Who?"

"Kristof."

Her hand pauses with the cloth. "He will be fine."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because he is Kristof. His siblings and he, they are a strong team. A good team."

I nod absently. He is the best at what he does, but is he really the best when it's against people he knows?

"He is a strong man and talented too. He was your father's right-hand man for a reason. Remember that," Alyona states, although her voice quavers slightly, but I can't be sure whether that's uncertainty or age.

My stomach twists sharply, and another flush of sweat takes over me, but no more sickness follows. I sip the water just in case.

"You should take the test," Alyona says, turning and pointing a wrinkled finger at me. "Give him some good news when he comes back."

"Why do you care so much?" I ask, squinting up at her. "You barely know me."

"Secrets do nothing but harm," she states stiffly. "Look at the mess we're in."

She has a point. None of this would have happened had Kristof not stolen me. That's the greatest secret. Then again, he's sometimes spoken of plans against my father regardless of me, and I can't help but feel like Alyona is wrong. I almost tell her that, but the words don't come.

Maybe I'm just trying to reason in an attempt to make myself feel better.

Taking the test might be a good thing. After all, if I am pregnant, then Kristof will surely come home, right? Family is important to him, and if I'm having his baby, there's no way fate would keep him from me.

Three minutes later, I perch on the toilet and stare at the test on the counter. Alyona hovers near the door, chewing on her cheek and tapping her fingers on her elbow. Andrev remains near the window, ever the protector, and time passes impossibly slowly.

"I told him I love him," I whisper softly, closing my eyes. If I focus enough, I can imagine I'm talking to Katja instead. I ache for her comfort, for her advice or humor. I bet she'd love to be an Auntie.

"Who?" Alyona barks. "Speak up, child."

Illusion ruined.

"Kristof. I told him I love him. It just sort of slipped out in the heat of the moment. I didn't think. He was so angry, and I was so scared. It just seemed like the most natural thing to say, like I finally understood how I've been feeling." I run my fingers through my hair. "He didn't say it back."

"He's a busy man," Alyona remarks. "He doesn't have time for thoughts of love right now."

Andrev shifts near the window, glancing over his shoulder at us.

"I know. I know. I just… I wonder if he feels the same."

"People like Kristof do not love," Alyona says. "God knows, I love that boy, but he is not like those soft American boys."

Andrev scoffs by the window, and I look up at him.

He catches my eye and grimaces. "Sorry."

"No, it's… do you think he loves me? You're a man."

"Yes, I am." He smirks slightly as Alyona grumbles. "I won't speak for him."

My heart drops.

"But," Andrev continues, "In all my years by his side, I have never seen him stray so far from long-laid plans or risk so much for anyone. Ever. If that's not love, I don't know what is."

I don't know if he's just saying that to make me feel better, but my heart lifts a little.

"Thank you."

Andrev nods and turns back to the window.

Alyona mutters something I don't catch in Russian, but she doesn't sound too believing in Andrev's statement. Maybe it's a Russian thing.

I can't put it off any longer.

Taking a deep breath, I stand and approach the counter. The test blinks up at me with one very clear result.

Positive.

"I'm pregnant," I whisper.

"Huh?" Alyona barks.

I chuckle weakly and turn to face her, holding up the test. "I–I'm pregnant."

Words I never thought I'd say.

"See?" Alyona remarks, lifting one brow. "I knew."

"Congratulations," Andrev calls from his post.

"Thank you." Staring down at the stick, my attempts to reassure myself earlier flood back into my mind. I'm pregnant. Kristof is definitely making it home. He has to.

"This will be good, right?" I stare down at the stick. "It'll be a nice—a nice surprise for Kristof when he comes home. I bet he'll need it. Everything that's happening is insane, but this… this will be a nice surprise."

"Do you not see, girl?" Alyona sucks on her teeth.

I lift my gaze to her. "See what?"

"Kristof coming back alive will be good, yes," she says, "but to achieve that, he will either have made an unpleasant deal with your father or…"

"Or?"

"Or there will be bloodshed. And you, my child, will have to live with his decision."

"His decision?" The test trembles in my hand. "Are you asking me if I'm okay with him killing my father?"

Her answer never comes.

Andrev abruptly launches from the window and starts yelling in Russian. The suddenness makes me jump, and Alyona clutches at her cardigan. Chek yells back as I dart out into the bedroom. I glimpse Chek as he sprints away from the door. More yelling rises from inside the Manor. Andrev pulls a walkie-talkie from his belt and starts barking out what sounds like an order.

I run to the window and press my palms to the glass, staring down in horror.

We've been found!

Too many cars to count spill up the driveway, screeching to stops in front of the manor. Men, armed to the teeth, pour out of the vehicles like tar and swarm the garden from all angles, yelling at each other.

I recognize the pins on the lapels of several men leading the charge.

These are my father's men.

"Andrev!" I spin to face him. "What is this? What's happening? I thought Kristof was the one attacking early?"

"I don't know," he answers, switching back to English for me. "We didn't get a warning for this."

"A warning? From whom?"

Andrev ignores me, returning to his radio as Russian spills through amid static. Alyona clutches at her heart, and I dart toward her, catching her just as she sags against the door.

"Andrev, what do we do? Where do we go?"

An almighty crash erupts from the floor below, and a split second later, the air erupts with the screams of frantic gunfire and yelling men. English and Russian mix together in such harmony that I can't decipher anything.

Andrev cocks his weapon, hurries toward me, and leans close, his ocean-blue eyes as dark as a storm.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, holding out one hand.

I hesitate, just for a second, and glance at Alyona, who looks every bit her age.

Kristof trusts him, so by extension, yes, I do.

I take his hand.

"Yes."