Chapter 31

Laura

I’M Afucking mess.

Eyes puffy, nose red, tears still leaking down my face like a busted faucet. I just can’t seem to stop crying, even though I’m happier than I’ve been in days. Maybe it’s the relief of being alive, of seeing Ser again after all the shit that’s gone down.

We’re standing by our separate cars, trying to say goodbye without completely losing it. Ser pulls me into a hug, squeezing me so tight I swear my ribs crack.

“You better call me as soon as things settle down, bitch,” she says, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “I mean it. No more disappearing acts.”

I laugh, the sound coming out watery and choked. “I promise. No more vanishing into thin air.”

She pulls back, her eyes narrowed. “I’m serious, Lu Lu. You ghost me again, and I’ll hunt you down myself. Don’t think I won’t. I’m not that scared of your mafia husband…”

I raise my hands in surrender, a grin tugging at my lips. “Okay, okay. I got it. Regular check-ins, no exceptions.”

Ser nods, satisfied. “Damn right.”

We hug one more time, holding on a little longer than necessary. Then, with a final wave, we climb into our cars and drive off in opposite directions.

By the time I get back to the mansion, my eyes are dry but still puffy as hell. I trudge up to my room—our room—and flop face-first onto the bed.

I lie there for a while, just breathing in the scent of the sheets. They smell like Victor, like sandalwood and smoke and something uniquely him. It’s comforting and unsettling all at once.

Eventually, I roll over, staring at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. Victor’s message glares back at me, taunting me with its brevity.

Don’t wait up, won’t make it home tonight. Got things to handle.

I’ve been staring at it for the better part of an hour, trying to come up with a response that doesn’t make me sound like a clingy wife.

Which I’m not. Obviously.

I pace around my room—well, I guess it’s our room now.

The thought sends a flutter through my stomach, a mix of nerves and excitement that I’m not quite ready to examine too closely.

I flop down on the bed, the luxurious sheets cool against my skin. Frette, the label says. I had to Google it because, of course I did. Turns out these babies are Italian-made, with a thread count higher than my credit score.

I groan, burying my face in the pillow. It smells like him, like sandalwood and smoke and something uniquely Victor. It’s comforting and unsettling all at once.

“Get it together, Laura,” I mutter, my voice muffled by the luxurious Italian bed sheets.

I sit up, taking a deep breath.

Okay, I can do this.

It’s just a text. No big deal.

I type out a message, my fingers shaking slightly.

Okay, no problem. I’ll just be here, all alone, in this big, empty room. With no one to talk to but the dust bunnies.

I wince. No, too needy. I delete it and try again.)

Have fun with your “things.” Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”winking face” emoji

Ugh, no. That sounds like I’m trying too hard to be cool. Delete.

I take another deep breath, closing my eyes.

C’mon, Laura. You’re a grown-ass woman. You can handle a simple text message.

I type out one more message, my heart pounding in my chest.

OK. Be safe.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then toss my phone onto the bed like it’s burned me.

I do a full 360 turn, my nerves getting the best of me. Did that sound too casual? Too uncaring?

Fuck, why is this making me so nervous?

I pick up my phone again, my fingers flying across the screen.

I mean, not that you need me to tell you to be safe. You’re a big, bad mafia boss. You can handle yourself. Obviously.

I hit send, then immediately regret it. I sound like an idiot. A rambling, insecure idiot.

I’m about to type out another message to try to salvage some shred of my dignity when my phone buzzes in my hand.

It’s a message from Victor.

I stare at the screen, my heart in my throat. Slowly, I open it, bracing myself for his response.

I always handle myself, little firecracker. But it’s cute that you care.

I feel a blush creep up my neck, a warmth spreading through my chest. He thinks I’m cute. Or at least, he thinks my concern is cute.

“Grrrroooowl.”My stomach grumbles loudly as if it’s personally offended that I haven’t fed it in the last hour.

I glance at the time, realizing it’s almost evening.

“Okay, okay,” I mutter, rubbing my belly. “I hear you. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

I swear, ever since I started suspecting I might be pregnant, my appetite has been insatiable. It’s like I’m constantly hungry, and no amount of food seems to satisfy me.

I glance down at my stomach, still flat-ish but feeling somehow different. I’ve been nauseous for days, and my breasts are so tender I can barely stand to wear a bra.

Does Victor even like a girl with a bit of extra?

Shit!

I shake my head, pushing the thought aside. Now is not the right time to care what he thinks about my curves, not when there are more pressing matters at hand.

Like the fact that I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant.

Case in point: just two hours ago, I devoured an entire plate of pasta, a side salad, and a basket of breadsticks. And now, my stomach is acting like I’ve been starving it for days.

But as much as I want to raid the kitchen, there’s something else I need to take care of first.

I need to get my hands on a pregnancy test, stat.

But how?

It’s not like I can just waltz out of here and head to the nearest drugstore. I’m practically a prisoner in this house, with guards watching my every move.

Just as I’m about to head out the door in search of sustenance and maybe a clever plan to get that pregnancy test, there’s a knock.

“Zhena bol’shogo bossa,” a voice calls out.

I open the door immediately, hoping it’s someone bringing me more food.

Instead, a woman stands before me, her uniform different from the other maids I’ve seen. She’s older, with steel-gray hair pulled back into a tight bun and a stern expression on her face.

But there’s a kindness in her eyes, a warmth that makes me feel instantly at ease.

She’s holding a black tray with a sleek black card and a white envelope at the bottom.

“Zdravstvuyte,” she says, inclining her head. “I am Nadia Petrovna, the head maid.”

I blink, surprised. “Oh, um, hello. I’m Laura. I- I’m sorry, but I-I don’t know Russian,” I stutter, a flush creeping up my neck.

“I’m sorry, but my English, er… It’s not good,” she explains, walking into the room and setting the tray down on the table. She smiles, the lines around her eyes crinkling. “I know who you are, Mrs. Morozov. I go Moscow, see my daughter. I go see bhyk.”

“Bhyk…?”

“Ah… grandson?” She seems to be excited about this random snippet of information, and it makes her appear more human. It’s not common to see this in the house, but I like her already.

“Oh! Congratulations,” I say, genuinely happy for her. “That’s wonderful news.”

She nods, her smile widening. “It is. But happy… back here. Happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you too,” I say. “Is there something you need from me?” Her arrival isn’t unwelcome, but I’m not quite sure why she’s here.

She points at the contents of the tray. “For you.”

“What’s this?” I ask, picking up the black card.

“Your money,” she says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.“Master Vitya… he say you have money, this card,” she explains as she hands the white envelope to me.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, taking the envelope from her hands and holding it gingerly between my fingers. I’m about to open it when Nadia turns to leave, but then she spins back around.

“See Master Andrey in garden. Seven thirty.” She taps her watch, her brows furrowed in concentration as she tries to explain.

“Me?” I ask, pointing to myself.

“Yes. You.Madam Laura.” Her white teeth flash as she smiles, and she lightly touches my hand in a reassuring gesture.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.

Victor’s dad… What could this be about?

“Okay, thank you, Nadia,” I manage, my voice sounding a little strangled.

Nadia nods, then steps out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

I sink into the large sofa, my legs feeling a little shaky. I check the time on my phone. Seven. Still half an hour before I’m supposed to meet Andrey.

I look down at the black card and the envelope in my hands. Curiosity getting the better of me, I tear open the envelope and pull out the folded paper inside.

My eyes widen as I scan the text. It’s a formal letter informing me that I’ve been allocated an allowance of two hundred grand for the month, as per the terms of my contract.

And that’s not all. Apparently, I’m to start going back to my bookstore tomorrow.

I lean back against the cushions, my mind reeling.

Two hundred grand, and I have everything I need provided… What could I possibly need to buy?

Damn. Is this what it feels like to be a queen?

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Queen or not, I still have a very real problem to deal with.

The possible tiny human growing in my belly.

I press a hand to my stomach, taking a deep breath.

One thing at a time, Laura.

First, meet with Andrey. Then, figure out a way to get that pregnancy test.

And then… well, then I’ll deal with whatever comes next.

I peek at my phone again.

Got to get going.