Chapter 32

Laura

AS Iwalk down the path to the garden, my stomach decides to put on a fucking concert.

I press my hand against it, silently threatening to stab it with a fork if it doesn’t shut up. The last thing I need is to draw attention to the possible bun in my oven.

Nadia leads the way, and thank God for that.

My nerves are shot, and my palms are sweating like I’m back in high school, about to give a presentation in front of the class.

I wish Victor was here. I glance at my phone, hoping for a message, but nada.

Figures.

My mind wanders to our wedding, how he looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a brick wall but still managed to make my heart race. Seeing him like that, all bruised and broken… it was the scariest shit I’ve ever seen.

I shake my head, trying to shove down the worry that’s clawing at my insides. Victor’s a tough bastard. He’ll be fine.

I hope.

As we get closer to the garden, the smell of food hits me like a freight train. Something meaty and rich, like a stew or a roast. And is that fresh bread?

Fuck me, my mouth is watering.

My stomach lets out another obnoxious gurgle, and I pray to every god I can think of that it’s drowned out by the noise coming from the glasshouse.

Speaking of which… Hot damn!

This place is like something out of a movie. All shiny glass and flowers everywhere, like a jungle in the middle of the arctic.

We step inside, and it’s like walking into a different world. Warm, bright, and so far removed from the shitshow outside.

“Laura, my dear!” a voice booms, and I turn to see my father-in-law getting up from his seat at the head of the table.

He looks… good. Really good. Healthy, with a twinkle in his eye and some color in his cheeks. A far cry from the last time I saw him.

I can’t help but smile. “Papa, it’s so good to see you. You look amazing.” I feel a bit shy using “Papa,” but it seems right for the moment.”

He chuckles, casually waving off the compliment. “Ah, I’m just glad to be out of that godforsaken bed. My stubborn old friend here kept forcing me to rest—enough to drive anyone insane.” His eyes flick to Dr. Petrov, who is seated at the far end of the table.

I nod, feeling that on a spiritual level.

Being cooped up, unable to live your life? It’s the worst.

Dr. Petrov gives me a quick smile. The casual shirt does little to hide his well-maintained physique; he’s obviously kept in shape, looking more like an action movie star than a doctor.

“But enough about me,” Andrey says, motioning for me to sit. “Tell me, how are you adjusting? Is Vitya treating you well?”

I hesitate. How do I even begin to answer that? “Victor is… Victor,” I say finally, hoping he gets it.

Andrey’s eyes soften, and he pats my hand. “He’s a complicated man, my Victor. But he has a good heart, even if he’s shit at showing it sometimes.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I know.”

“Tetya Laura!” a little voice chirps, and I turn to see Eli running toward me, grinning from ear to ear.

“There’s my favorite girl,” I say, scooping her up into a hug. She giggles, squirming in my arms.

“I’m not a girl. I’m a lady,” she informs me, all prim and proper.

I laugh, setting her back down. “My apologies, my lady.”

She curtsies, then skips back to her seat next to her grandfather, where there’s a chessboard set up. Andrey follows my gaze, smiling proudly.

I watch as Eli moves a piece, her face scrunched up in concentration. “You’re teaching her to play?” I ask.

“We were having a game of chess before everyone arrived,” he chuckles, sliding his bishop across the board with a deft flick of his wrist. “Check,” he announces casually, capturing one of her knights.

But little Eli doesn’t make a big fuss. She stares at the board, her lips pursed in concentration. After a moment, she moves her queen with a confident tap. “Checkmate, Ded,” she declares, a sly grin spreading across her face.

Andrey looks up, surprise etching his features before turning into a proud smile. “Well played, malyshka,” he praises, ruffling her hair affectionately.

“I win!” Eli exclaims, her face lighting up with a victorious grin. She quickly starts setting up the chess pieces again, humming to herself, ready for another round. “Come on, Ded, let’s see if you can beat me this time.” She winks, all set to go again.

“She’s a quick learner,” he says, nodding at Eli. “Reminds me of myself at that age. Chess is all about strategy. Thinking two steps ahead. It’s a valuable skill to have in life and… other things.”

Is this how the mafia trains their next generations?

I watch Eli outmaneuver her grandfather in chess as I mull this over. I guess it makes sense. Start them young with strategy and keep them sharp. I take a sip of my water, trying to keep my face neutral.

I picture a young Victor.

Was he as witty and focused as her? As calm as Yuri?

I don’t miss the way Andrey’s eyes flick to Yuri, who’s sitting quietly at the other end of the table, staring at his plate like it holds the secrets of the universe.

I frown, wondering what the hell that’s about. But before I can dwell on it, a server appears next to me, holding out a glass of wine.

“Oh, no, thank you,” I say quickly, my hand flying to my stomach. “I’m not drinking tonight.”

Andrey’s eyebrows shoot up, and he gives me a look that says he knows exactly what’s up. “Not drinking?”He leans in closer. “What’s the matter? You two are already working on giving me a grandkid?”

I feel my face heat up, and I shake my head so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t fly off. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m just… not feeling great. I think I ate something that didn’t agree with me.”

As if on cue, my stomach does a fucking somersault, and I clap a hand over my mouth.

Oh, shit. Not now. Please, not now.

But it’s too late. I’m about to hurl right here in front of God and everyone.

I jump to my feet, mumbling some half-assed apology as I book it for the door. I make it outside just in time, puking my guts out into the bushes.

When it’s over, I straighten up slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I’m shaking, my skin clammy and gross.

A hand touches my shoulder, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I spin around to see Dr. Petrov standing there, looking all concerned.

“Are you alright, Laura?” he asks, his eyes narrowed.

I nod, not trusting myself to open my mouth.

He studies me for a moment, and I swear to God, it’s like he can see right through me. “Perhaps we should have a chat later, just the two of us. I think there are some things we need to discuss.”

I swallow hard, my heart doing its best impression of a jackhammer.

He knows. He totally fucking knows.

But how? And more importantly, what’s he going to do about it?

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

One crisis at a time, Laura. First, get through this dinner without puking again.

Then, figure out how to handle the very real possibility that you’ve got a little Morozov cooking in your oven.