Chapter 41

Victor

I WATCHas Laura storms out of the restaurant, her face a mask of pain and hurt. The sight of her like that twists something inside me, and I find myself following her before I even realize what I’m doing.

Not that it helps much. The crowded New York streets swallow her up, and I lose sight of her in the sea of people. I quicken my pace, pushing past the throngs of pedestrians, ignoring the dirty looks and muttered curses thrown my way.

A few women eye me appreciatively, but I don’t spare them a second glance. My focus is solely on Laura, on the woman who’s supposed to be my wife, the woman who’s carrying my child.

A baby.

A fucking baby.

The reality of it hits me like a physical blow.

Me, Victor Morozov, a father?

The idea is so absurd, so terrifying that I almost want to laugh. But then I think of Laura, of the way she looked at me back there, like I’d shattered her world into a million pieces. And suddenly, it’s not so funny anymore.

I catch sight of her up ahead, her shoulders hunched as she walks. Men’s gazes follow her, lingering on her curves, and I feel a surge of possessive rage. I want to break every single one of their fucking faces, to make them understand that she’s mine, that they don’t get to look at her like that.

But then I remember the way I’ve treated her, the lies I’ve told, and the anger fades, replaced by a sickening sense of shame.

Suka! Of course I know the baby is mine.

We’d been following her for two months before this whole thing turned into a fucking circus. I know every detail of her life, every person she’s interacted with. There’s no other man in her world because she was too damn busy trying to save her precious little bookstore.

I shake my head, disgusted with myself.

Yob tvoyu mat’, I’m such a dick.

I watch as Laura’s steps become more clumsy, her body swaying slightly as she navigates the uneven sidewalk. My jaw clenches, and I fight the urge to rush up to her, to sweep her into my arms, and carry her to safety.

I pull out my phone and hit her number, hoping to hear her voice. I watch as Laura looks down at her screen, sees it’s me, and blatantly ignores the call. She doesn’t even hesitate. Just a quick glance, a subtle tightening of her jaw, and she tucks the phone back into her purse, turning away as if nothing happened. It stings more than I expected, watching her dismiss me without a word.

Suddenly, an image flashes through my mind—a little girl with Laura’s olive-green eyes staring back at me with love and trust. My heart clenches at the thought, and I feel a fierce, protective instinct rise up inside me.

If it’s a boy, I’ll teach him to be strong, to defend himself and those he loves. I’ll shield him from the darkness of my world, from the enemies who would seek to harm him.

Laura stumbles, her ankle twisting in her high heels, and I lurch forward instinctively.

Fuck! Be careful; you have a child growing inside you. My child!

She stops, her shoulders heaving as she catches her breath. I freeze, watching her intently.

She looks down at her feet, and I can see the pain etched on her face. Those heels must be killing her. I scan the street, searching for a place for her to rest, and spot an empty bench just a few feet away.

Laura seems to have the same idea because she limps over to the bench and collapses onto it, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, and the sight of her tears rips through me like a knife.

And then I see him. Some fucking pretty boy in an expensive suit, sidling up to her with a predatory gleam in his eye. He leans in close, his hand brushing against her knee, and that’s it.

I stride over to them, my vision tinged with red.

No one goes near my wife. No one touches what’s mine.

“Here’s your baby,” Dr. Claire announces, pointing to a small, grainy blob on the ultrasound screen. “See that little flicker? That’s the fetal pole, the first visible sign of the embryo.”

I hold my breath, staring at the black, gray, and white swirls.

It looks like a fucking jellybean, a tiny little thing that’s going to turn our lives upside down.

“It’s around five weeks old,” Dr. Claire continues, her voice gentle. “The heart is starting to form, and the neural tube, which will become the brain and spinal cord, is already developing.”

Five weeks old.

A rush of something indescribable surges through me, and suddenly, my chest feels like it’s about to burst.

I’m a father.

Hell, I’ve never felt this protective in my life.

I can’t take my gaze away from the screen. This overwhelming, all-consuming need to protect and cherish?

I glance over at Laura, who’s lying on the examination table, her shirt pulled up to expose her still-flat stomach. Tears stream down her face as she stares at the monitor, her hands trembling at her sides.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Dr. Claire says, smiling at us sympathetically. “But everything looks perfect. The baby is growing right on schedule, and Laura, you’re doing great.”

Laura nods, sniffling as she wipes at her tears with her free hand. “Thank you, Dr. Claire. I just… I can’t believe this is really happening.”

That makes two of us.

I swallow hard.

“It’s normal to feel overwhelmed,” Dr. Claire assures us. “Especially since it’s your first pregnancy. But you’re not alone in this. I’m here to support you every step of the way, and there are plenty of resources available to help you navigate this new journey.”

I nod, trying to focus on her words, but all I can see is that tiny little blob on the screen. That’s my kid in there, a piece of me and Laura, and I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to do.

How the hell am I going to be a father?

Panic is rising in my throat.

I’m a goddamn mobster, not a nurturing caregiver. What if I fuck this up? What if I ruin this kid’s life before it even starts?

Dr. Claire helps Laura sit up, gently wiping off the ultrasound gel from her stomach. Laura’s face is flushed, her cheeks pink, and her eyes brimming with unshed tears. It looks like she’s about to burst out crying again, just like she has been since yesterday.

Ever since we left the restaurant, it’s been a cycle of crying, sleeping, and eating. But now, there’s a different kind of light in her eyes. She’s still angry at me, I can tell. She won’t even look me in the eye.

“Thank you, Dr. Claire,” Laura says, her voice soft and trembling.

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Morozov. And congratulations to both of you,” Dr. Claire replies warmly.

I nod, watching as Laura smooths down her top, her hands shaking slightly.

“Here’s your baby’s first photograph,” Dr. Claire announces, handing us a small, glossy print. “A little keepsake for you to treasure.”

Laura reaches out and takes it, her breath catching in her throat. As soon as her fingers touch the image, a stream of tears begins to flow down her cheeks yet again. She looks so vulnerable, so fragile, and it hits me hard.

I instinctively step closer to her, suddenly feeling like the biggest asshole in the world.

Mama would be so ashamed of me. Treating my own wife like this, making her cry.

My heart clenches, and I reach out, using my thumb to gently wipe away her tears. At first, she flinches, trying to turn away from my touch. But then she looks up at me, her deep green eyes glistening with emotion, and I feel like I’m seeing her for the first time all over again.

Bozhe moi, she’s so beautiful.

My breath catches in my throat. Even with her face blotchy from crying, her hair a mess, she’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her ear. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’ve been a complete dick.”

“I know,” she murmurs, her eyes searching mine. “I’m still mad as hell…”

“We’ll need to talk about this,” I tell her.

She starts to reply, but a knock at the door interrupts her. A nurse pokes her head in, looking slightly frazzled. “Dr. Claire, I’m so sorry to bother you, but we’ve got a situation. Mrs. Peterson just got admitted to the birthing ward, and she’s in active labor. A week early, and it looks like it’s going to be a tough one.”

Dr. Claire nods, her expression turning serious. “I’ll be right there,” she says, turning back to us. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Duty calls and all that.”

“Of course,” Laura says, her voice understanding. “Go, do what you need to do. We’ll be fine.”

I echo her sentiment, and Dr. Claire gives us a grateful smile before hurrying out of the room, the nurse close on her heels.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Laura turns to me, her expression determined.

“This is happening. I’m keeping the baby, whether you’re on board or not.”