Page 39 of Ruthless Vow
“That attitude will get you killed,” Sergei says seriously. “You have to be smart about this. What’s the endgame here?”
“I think the families were right all along,” I say carefully. “Mikhail is a problem that needs to be taken care of permanently. Brooklyn won’t be able to function as long as he’s allowed to live.”
“Then you’re choosing all-our war,” he says solemnly. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but you know I’ll fight with you.”
“Hechose all-out war when he attacked our convoy. We need to start gathering support,” I tell him. “Quietly, of course. There’sprobably some anger toward us because we’ve waited so long to act, but we’re going to need an army.”
“They’ll fight with you as the leader,” he says. “Even after all this unpleasantness, I know they will.”
“Make sure that’s the case.” I sigh warily. “If we’re going to do this, we have to be sure we’re going to win.”
“Now you’re thinking like apakhan.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the side.
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m thinking like a father.”
Sergei claps me on the back and goes back downstairs. I’m grateful to have him by my side at a time like this. In the absence of my own father, he’s the closest thing I have. When this is all over, he’ll likely be my child’s godfather. Given, of course, that Anya doesn’t take our child and run the first chance she gets.
I go back into the room. It’s so quiet, I can hear every change in her breathing pattern. She shifts slightly on the bed, grimacing in her sleep. Her hand moves toward her ribs automatically, then drops back to the sheet. She’s hurting even when she’s unconscious. I hate that. I wish I could get rid of all of her pain.
I move closer without thinking.
I sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. The sheets are cool under my palms. She stirs slightly, but then relaxes again, so peaceful in her sleep. I envy her for that.
She needs the extra strength. Her only job right now is to heal, and then to take care of herself so our child can grow. I can take care of the rest.
My eyes drift to her stomach without my permission. I can’t stop marveling at the thought that my kid is in there. There’s nothing visible yet. Her stomach is still completely flat. I think back to that night in the kitchen. It wasn’t so long ago. Whatever’s growing inside her is still so small and so fragile that it can’t exist without us doing everything we can to help it grow.
I lean forward slightly and adjust the blanket so it covers her more fully. It’s a small gesture, but it’s the only thing I’m able to do to help her right now. My role in this is minimal. The only way I can support my child is to support her. Her pride is the only thing standing in the way of that.
I shake my head and carefully rest my hand on her stomach, above the blanket.
It’s silly, I know, but it’s like I feel a magnetic pull to the life inside of her. My hand feels warmer there.
I lower my voice, even though she’s too knocked out to hear me.
“I’m going to protect our family,” I nearly whisper. “No matter what it costs me.”
18
ANYA
I’m sitting up in bed with a pillow wedged behind me, trying to find a position that hurts less than the others. Breathing is still a labor, so any advantage I can take, I do. To make matters worse, my morning sickness has become relentless. I have to keep a trash can next to the bed because I don’t usually have enough energy to run to the bathroom every morning and the heaving is hell on my cracked ribs.
The nurse has been kind enough to empty the trash can without a word every day. She may not be the warmest person I’ve ever met, but she’s a saint.
I shift my weight carefully and still manage to catch a sharp pain under my ribcage that takes my breath away. I grit my teeth and stay still until the pain goes away. This is my reality now. Even my breaths require thought.
Just as I’m starting to feel comfortable, I hear a flurry of activity breaking out downstairs.
It starts with voices, low and clipped, then quick movement through the house, then the front door opening and closingquickly. Something heavy scrapes across stone in the entryway, followed by a second scrape, longer this time, like something is being dragged.
My stomach tightens, and it has nothing to do with the morning sickness. Something is very, very wrong. I stand slowly, using the wall for balance. The pain spikes again when I straighten fully, and I breathe through it in short, shallow pulls until my vision clears. I step into the hallway.
The guard outside my door straightens immediately.
“You need to stay in bed, miss,” he says, like he thinks he actually has any authority over me.
“I’m going,” I answer, keeping my voice level.
