Page 107 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
Mariya returns to the table, her fingers trailing across the printout of names from the crypt. "My father risked everything to gather this information. To preserve the truth about what happened."
"And now we have to decide what to do with it," I say quietly.
49
MARIYA
Igroan as I push myself up from the couch in Andrey's office, my hand bracing against the armrest for support. Seven months pregnant, and I feel like I've forgotten how my own body works. Everything is clumsy now. Stiff. My center of gravity has shifted so far forward that I waddle more than walk, and getting out of chairs requires strategic planning.
"You okay?" Andrey glances up from the documents spread across his desk, his blue eyes tracking my movements with that protective intensity I've grown used to.
"Fine." I stretch my back, trying to ease the constant ache that's taken up residence in my lower spine. "Just tired of feeling like a beached whale."
His lips curve into a small smile. "You're beautiful."
"You're biased."
"Doesn't make it less true."
I move to the window overlooking the estate grounds, my hand resting on the swell of my belly. The baby kicks, a flutter ofmovement that still catches me off guard sometimes. But now I've somewhat settled into a routine.
Every morning, I meet Andrey for breakfast downstairs. He's always up before me, usually already dressed and reviewing reports by the time I shuffle into the dining room. We eat together, talk about nothing important, and for those brief moments, it feels like we're just a normal couple expecting their first child.
Later, I come to his office to check if there's any news about my father. Twice a week, Andrey takes me to the cemetery where my aunt is buried, and we check the headstone for messages. My father hasn't left anything yet. No notes. No signs that he's even alive. The silence is worse than bad news because at least bad news would be an answer.
In the afternoons, Sophia and I get together. We shop for baby things, drink tea in the garden, or just talk about everything except the dangerous information we are all sitting on.
Evenings are my favorite. When Andrey doesn't have business, we spend time together in our bedroom. We watch movies, talk about the baby, or just exist in the same space without needing to fill the silence. It's peaceful in a way I never expected my life to be.
"Any updates?" I ask, turning from the window.
Andrey sets down the paper he's reading and leans back in his chair. "Nothing concrete. The families we've contacted are being cautious. No one wants to make a move until we're certain who we can trust."
I nod, understanding the delicate position we're in. The information we have about the conspiracy to control the Bratvacould destroy entire families if it falls into the wrong hands. But it could also save lives if we use it correctly.
"How many families have agreed to meet?" I move back toward the couch, lowering myself carefully onto the cushions.
"Seven so far. Maybe eight if Dmitri stops being paranoid long enough to commit." Andrey stands and crosses to the small bar cart near the bookshelf, pouring himself a measure of vodka. "It's enough to start building a coalition."
"And the others? The ones working with whoever is behind this?"
His jaw tightens. "We'll deal with them when the time comes."
The violence in his voice doesn't scare me anymore. I've learned that Andrey's world operates on different rules. Loyalty is everything. Betrayal is unforgivable. And sometimes, the only way to protect what you love is to destroy what threatens it.
"Come here," I say softly.
He looks at me, his blue eyes warming slightly. Then he sets down his glass and moves to sit beside me on the couch. I shift, turning so my back is to him, and he immediately understands what I need.
His hands settle on my shoulders, strong fingers digging into the knots of tension there. I groan at the pressure, my head falling forward as he works the tight muscles.
"Better?" His voice is low, intimate.
"So much better." I close my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me. "You're too good at this."
"I'm motivated." His thumbs press along my spine, working their way down. "Happy wife, happy life."
I smile despite myself. The massage continues, his hands moving with practiced ease across my shoulders, down my back, and along my sides. It feels so good, I'm half asleep by the time he finishes, my body relaxed and warm.
