It’s fucked I even need to say this, but I’m kind of hoping it’s a girl. If she’s small and petite like her mother, she’ll be less likely to damage K’s insides more than they already are. She’s been hurt enough. I don’t want her hurt more.
After clicking on the machine next to the bed for a good three or so minutes, Dr. Laura shifts her eyes to mine. They appear wiser than her thirty-five years. “I was right. She’s just shy of five months.”
“She? We’re having a girl?”
I both crap my pants and mentally give myself a pat on the back when Dr. Laura’s chin careens toward her chest. “Due on the last day of November.” Three black and white printouts shoot out of the machine K and I were staring at only minutes ago before she hands them to K. “We will need to organize a more in-depth ultrasound in the coming weeks, but I’m happy with how she’s progressing. Her length is above average and she weighs approximately half a pound.” After standing to her feet, she wipes the gunk off K’s stomach. “Do you have any questions?”
With K too in awe of the printout she’s holding, Dr. Laura drifts her eyes to me. Tiny creases wrinkle around her eyes when I wordlessly request for her to give us a minute. She’s not squinting, she’s smiling about me putting K’s wellbeing first. K is still here, in the light, but she’s a little unbalanced.
“I’ll meet you in the reception area once you’re ready.” Dr. Laura squeezes K’s hand in support before she exits her office.
I wait for her door to click shut before joining K near the monitor still displaying the outline of our daughter’s face. “You good?” It takes her longer to nod this time around than it did earlier. “She won’t be hurt, K. Not only will I protect her, so will you.” When the light in her eyes dims a little from my comment, I add, “And she’ll have Nikolai, and Eight, and Nero. Fuck, she’ll probably even have Mikhail wrapped around her little finger.” I push back hair that smells like rain even in the middle of a drought before returning the tilt her chin should never be without. “She’ll never be alone. I promise you that.”
Most people believe K’s life was screwed over after our fuck in the pantry. In reality, it was years before that. Achim may not have raped her until after she gave her virginity to me, but his mindfucks started long before that. He knew she had no one to turn to, and he milked it for all it was worth.
Just the thought of what he put her through has me replotting ideas I’ve been working on the past few months. They’ll end with more than the streets of Mikulov being littered with the bodies of the Dvorák’s men.
A new monarch will be crowned.
Six
Trey
Six days later…
“Anything yet?”
When Eight shakes his head, I tug off my jacket and place it over K’s slumbering form. She’s resting on the sofa in Nikolai’s office. Our early rising is noticeable on her face, but I’m wary that isn’t the sole reason for her frozen state. She’s tiptoeing toward the dark, as haunted by her past as I am when news broke that Nikolai and Justine are missing.
If I were to believe any of the reports circulating throughout morning news broadcasts today, Nikolai and several members of his crew were caught unaware by a Petretti raid last night. Dimitri Petretti, now leader of the recently reformed Italian cartel, was found amongst the carnage. He was surrounded by numerous deceased members of the Popov crew, and sporting a set of nasty bullet wounds.
Although the rivalry between the Popovs and Petrettis is well-known, I’m still struggling to comprehend what the fuck happened. Dimitri helped Nikolai last year. If it weren’t for him, Nikolai would have never located the warehouse Vladimir took Justine to in time. Dimitri’s assistance netted him a pardon from Nikolai. That’s practically a golden ticket in this industry, so why would Dimitri go against Nikolai now? It doesn’t make any sense.
“Move.” Once Eight moves out of Nikolai’s seat, I seize control of a computer that could take down half the world’s mafia entities with one strike if it were placed into the wrong hands. While I seek missing pieces of the puzzle, I nudge my head to the foyer of P’s. “Get word to the Yurys about a possible takeover bid. Go light with details, but advise assistance may be required.” The Yurys are a Russian based entity the Popovs were founded from when Anatoly Popov moved stateside many moons ago.
“If they want more details?” Eight asks, uneased I’m calling in backup only hours after Nikolai failed to check in. I’m not jumping the gun. I’m being prepared. Even with Nikolai’s first five days on the east coast occurring without incident, my gut hasn’t quit niggling. Its only done that twice before. When my father arrived at Mikulov earlier than anticipated and when I held my gun at K’s stomach and fired—the same stomach now holding our daughter. My past could be fucking with my head, but I’d rather be cautious than be seen as a fool.
I lift and lock my eyes with Eight’s. “Tell them they’ll have to come through me.”
I wait for him to jerk up his chin before rummaging through the information he unearthed between advising me at two this morning about Nikolai failing to check in after having dinner with Rico and now, which is almost twenty-three hours later. The evidence is shit at best. It has murky FBI prints all over it. There may even be a handful of CIA smudges. I don’t care how much shit this gets me in, those rumors about the CIA colluding with members of the cartel are true. They don’t care who they have to work with to get their man. Dimitri’s sister, Ophelia, learned that the hard way two years ago.
Two hours into sorting through the steaming pile of shit the bureau logged into their mainframe earlier today, K suddenly jackknifes into a half-seated position. Although Dr. Laura proved without a doubt she’s five months along, you wouldn’t know it from the flatness of her stomach. My shirt she’s wearing as a dress falls straight to her thighs when she stands to her feet.
After snatching up a printout off Nikolai’s desk, she makes a beeline for the door. “Let her go,” I say to Nero when he blocks her exit with his big, brooding frame. He thinks she’s stuck in the throes of horrifying blackness. I know that isn’t close to the truth. She’s too strong for that. Too fucking brave. She hasn’t been quiet all day because she’s tempted by the dark. She’s seeking answers in the only way she knows. With silence.
After logging out of Nikolai’s computer to ensure his secrets remain that—secret, I follow K’s trek through the Popov mansion. To anyone unable to see the fire of life in her eyes, they’d think she’s snooping. Once again, I know that isn’t true. She’s hunting. For what? I have no fucking clue, but I trust her enough to know she wouldn’t waste my time unless she thought it was important.
“You don’t want to go in that room, K,” I warn her when her hand circles the doorknob of Vladimir’s private abode a few minutes later.
Nikolai all but vanished Vladimir’s name from the Popov compound after his death, but his room remains untouched. I don’t know why. It could be a reminder of how far Nikolai has come, or the fact even with Vladimir having many whores, this room also belonged to Nikolai’s mother. Her perfume bottle still sits on the top of a stack of drawers K stops in front of a few seconds later.
“That’s Nikolai’s mother, Oskana,” I tell K when she lifts a photo off the bedside table. I don’t need to tell her the identity of the man photographed with Oskana. She knows all too well who that piece of shit is.
My brows stitch when K runs her thumb over Vladimir’s face. It isn’t a nurturing gesture, she’s more clearing away the dust coating the glass than anything, but the expression on her face is concerning.
“What is it, K?”
Frustration slicks her skin with sweat when she struggles to find the right wording to explain what angle she’s working. She has no reason to fret. Even with a massive language barrier parting us, she forever finds a way to communicate with me.
