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I move away, blending back into the crowd before anyone can mark me as out of place. A few minutes later, I'm in the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. As the elevator ascends, I check my gun, the knives concealed at my waist, the body armor snug under my clothes. I've come prepared for anything, but my heart pounds as the elevator dings, announcing my arrival at the penthouse level.
The door slides open, and I step out, my senses on high alert. For a moment, I stand outside the penthouse suite, knowing whatever happens next could change everything. Roman might be in there; he might not be. My son might be in there; he might not be. My heart might break; it might not.
I knock on the door and step to the side so I can’t be seen through the peephole. The door swings open, a slender, beautiful blonde woman standing in front of me. My finger slips to the trigger guard of my gun, a reflex honed by years of being on edge. The woman's eyes snap up, meeting mine, and I see her hand subtly reach for something hidden behind her back.
In an instant, we both have our weapons drawn, two barrels in a silent conversation. Tension fills the room like smoke, thick and suffocating.
"Who are you?" I demand, my eyes locked onto hers.
"I should be asking you that question,” she replies, icy cool but with a razor edge.
The situation is precarious. One wrong word, one wrong move, and bullets will fly. I weigh my options in the span of a heartbeat.
“Mama?” Ilya’s voice slices through the tension.
My eyes dart to his, peeking out from behind the blonde woman, and I see confusion but also recognition. Relief washes over me; he's okay, he's safe.
"Mama, what's going on?"
The room starts to tilt, my vision blurring at the edges. I haven't eaten in hours. And there's also the small matter of whatever the hell else was wrong with me, the nausea, the dizziness that had been plaguing me.
"No, no, no," I mumble, fighting against the darkness creeping into my vision. "This is not the time."
I sway on my feet, the gun in my hand growing heavier with each passing second. The blonde woman seems to sense my faltering, her eyes widening a fraction. But I can't focus on her anymore, can't focus on anything but the encroaching darkness and the panicked voice of my son, calling out for me.
Then the world slips away.
Chapter 28
Valentina
Iregain consciousness on a plush couch, my eyes flicking open to find the blonde woman—Nikita, as she introduces herself—watching me with a mix of wariness and relief.
"You're awake," she says, no longer holding a gun but still radiating an air of caution. "I'm Nikita. Roman's sister-in-law."
It takes a second for my foggy brain to process what she's saying, the circumstances that led me here slowly falling back into place. Ilya is here, thank God, watching something on a laptop, headphones covering his ears. My heart clenches at the sight of him, and all I want is to wrap my arms around my little bear and hold him close.
But first, I need answers."And where is Roman?"
Nikita sighs. "He's out. Looking for you and preparing for war against your family."
My heart skips a beat. Before I can say another word, my stomach churns violently, a wave of nausea sweeping over me so quickly there's hardly time to react.
"Excuse me," I mumble, scrambling off the couch and rushing toward what I hope is a bathroom. God, this place is like a maze. I find one just in time, emptying the contents of my stomach with a violence that leaves me trembling.
After a minute or so, I splash cold water on my face, staring at my reflection.What the hell is wrong with you, Valentina?
I make my way back to the living area to find Ilya staring at me with concerned eyes. "Mama, are you okay? You look sick," he says, his voice tinged with worry.
I crouch down to his level, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "I’ll be okay, baby," I tell him to assuage his fears.
His eyes search my face, as if looking for a hidden answer, but I have none to give him. Something's off, something I can't figure out. But for now, my more immediate concern is what this looming 'war' means for all of us.
I straighten, locking eyes with Nikita, who's been observing our mother-son exchange with a kind of quiet respect.
"I need to find Roman," I say, hoping she'll give me some hint, something to go on. Because now, more than ever, I feel like finding him is the key to putting my disoriented world back on its axis.
Nikita nods, her eyes meeting mine in a silent understanding. "We all do."
