She steps closer. Close enough that I could reach out and pull her against me. Close enough that I can see the way her pulse jumps in her throat.
"I swear to God, Aleksandr, I will destroy you."
She means it. I can see it in her eyes and in the set of her jaw, in the way she's trembling with rage and fear and determination. She would burn my world down to protect her family.
I respect the hell out of that even as it complicates everything. Pride swells in my chest, and it's all I can do not to smile. That would certainly piss her off even more, but I'd rather see her pissed than crying.
Danil steps inside, his face grim.
"Pakhan." His voice cuts through the tension. "We have a location on Katya."
51
LENA
The convoy's taillights disappear into the night, red pinpricks swallowed by darkness. I stand at the window of Aleksandr's study, my reflection ghostly in the glass, and count to sixty. Then I count again, making sure they're really gone.
My parents are in the basement. He left them locked up like animals.
I press my palm against my stomach, feeling the slight curve that's becoming harder to hide. This baby deserves better than parents who keep secrets and lock people in basements. This baby deserves better than all of us.
The hallway outside the study is empty. Most of the guards went with Aleksandr, leaving the estate quieter than I've heard it in weeks. My footsteps sound too loud on the marble floor as I make my way toward the kitchen, trying to look purposeful rather than panicked.
I remember the service stairway from my explorations. Aleksandr had showed it to me in case something happenedwhen he wasn't around and I needed to escape. The kitchen staff use it to access the wine cellar, carrying bottles up for dinner service. Luckily for me, it connects to the basement where my parents are being held.
The kitchen is empty, the industrial stoves cold and dark. I find the narrow door tucked behind the pantry and slip through, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape my chest.
The stairwell is dimly lit, and the walls close enough to touch on both sides. I descend carefully, one hand on the railing, the other on my stomach. The baby's been more active lately, little flutters that feel like butterflies trapped under my skin.
"Sorry," I whisper. "This is going to be scary."
The basement corridor smells like concrete and old wine. I can hear voices somewhere to my left, guards, probably, their laughter echoing off the walls. I move in the opposite direction, trying doors as quietly as possible.
The third door opens into a room that's nicer than I expected. There's a bed with actual linens, a small bathroom, and a sitting area with two chairs. It looks like a guest room that happens to have a lock on the outside.
My father is pacing, his shoulders tight with tension. My mother sits on the bed, her face the color of old paper. When I slip inside and close the door behind me, they both freeze.
"Lena." My mother's voice breaks on my name. She's off the bed and pulling me into her arms before I can speak, her body shaking with sobs. "Oh, God, Lena, we thought… well, we didn't know what to think. Aleksandr Romanov, of all people!"
"I'm okay, Mom. I'm okay." I hold her tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of her lavender hand cream. Over her shoulder, I see my father watching us, his jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscle jumping.
"What the hell is happening?" His voice is low and dangerous. "Why are we locked in this man's basement? Why is the man who ordered our family killed suddenly playing protector?"
I ease my mother back onto the bed and sit beside her, taking her hand. "It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it." My father crosses his arms. "Now."
So I tell them. About the amnesia, about falling in love with a man I didn't recognize, about the pregnancy. My mother's hand tightens on mine with each revelation, her eyes growing wider. My father's expression shifts from anger to horror to something that might be pity.
"You're pregnant?" My mother touches my face like she's checking to make sure I'm real. "With his baby?"
"Yes."
"Jesus Christ." My father runs both hands through his hair. "Lena, he's going to kill us. You understand that, right? Once he deals with whatever crisis is happening upstairs, once he doesn't need us as leverage anymore, we're dead."
"He won't." But even as I say it, doubt creeps in like cold water. "He promised."
"And you believe him?" My father's laugh is bitter. "You need to get us out of here now. Before he finds you down here…"