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“I thought you did that on the weekend. Did you?—”

“She’s pregnant.” I cut him off. “She’s hormonal, pregnant, and feeling like she needs me to show her in no uncertain terms how I feel.”

There’s surprise all over his face. “We aren’t normalpeople. There are rules, Demyan. We need to observe them or we can lose everything. And everything includes lives.”

“I’m aware.”

He nods and taps his hand some more. “Pregnant? Not that far along as she’s always too skinny, but… how do you feel about that?”

I grit my teeth. “At first, I was angry, so fucking angry.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t rush into ending the agreement with Sergio.”

“No, not at the fact she’s carrying my child, but… It was a reminder of how much I missed of Sasha’s life and she didn’t tell me right away this time.”

He looks out the window, then at me. “That isn’t her fault. It isn’t yours. It just is, Demyan. Let that anger go. No one knew she would get pregnant and you left a fake name. Being told you were dangerous, a bad man or someone not to get mixed up with, I might not seek you out, either. If I was her. And if you switch places, you’d feel the same. Not to mention the guilt eats her up.”

“Maybe.”

The anger is still there, deep, stubborn strands I know I need to let go of.

“Plus, you punished her to the point of cruelty. The fact she loves you? That’s special. You want that, not old anger.”

“Hospital made you soft.”

“Hospital let me think. And being shot and nearly dying let me figure I should say what I think.”

“Since when don’t you?”

“I have some control.”

I snort. “I am determined to put the past in the past, Ilya. I want to focus on the future. But I can’t do that until this thing with Stefina is over.”

“Because Erin isn’t of our world, she doesn’t get it.”

“No.”

He studies me. “Would you? Marry Stefina if Erin was of our world?”

“No.” I don’t even have to think about it.

And Ilya smiles and closes his eyes. “Good.”

The good vibeslast right up until we pull up at the gate.

There’s a car waiting and I know who it belongs to. Ilya and I exchange a look, but I wind my window down to motion them in.

Stefina shouldn’t be happy at being made to wait for me outside the mansion gates, but there’s a sweet smile on her face, sweet like Stevia, that horrible overly sweet-tasting natural sugar substitute, as she bounces out of the car and waits on the steps as we set Ilya up.

Alina must have said no to letting her in.

Or Erin.

But while Erin’s got backbone, I can’t quite see her pulling that mafia queen move. Alina? Oh yeah.

She has an oversized tote with her.

“Did you hear from Daddy?” she asks me. “It’s such great news and aren’t you glad I went hardcore on picking things out? The wedding’s next week. Daddy said to choose between Friday and Saturday, I’m thinking Saturday.”