Page 41

SOPHIE

I’m on my mat, arms shaking in downward dog, sweat slicking my spine.

Beside me, Nati flows through the poses like it’s second nature, like she’s floating. Her sports bra clings to her full breasts, her leggings hugging every curve of her hips and ass with perfection.

I shouldn’t be staring, but it’s impossible not to. I wonder if I’ll ever look like that again, tight, toned, and like pregnancy never touched her.

A bitter flicker of jealousy burns in my chest.

There’s a glow on her skin, not just from the heat but from confidence. She looks like she’s never carried a child, never lost a night of sleep. I hate how effortless it seems, how she floats through motherhood with that body while I’m still trying to make peace with the one I’m growing.

God, I haven’t even have a bump yet, haven’t even changed at all, and already I miss what it used to be. How messed up is that?

I hope I bounce back like that. But if my genes have anything to say about it, I’ll be bloated and leaking and hiding in sweatpants for months.

"How do you not have a mom bod after a baby?" I ask, panting. "You look disgustingly sexy."

She laughs, cheeks flushed. "Genetics, I guess. Or trauma."

The words hang strangely in the air.

My chuckle comes out half-hearted, and I glance over at her.

She’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

We move into warrior two.

I try to focus on the instructor’s voice, on my breathing, on not toppling over. But something’s off.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flicker of something in Nati’s face. A twitch of her jaw, the hard line of her mouth.

She’s staring ahead, too focused, too composed. The bright, bubbly glow she wore when we walked in is gone, like someone dimmed the switch. Maybe I triggered her somehow. I should apologize.

Class ends with a guided meditation, and when the lights dim, I lie back, heart racing.

Nati reaches over and squeezes my hand.

“You’re stronger than you think,” she whispers.

The words should be comforting. Instead, they curl into my gut.

“So are you. And I’m sorry if I said anything that hurt you.”

“We’re good.” She smiles, but it doesn’t really reach her eyes.

After class, we walk out into the bright afternoon, hair damp, mats slung over our shoulders.

Nati suggests smoothies from a place down the block. “Best recovery drink in the city.”

She flashes me that sunny grin again. This one seems more real.

She’s animated, warm again. Telling me about her baby’s milestones. No strange looks. No clipped words. Just... normal.

I’m happy I apologized and we were able to move past whatever was making her sad.

We sip our smoothies in silence for a beat, watching a dog in a sweater chase pigeons across the sidewalk.

“So,” Nati says, breaking the quiet. “I want to ask, but you totally don't have to answer if you're not comfortable."

I nod. "Go ahead, ask away."

"Is the dad still in the picture?”

I pause, fingers tightening around the cup. “It’s... complicated. We’re working things out.”

Nati hums, not quite judgmental, but definitely skeptical.

“Just don’t hold your breath too long,” she says, her voice light but edged. “Sometimes they leave a good thing chasing the next thrill. Mine did.”

I glance at her, surprised. “Yeah?”

She shrugs, eyes on the horizon. “It sucked. But I’ve moved on. He’s not worth the ink in my journals anymore.” She looks at me and grins. “Besides, I’ve met my baby bestie now.”

I laugh, caught off guard by how sincere she sounds.

But something prickles beneath my skin. Almost as if her words are a little too pointed, laced with something more personal than casual conversation. A little too close to a wound I haven’t stopped bleeding from yet.

As we sit on a bench sipping mango-ginger blends, she leans in. “Hey, I’ve got some baby stuff I’ve been meaning to donate. Bottles, clothes, even a bassinet, barely used.”

“Oh? That’s really sweet of you.”

She waves it off. “It’s just sitting in storage.

Might as well go to someone who’ll use it.

Besides, during the early ages, things are too expensive, and the babies outgrow them in a couple of weeks, so why not help a friend?

And if you can save some in that, you should. Diapers alone will kill your wallet.”

I hesitate for a second because I have a hard time accepting people might want to help other people without demanding or costing us something in return.

But her smile is warm. Open.

I want so bad to believe people can be kind just to be kind. And this is Nati. She has been a great friend since day one.

“Maybe I could take a look at all that you have one of these days.”

“Why not now? It’s not like we’re in a hurry to go anywhere.”

I hesitate, but eventually, I nod. “Sure. Lead the way.”

We start walking and turn onto a quieter street.

I glance over at her. “So, who’s watching the baby?”

“My dad.” She sips her smoothie. “He’s been super supportive. Loves being a grandpa.”

I nod slowly. “That’s... nice.”

And it is. It really is.

A quiet ache creeps into my chest as I think of my own dad, of how messy things were between us. How maybe we’re finding our way back.

Maybe I’ll have that kind of support from him in the future.

She smiles, but it flickers. “Yeah. We’ve come a long way.”

The street she leads us down feels emptier with each step. Narrower. Quieter. And I keep to my thoughts for a bit.

Then we reach her building.

We climb the stairs, our mats bumping against the narrow walls, footsteps echoing in the quiet staircase.

Nati’s says something about pediatricians and sleep training, but her voice feels distant, like I’m hearing it through water.

My throat tightens. and my stomach knots.

Nati’s apartment is... cold. Not in temperature, but in atmosphere. The lights are too bright. The air smells faintly of lemon cleaner, like someone trying too hard to erase something.

The door clicks shut behind us.

As I look around us, I notice how tidy the place is.

No baby toys. No bottles. No half-folded laundry or burp cloths or pacifiers tucked into couch cushions. No framed photos, no drawings, no signs of life at all, just a pristine couch, a spotless coffee table, and walls too white to feel lived-in.

It’s like stepping into a staged apartment. The kind people tour before they decide if they want to pretend they belong.

"Did you just move in?"

"Nope, I've been here for a few months now."

“And you said your baby's with your dad right now?”

Nati turns slowly, her smile flat and strange. “Did I?”

The air drops a few degrees. My skin prickles.

I grab my phone from my pocket acting on instinct.

She watches me for a second too long, and then, in one clean, vicious motion, she snatches my phone from my hand and hurls it across the room.

It slams into the wall with a loud crack, screen shattering on impact.

My heart lurches.

I take a step back.

She watches me with wide, unblinking eyes. Then she laughs, a sharp, joyless sound that echoes too long in the stark room.

"Were you going to call the baby daddy to come save you?" She takes a step closer. "He’ll leave you the same way he left me."

My breath catches.

Something changes in her face. Her features harden, the sweet mask she wore all morning cracking down the middle.

Her smile is gone. Her jaw tightens. There’s a strange flicker in her eyes, something unhinged. Familiar.

That same look she had during yoga class that I thought I misinterpreted.

But now I’m sure of it. That unease, the flicker of something cruel beneath the kindness.

It was a warning.

And I missed it.

She tilts her head, grin widening into something feral. “Did you enjoy the love letters I sent?” she purrs. “I’m still a little sad Alessio never wrote back.”

My stomach turns to ice.

She starts pacing, no, stalking, across the room, laughing maniacally. It’s sharp, high, cracked around the edges.

“He should’ve. I mean, I put so much effort into those little notes. And the one at your apartment? That was my favorite.” She clutches her chest like it’s a romantic gesture.

Then her smile drops.

“I’m honestly surprised my father hasn’t killed him yet.”

The blood drains to my feet. “Your… father?”

She pauses, eyes gleaming. “Mikhail Orlov ring a bell?” Her tone is sing-song. “He’s got a reputation, I hear.”

It crashes into me like a freight train.

Nati. Natalia. The Bratva boss’s daughter.

My breath catches. “You’re…”

She shrugs. “Princess of the fucking underworld, I guess. Had to switch up the look, of course.” She gestures vaguely at her face. “New hair, new wardrobe. Made myself unrecognizable to stay close. You wouldn’t believe what a little mascara and Pilates can do.”

Natalia’s pacing sharpens.

I can’t think of her as Nati anymore. Nati was a friend. This woman, Natalia, is a monster.

Her voice turns low, guttural. “He fucked me and forgot me. Like I was disposable. Like I meant nothing.”

Her eyes lock on mine, venom flashing. “And then he falls in love with you ?”

I stay still, trying to breathe evenly. “Natalia, you need help—”

“Shut up!” she shrieks, her whole body vibrating. “He ruined me. So now, I ruin you.”

She’s panting, wild-eyed, trembling. Her lips curl, and her voice drops to a guttural rasp.

“Everyone keeps saying I need help. Like I’m crazy.”

She laughs then, raw and manic.

“I’m not fucking crazy. I’m the only one who ever saw him for what he really was. And he threw me away.”

She reaches into her purse with a jerky movement and pulls out a knife.

My heart nearly stops.

“Okay,” I whisper, palms up, backing toward the door. “You don’t want to do this.”

Her smile is gone now. Her eyes are fire and madness. “You don’t get to have him!”

And then, she lunges.

I dodge just in time, her blade slicing air where my ribs were a second ago.

She crashes into the end table behind me, knocking over a lamp.

I sprint for the door, but she’s faster than I expect, fueled by rage and madness.

She grabs the back of my shirt and yanks hard.

I stumble, barely catching myself before I hit the ground.

The knife flashes again.

I grab the nearest thing, her smoothie cup, and throw it at her face. It hits her shoulder and splatters across her shirt. It slows her down just enough.

I twist free, scrambling behind the couch, heart slamming in my chest.

“You think he’ll save you? He’s not coming. No one is.”

My breath is shallow, my limbs shaking. But I force myself to stand tall, to keep moving.

Because I’m not going down without a fight.

I quickly make my way around the couch in one step, and I duck as she lunges again, using her momentum to shove her sideways.

She stumbles, crashes into the floor, and I make a break for the door a second time.

My hand reaches for the doorknob, but she grabs my ankle.

I hit the floor hard, unguarded, unprotected, face and belly first, breath whooshing from my lungs.

I roll to my back, but she’s on top of me in seconds, pinning me with terrifying force.

One knee traps my hand while she grips the other, holding me down.

The knife shakes in her free hand as she raises it, the blade glinting inches from my face.

Slowly, she draws the blade down, hovering inches from my belly.

My baby.

My heart and my breath cease at the same time.

This isn’t just about Alessio anymore. This is life and death.

"Please don't. Not my baby," I cry out.

"It didn't have to end up like this, Sophie."

My heart sinks. It's over. This is the end.

And in an unbidden moment, my mind goes to Alessio.

I love him, and I'll never see him again. We'll never meet our child.

A tear slides down my face.

A bang makes me jump as the door slams open.

The most beautiful voice I know cries out, "Shit! Sophie."

Alessio bursts in, Nikolai right behind him.

Natalia freezes, her entire body stiffening.

Alessio closes the distance between us in one stride, grabbing her hand welding the knife and shoves her off me with a force that sends her skidding backward across the hardwood floor.

Before she can recover, Nikolai kicks the knife away and pins her with swift, brutal efficiency. He grabs his phone, his voice cold and sharp as steel.

"We have her. Address confirmed."

I sit upright, my limbs trembling.

Alessio’s hands are all over me, checking, holding, grounding. He pulls me into his chest like he needs to feel every part of me to believe I’m real.

“Are you okay? God, Sophie. I’m so sorry. I never should’ve left. I should’ve—”

I clutch his shirt, unable to speak through the sobs building in my throat. I’m shaking. From fear. From adrenaline. From the impossible weight of what just happened.

I jerk as a sharp, low ache pulses through my stomach.

A hot, wet sensation trails down my leg.

I pull back just enough to look, and I freeze.

“Alessio…” My voice is barely a breath. “No, no, no, no…”

“Sophie, what—?”

He follows my gaze.

Blood. Dark and spreading.

His eyes go wide.

“The baby…” My voice breaks, a bolt of pain slicing through my abdomen.

I gasp, clutching at Alessio’s shirt as a dull pressure builds low in my belly, wrong, heavy, terrifying. My thighs are slick with blood, and panic claws at my throat like I’m drowning in it.

He’s already lifting me into his arms, cradling me like I’m made of glass. “Hold on, dolcezza. Just hold on.”

“I’m scared,” I whisper against his chest, tears falling freely now.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Nikolai’s voice rings out behind us, while on the phone with one of his men.

“Get the damn car. Now!”

Alessio’s grip tightens. My world tilts.

And everything fades to darkness.