Page 23

I freeze outside my father’s study, trying to gather the bravery to step inside. My pulse races at the thought of what I’m about to do. Telling him I’m pregnant with Grigor’s baby feels surreal, like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life. Part of me wants to turn and run, but I can’t ignore the nagging wish that he might still care—just a little—about me or the grandchild he never asked for.

Summoning my courage, I push open the heavy door. He’s behind his desk, leaning forward over a stack of papers. The moment I enter, he glances up, frowning at the intrusion.

“What are you doing here?”

I swallow hard before stepping farther in. “I wanted to talk.”

His fingers drum on the desk. “Make it quick. I have business to attend to.”

The chill in his tone reminds me how precarious our relationship has become. But I press on, determined. “Father, I… I came to tell you something important. It’s about me and Grigor.”

He stiffens at the mention of Grigor’s name. “Still defending that man, are you?”

“I’m not here defending him,” I counter, controlling my voice. “It’s about—I’m pregnant. With his child.”

He stares, and for a fleeting second, I can see the shock in his eyes. But then his features tighten into a look of disgust. “You have the nerve to come here, to my house, and say this as if it changes anything? Don’t expect me to be happy.”

A knot forms in my stomach. “This is your grandchild,” I remind him, forcing the words out. “I thought you’d at least—you might want to know.”

His laugh is low and bitter. “Grandchild. Hah. A traitor’s offspring, more like it.”

Pain twists through me at his dismissive words. “I’m not a traitor. You used me to gather intel on Grigor. You threatened to hurt Cecily. Don’t pretend this is all on me.”

He waves a hand as if to brush aside my argument. “You got close to him anyway, didn’t you? You followed him like a lost puppy. And now you come here with your sob story about a baby. Why should I care? You betrayed me. You chose Grigor. You chose the Barkovs over your own blood.”

“That’s not fair,” I whisper. “I tried to protect you, to keep you from being killed. I told Grigor not to lay a finger on you, and he agreed so long as you stay away.”

He snorts. “I see. So you’re still siding with him.”

“I’m not siding with anyone,” I snap. “I’m trying to prevent more violence. If you’d just talk to him, maybe you two could find common ground. He’s not a monster all the time. He only wants you to stop your war with him. He’d even help you if you’d let him.”

“Help me?” My father’s voice drips with scorn. “What do you think I am, some lost child needing assistance? I’m not interested in handouts from that man or any of his family.”

I clutch the back of a nearby chair, trying to steady myself. “Why are you so obsessed with taking them down? What do you get from it besides more bloodshed?”

His eyes blaze. “They destroyed my alliances, undermined my business, cost me precious deals. They never respected me as an equal. I owe them for that.”

My shoulders slump. “Your pride is going to kill you, Father. This baby—your grandchild—it’s innocent in all this. Won’t you at least consider—”

“Stop,” he growls, standing so swiftly his chair topples back. “Don’t lecture me about innocence. You’re the one who got into bed with that Bratva beast. You’re no daughter of mine.”

My heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise. “What?”

He points a trembling finger at the door. “Leave. If you care so much about that man and his spawn, don’t come back here. You made your choice.”

Tears burn my eyes. I fight the urge to argue, to plead, but I see the finality in his gaze. “Father, please—”

“Get out,” he snarls. “Before I call my men and have you thrown out.”

Stunned into silence, I nod and back toward the door. Part of me wants to shout that he’ll regret this, that he’s throwing away his chance to know his own flesh and blood, but the words die on my lips.

By the time I reach the hallway, tears are slipping down my cheeks. A guard stands there with his eyes averted, likely having overheard every angry word. He doesn’t meet my gaze as I pass.

Once I’m outside, a wave of anguish floods me. My father has disowned me completely. He doesn’t care about my child, about me, about anything but his grudge. I force myself to leave his estate, half-expecting him to fire a shot at my back. But no one stops me. No one says a word.

By the time I get home, I’m drained. My face is blotchy from crying, and all I want is to hide in my room. But the moment I step into the foyer, Galina informs me that Grigor is waiting for me in the living room. She gives me a small, sympathetic smile, like she already guesses I’ve had a hard time.

I find Grigor standing near the fireplace, staring into the flames. He turns when he hears me approach. “You’re back. How did it go?”

I press my lips together, debating what to say. Finally, I shrug. “He disowned me. Called me a traitor. He doesn’t care about the baby.”

Anger crosses Grigor’s face. “He said that?”

“Yes,” I confirm as tears threaten again. “He told me to leave. Said I’m not his daughter anymore.”

Something in Grigor’s posture softens. He crosses the room, placing a cautious hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. Despite everything, you hoped he’d care, right?”

“He’s still my father, even if he hates me.”

“It doesn’t matter. He won’t hurt you, or this child.”

I attempt a weak smile, though my heart aches. “I know. You’ve already promised not to kill him as long as he stays away, so… I guess that’s all we can do.”

He looks at me for a moment, conflict churning behind his eyes. Then he glances around, as if making sure no one else is listening. “Come with me,” he says suddenly, guiding me down the hall.

We reach a side door leading to the garage, where a sleek black car is waiting. My brows knit. “What’s going on?”

He opens the passenger door and steps back. “Get in. I’m taking you out.”

I stare at him, confused. “Now? I’m a mess. I’m not—”

“I said get in, Seraphina. Indulge me.”

Part of me wants to protest, but I don’t have the energy. Maybe a change of scenery is exactly what I need. I slip into the car, and he closes the door behind me. When he climbs behind the wheel, he casts me a sidelong glance with the hint of a grin twitching at his lips. It’s so unlike the usual stern scowl that I can’t help but wonder what he has planned.

Thirty minutes later, we arrive at an upscale restaurant in one of the nicer parts of the city. Everything about it screams luxury—the curved valet ramp, the glittering chandeliers visible through the tall windows, and the doorman who greets us with a polished smile. Grigor hands over the car keys, ignoring the curious look the valet shoots him.

I tug self-consciously at my clothes, wishing I’d dressed better. But Grigor just offers me his arm and leads me inside like we do this all the time. The hostess recognizes him instantly, and she stammers about a private table. He nods, and within minutes, we’re seated in an elegant booth, half-shielded from the rest of the diners.

A polite waiter hands us menus before rattling off specials. I catch only half of it. My mind is still reeling from the day’s events. My father’s rejection, the baby, everything swirling through my head. Grigor studies the menu, then glances at me.

“See anything you like?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I’m not that hungry.”

He sets the menu aside. “You need to eat. The doctor said a balanced diet, right? Order something decent.”

I bristle at the reminder, but it’s softened by the humor in his expression. “Fine.” I scan the menu again and pick a dish that sounds halfway appetizing. Honey-glazed salmon with some fresh greens on the side.

Once our orders are in, Grigor leans back, observing me. “How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I feel?” I snap, a bit sharper than intended. “My father just disowned me, and I’m pregnant with a baby I didn’t plan, living in a mafia war zone. Not exactly the dream scenario.”

He half-smiles, though there’s empathy in his eyes. “Fair enough. I was just checking.”

I sigh, dropping my shoulders. “Sorry. I’m just… It’s been a day.”

He nods and drums his fingers on the table. Then he surprises me by reaching across to take my hand. “I’m trying here, Seraphina. I’m not exactly the romantic type, but I figured I could take you out, maybe distract you from… everything.”

A tiny warmth blossoms in my chest. “You’re not the romantic type at all, but this is… nice. Thank you.”

He lifts a brow. “Don’t spread it around. I have a reputation to maintain.”

I can’t help the small laugh that slips out. “Noted.”

The waiter returns, pouring water and presenting a basket of fresh bread. Grigor thanks him with a curt nod, then focuses on me again. We fall into an unexpected banter, first about the food, then about random details. He tries to tell me about a time Maksim nearly burned down the garage, and I nearly spit out my water laughing. He asks about my childhood with Cecily, and though painful memories stir, I find myself smiling at some of the lighter recollections.

When the main courses arrive, I realize I’m actually hungry. The food is exquisite—perfectly seasoned fish, tender vegetables. I catch Grigor watching me as I take a few bites.

“You don’t always have to stare,” I tease, lifting a forkful to my mouth. “It’s a bit unnerving.”

“Apologies,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Hard to resist when you finally look content.”

I roll my eyes but feel a flutter of pleasure at the comment. For the first time in ages, I relax enough to enjoy a decent meal in his company. The conversation shifts, and we skirt around heavier topics, focusing instead on small glimpses of normalcy. We speak about favorite foods, odd childhood habits, and the music we used to listen to.

His face lights up when he describes his mother’s cooking, how she used to make a stew that could cure any illness. I can’t stop smiling as he recounts a story about Dmitri trying to replicate it and failing miserably. It’s startling to see this side of him—less guarded, more willing to share. I find myself leaning closer, laughing softly at each anecdote.

And then it hits me: I’m enjoying this. I’m enjoying him. The man who threatened me, installed a tracker on my phone, and nearly killed my father. Yet here he is, making me laugh, ensuring I eat, ensuring I’m comfortable. My heart clenches with the realization that somewhere along this tumultuous path, I’ve fallen in love with Grigor Barkov.

The thought both terrifies and exhilarates me. I watch him sip his drink, and I catch the way his gaze flits to my stomach briefly. He promised to spare my father for the sake of this baby, for the sake of me. My father’s disowned me, but maybe… maybe I can create a new family with Grigor, a stable one, in spite of the danger surrounding us.

By the time we finish dessert—a decadent chocolate creation that he insisted I try—my cheeks hurt from smiling. He pays the bill without fuss, then offers his arm, guiding me out. As I clutch his arm, a gentle sense of security washes over me.

“That was… surprisingly wonderful,” I admit, leaning my head against his shoulder for a moment as we walk to the car.

“I try. You deserve a good evening every now and then.”

Emotion wells up in my chest. “Thank you, Grigor. Really. I needed this.”

He nods and stops by the car. Before opening the door, he turns to me, catching my chin with his index finger. “We’ll figure it out, Seraphina. I promise you. Father or not, the Irish or not, we’ll protect this child.”

My eyes mist with tears again, but this time they’re happier tears. “Thank you,” I whisper, leaning in. He surprises me by meeting me halfway and pressing his lips to mine. It’s a gentle kiss, filled with promise, and it makes my toes curl with anticipation.

As he breaks the kiss, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, smiling. There will be plenty more battles and difficult moments, but for now, the air feels less tense, our relationship more solidified.

For the first time, I truly feel like part of the Barkov family.

Grigor opens the door and helps me inside before circling to the driver’s side. The car glides away from the restaurant with the city lights flashing past as we head home. I let my mind wander to a future where this baby grows up safe, maybe in a world where I’m free from my father’s manipulations and Grigor is free from constant battles.

My phone buzzes in my purse, snapping me from my reverie. I fish it out and glance at the caller ID. Cecily. She rarely calls this late unless something’s wrong. I answer quickly. “Cecily? Are you okay?”

Her voice spills through the line in frantic, jumbled fragments. I can barely make out words: “Seraphina—they—I’m—Father—please—help—” The rest disintegrates into sobs and panicked breathing. My heart rate skyrockets.

“Cecily!” I say sharply, trying to keep my voice steady. “What’s happening? Where are you?”

But all I hear is more incoherent crying, a crash in the background, and muffled shouting. My blood runs cold. Grigor must sense my alarm because he casts me a sidelong look as he drives. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Cecily,” I manage, pressing the phone closer to my ear. “She’s… Something’s wrong.”

“What do you hear?”

“Cecily!” I call again, louder this time. “I can’t understand you. Tell me where you are!”

Her sobs continue, and then the call abruptly ends, leaving me holding the silent phone. My stomach twists in terror. I meet Grigor’s eyes with dread clawing at my insides.

He glances between me and the road. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, voice shaking. “She’s in trouble.”