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“Enough!” Aleksandr thunders. “You’ve been putting yourself and your child at risk in the process.” His voice lowers, but his eyes blaze. “Dimitri would want you safe. Above all else.”

“Dimitri would want to be free,” I retort, anger burning away my exhaustion. “And I'm not stopping until he is.”

Aleksandr takes a step closer, his frame blocking the light, engulfing me in shadow. “This isn't a debate, Sandy. It's done.”

“Unless you're planning to lock me in a room with armed guards,” I hiss, meeting his gaze without flinching, “then this conversation is pointless.”

I can see the calculation in Aleksandr’s eyes. Evaluating the risk and determining exactly where my limit lies. What he sees in mine must give him pause because, after a brief silence, his posture shifts ever so slightly.

“You're just like him,” he says, surprising me. “Stubborn to the point of stupidity.”

I don’t back down. “I'm getting him out. With or without your help.”

Lev clears his throat, drawing our attention.

“Perhaps a compromise, pakhan, ” he suggests, his calm voice cutting through the tension between Aleksandr and me.

“Sandy is smart and clearly has skills we've underestimated with passion that can't be contained.” He gestures to the evidence spread across the desk. “This proves that.”

Aleksandr's jaw tightens. “Your point?”

“Let her continue the investigation,” Lev explains. “But from the safety of the estate. Research. Phone calls. No more undercover operations. No more putting herself in the line of fire.”

The baby kicks hard as if voting in favor of Lev's proposal. I place a hand over my stomach, feeling the small life that depends on me making the right choice.

“I can't just sit around reading files,” I argue, though with less heat than before. “Not when Dimitri?—”

“Dimitri would want you alive,” Aleksandr cuts in. “He'd want his child alive. And if you truly want to help him, then you'll focus your considerable talents on work that doesn't involve putting yourself in Morozov's crosshairs.”

I look between Aleksandr and Lev, then to Peter, who has remained tactfully silent during our exchange. The attorney's expression is neutral, but his eyes hold a warning I can’t ignore.

“On one condition,” I concede. “You keep me in the loop. Everything you find, everything you do, I want to know about it. No secrets.”

Aleksandr studies me. Then, surprisingly, he nods. “Agreed. But in return, you stay within the estate grounds. No more sneaking out. No more solo missions.”

The terms feel like a prison sentence, but I know it is the best offer I'll get. And deep down, I know he is right.

“Fine,” I agree, extending my hand formally. “I'll stop putting myself in dangerous situations. But I won't stop fighting for him.”

Aleksandr takes my hand, his grip firm but not crushing. “I'd expect nothing less,” he states. I think I see something like admiration flash in his eyes, hidden beneath layers of frustration and concern. “Now get some rest. You look like hell.”

Despite everything, a small laugh escapes me. “Thanks for the compliment.”

As I turn to leave, Peter calls out, “Sandy?”

I pause at the door, looking back at him.

“What you did tonight,” he says carefully, “was incredibly brave. And incredibly foolish. But it may have just given us the break we needed.”

The words settle over me like a balm, easing some of the ache that has been my constant companion since Dimitri's arrest. I nod once, too overwhelmed to speak and slip out of the office.

The hallway stretches before me, grand and empty. My legs feel like lead as I trudge toward the stairs, the adrenaline that had carried me through the night finally draining away. Every step is an effort, every breath a reminder of how much I risked. And how much I gained.

Halfway up the staircase, I hear footsteps behind me. Talia stands at the bottom, her silk robe drawn tightly around her, her eyes wide with worry and relief.

“I heard you come in,” she says softly. “Aleksandr told me what you did.”

I brace for another lecture, too tired to defend my actions again. But instead, she climbs the stairs in silence, stops at my side, and pulls me into a fierce, unexpected hug.

“You're the most stubborn, reckless person I've ever known,” she says, but her voice holds no anger, only a tired acceptance. “And I've never been more proud to call you my sister.”

Tears prick behind my eyes, hot and sudden. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear those words until they were spoken. “I had to try,” I whisper.

“I know.” She hugs me tighter. “Come on. Let's get you cleaned up and into bed. You look like crap,” she added, her voice softer than her words.

“I feel like it, too,” I admit as we continue up the stairs. “But it was worth it. We're closer now. I can feel it.”

Behind the closed door of my room, I peel away the mask I’d painted on. The heavy foundation and dramatic eye makeup disappear under gentle strokes of a makeup wipe, revealing the woman beneath. Tired, determined, and more terrified than I want anyone to know.

As I slip under the covers, my hand reaches my stomach again, cradling the bump that grows more pronounced each day.

“We're getting closer,” I whisper to our child. “Daddy's coming home soon. I promise.”

I close my eyes, letting exhaustion claim me at last, dreaming of Dimitri's arms around me and of our family whole again.

Morning comes too soon, sunlight streams through the curtains I forgot to close.

I blink awake, momentarily disoriented by the softness of the sheets and the stillness of the room.

For a blissful second, I forget everything.

The arrest, prison, the desperate fight for justice.

For just one heartbeat, I expect to roll over and find Dimitri beside me, his face peaceful in sleep, his arm instinctively reaching for me.

Reality crashes back with brutal clarity. The empty space beside me. The silence where his breathing should be. The cold sheets where his warmth belongs.

I push myself up, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles. My disguise from the night before lay abandoned on a chair, a stranger's clothes still holding the stale scent of cigarettes and cheap whiskey from the bar. Evidence of what I did and the risks I took.

A soft knock at the door draws my attention. “Come in,” I call, pulling the blankets higher.

Lev enters, his massive frame making the doorway seem smaller than it is. Unlike Aleksandr, who wears his power like a second skin, Lev carries his strength with a quiet dignity that is somehow just as intimidating. He looks like he’s been awake for hours, his shirt crisp, his expression alert.

“Morning,” he greets, crossing to the window, where he stands, looking out rather than directly at me. It's a small courtesy that I appreciate in my disheveled state. “I thought you'd want to know we've started following up on your evidence.”

I sit up straighter, instantly awake. “And?”

“The recording has been analyzed. It's clean with no signs of tampering or editing. Peter had copies made and secured in multiple locations.” He turns slightly, his profile silhouetted against the morning light.

“As for the photos, they've been enhanced.

We can clearly identify both Petrov and Kiril.

The envelope is visible, though we can't determine its contents.”

Hope stirs in my chest, fragile but persistent. “What about the money trail? Have you?—”

“We secured someone inside Petrov's office,” he cuts in, turning to face me fully. “A paralegal who's on our payroll now. She's going to access his financial records today.”

My breath hitches. “That's...that's good, right? If we can prove the payments?—”

“If,” Lev emphasizes, his expression guarded. “It's still a significant ‘if,’ Sandy. Men like Petrov don't typically leave paper trails.”

I push the covers aside, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “But they make mistakes. Everyone does. Especially when they think they're untouchable.”

A ghost of a smile touches Lev's lips. “Yes, they do.” He moves toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Aleksandr wanted me to remind you of your promise. No more sneaking out.”

“I remember,” I mutter, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. “I'm effectively under house arrest.”

“You're under protection,” he corrects. “There's a difference.”

I sigh, rubbing my temple where a headache is beginning to form. “What am I supposed to do, now? Just sit here and wait? I'll go crazy.”

“You'll help us from here,” he says simply. “You have a good eye. You took those photos. You got Russo talking when our people couldn't get near him.” He taps his finger against the door frame in a rare show of hesitation. “Use that mind of yours. Just do it where we can keep you safe.”

After he leaves, I sit there in silence, his words echoing in my mind.

I might be confined to the estate, but that doesn’t mean I’m powerless.

I have a laptop, a phone, and a will that refuses to break.

I have the fierce, burning love for Dimitri that has driven me this far.

And I have a promise to keep to our child that they will know their father, not just in stories but in flesh and blood, in arms that will hold them and a voice that will soothe them.

I shower quickly, washing away the last traces of last night, and dress in comfortable jeans that still fit over my growing bump and a soft sweater that Dimitri once said brings out the blue in my eyes.

When I enter the kitchen, Talia is gently spooning mashed bananas into Angelina's mouth. My niece’s face lights up the second she sees me, her tiny hands shooting into the air, fingers wiggling, cheeks dimpled with delight as she babbles excitedly.

The pure, unfiltered joy on her face hits me like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, warm, healing, and exactly what I didn’t know I needed.

Sasha and Maxim sit at the table halfway through their breakfast, offering cheerful mumbles of “Good morning,” around mouthfuls of eggs.

“Where’s Aleksandr?” I ask, wrapping my hands around the warm mug Abram passes to me. I’m grateful for the coffee's comfort and the brief distraction it offers.

“On the phone in his office,” Talia answers. “He's been in there since dawn.”

I nod, sipping the coffee slowly, savoring the warmth and the bitter tang. “Any word on the case? Lev said they're following up on my evidence.”

Talia glances toward the doorway, checking to ensure we are alone, then lowers her voice. “Lev has someone inside Petrov's office. They're looking for financial records.”

“He told me that much,” I grumble. “But what about the judge? If he's as corrupt as Peter thinks?—”

“They're working on that too,” she assures me, her eyes softening. “I know you want to be in the middle of everything, but sometimes the best thing you can do is step back and let Aleksandr handle it.”

“That's what everyone keeps telling me,” I mutter, staring into my coffee cup. “I just feel so useless sitting here.”

Talia reaches across the table, her hand finding mine. “You're growing Dimitri's child,” she says gently. “That's not nothing.”

I squeeze her hand, grateful for the reminder. “I know. I just wish I could do more.”

“You've already done more than you should have,” she says, a hint of rueful pride in her voice.

Before I can respond, the kitchen door swings open. Aleksandr strides in, his phone clutched in one hand, his expression tight with excitement.

“We've got something,” he announces without preamble. “The paralegal found transactions. Regular payments from an offshore account to both Russo and Judge Hargrove.”

My heart leaps, coffee forgotten. “Can we trace it back to Petrov? To Morozov?”

“Not directly,” he admits. “But the timing coincides perfectly with Dimitri's arrest. And there's more. Emails between Petrov and the judge discussing the case in detail, weeks before charges were even filed.”

I stand so quickly that my chair nearly topples. “That's it then! That's enough to get the case thrown out, isn't it?”

Aleksandr's expression is cautious, but I can see hope burning behind his eyes. “It's enough to demand a review. Peter's already drafting the motion. If all goes well, we could have Dimitri home within days.”

Days. The word rings in my ears like a bell, beautiful and terrifying all at once. After weeks of hell, after nights of crying myself to sleep with my hand over my growing belly, Dimitri can be home in days.

“I want to see the evidence,” I decide, my voice steadier than I feel. “All of it. I want to know exactly what we're working with.”

Aleksandr studies me for a moment, then nods. “In my office. Fifteen minutes.”

As he turns to leave, I call after him, “Aleksandr?”

He pauses, looking back at me over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “For not giving up on him.”

A shadow crosses his face, deep and painful. “He's my brother,” he says simply. Then he is gone, leaving behind a heavy silence.

Talia squeezes my hand once more before letting go. “See? Progress.”

I nod, the first genuine smile in weeks, tugging at my lips. “Progress,” I echo. “Finally.”

As I head for the office, my hand instinctively finds its way to my stomach again, cradling the small life within. “Did you hear that, little one?” I whisper. “Daddy's coming home.”

For the first time since Dimitri had been taken from us, I allow myself to believe it might be true.

We are so close I can almost feel him beside me again, his arms around me, his voice in my ear promising that everything will be alright.

And this time, I won’t stop until that promise becomes reality.