Page 122 of Twisted Pact

I reach for her hand and tug her just hard enough to stop her from continuing forward. “Is that really all you see when you look at what we have? Disaster?”

She won’t even look at me as she says, “No. But I see a future that looks exactly like my mother’s past. And that terrifies me more than any threat Novikov could make.”

I let go of her hand and she rushes to her room, leaving me in a hallway that feels colder than it should. Or maybe that’s just the chill settling in my chest from realizing the woman I love might leave me.

I return to my temporary office and pull up intelligence reports. Novikov’s activities over the past week show increased coordination with families we hadn’t previously identified as threats. The coalition is growing faster than we anticipated.

And Mila is questioning whether staying with me is worth the cost.

I can’t fix both problems simultaneously, but I can damn well try.

33

Mila

I lie in bed staring at the concrete ceiling and replaying every conversation from the past forty-eight hours on an endless loop.

Mama’s warnings about breaking under the stress. Papa’s regrets about failing to protect her. Anna being targeted because she knows me. Alexei standing in that hallway, looking like I’d just gutted him, when I suggested I might leave.

I don’t even know if I meant it.

My hand moves to my stomach. It’s still flat, with no visible evidence of the life growing inside me, but Dr. Orlov’s warnings echo through my mind. My body is trying to tell me something, just like my mother said.

Mama left behind her daughters and her marriage because the stress was killing her. Papa stayed, but he admits now that he made the wrong choices.

What the hell am I supposed to do with that information?

I throw off the covers. Sleep isn’t happening when my brain won’t stop spinning through scenarios and outcomes and fears I can’t articulate.

The hallway is dark and empty. Alexei’s bedroom door stands open, and I see his bed hasn’t been touched. Water is running behind his bathroom door.

I should go back to my room. Give him space. But my feet carry me forward anyway, because the only thing worse than feeling overwhelmed is feeling overwhelmed and alone.

My hand hovers over the bathroom door handle. Once I cross this threshold, I’m admitting something. Admitting that I need him despite my fears and my very legitimate concerns about repeating my parents’ mistakes.

I turn the handle and step inside anyway.

Steam fills the small space, and the mirror is fogged. Alexei stands under the spray with his back to me, water streaming over his shoulders and down the muscles I’ve memorized with my fingers and tongue. The bandage on his shoulder is gone. The wound looks angry and red, but it’s healing.

He got shot rescuing my father, and I repaid him by suggesting I might leave.

“Mila?” He turns around, and water trickles down his chest and abs, making my mouth water. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”

“No. The baby’s fine.” I pull my T-shirt over my head and drop it on the floor. “I just couldn’t sleep knowing you’re somewhere in this bunker thinking I’m going to leave you.”

His throat moves as he swallows hard. “Are you? Going to leave?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not.” I reach behind my back and unhook my bra. “But tonight, I’m here. And I need you to make me stop thinking for a little while.”

The bra joins my shirt on the floor. Alexei’s gaze travels over my body, and his pupils dilate as he takes in my breasts. His blue-grey irises go dark with want, but he doesn’t move.

I hold eye contact through the shower door as I shimmy out of my underwear and kick them aside. He doesn’t say a word as I open it and step inside. The hot water hits my skin, and I close my eyes for a moment to just feel it wash away the anxiety and fear and crushing weight of impossible decisions.

When I open my eyes, Alexei is watching me.

“Tell me what you need,” he prompts.

“Just you.”