Chapter 152

“No.” She stands, bristling with restrained fury. “You’re protecting yourself from your own fear.”

“That’s not —”

“It is. This isn’t about Sofiya. It’s about you not being able to control the fact that sometimes, children get sick. You know what, Vince? Sometimes, bad things happen that have nothing to do with enemies or threats or your father or mine. Bad shit just happens.”

“You think I’m wrong.”

“I think you’re terrified.”

I step closer, towering over her. “And if you’re wrong? If this isn’t just a fever? If someone did get to her?”

“Then we’d know by now. The tests would have found something.” She doesn’t back down. “This is exactly what the doctors said it is: a virus. Nothing more.”

“You’re too willing to believe that.”

“And you’re too willing to believe the worst.” She turns back to Sofiya, dipping the cloth in cool water again. “You see threats everywhere, Vince. Even where they don’t exist.”

Before I can respond, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

“I have to take this.” I step into the hallway, closing the door behind me. “Report,” I snap into the phone.

“We’ve got a situation at the Costa Rica site,” Dimitri’s voice is tight with controlled urgency. “Solovyov’s men hit the latest shipment. Three of our guys are dead and there’s about one point two mil of cargo missing.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose as a headache swarms in. “Lock it down. No one in or out. I want identification on every Solovyov operative involved.”

“Already working on it. But Vin—” He hesitates. “This was coordinated with local authorities. Someone’s been feeding them intel.”

“Deal with it to the best of your ability. I’ll check in when I can.”

I end the call and stand motionless in the hall. I want to believe in a world where bad things happen only by accident and then go away just as quickly.

But I don’t.

I don’t believe in that shit at all.

I return to Sofiya’s room, where Rowan is still perched beside the bed. “We need to talk. Now.”

She must hear something in my voice, because she follows me to the corner of the room without argument.

“Solovyovs hit the Costa Rica shipment,” I tell her quietly. “Three of our men are dead.”

Her jaw drops. “When?”

“Two hours ago, according to Dimitri. They had inside information. Local police cooperation.”

Understanding dawns on her face. “You think this is connected to Sofiya’s fever.”

“I think it’s a distraction. Get us focused here, vulnerable to attack there.” I run a hand through my hair. “I need to go to the office. I need to contain this.”

“Go.” Her face hardens with resolve. “I’ll stay with her.”

“I’m leaving six men. Full security protocols remain in place.”

“Fine. But handle the real threat. I can manage the imagined one.”

The barb stings, but I let it go. There’s no time for arguments when real blood has already been spilled.

I kiss Sofiya’s forehead, still too warm beneath my lips. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“We’ll be here.” Rowan’s voice softens slightly. “Do what you need to do.”

I go to inform my head of security on-site about the situation. It’s a quick conversation, but I detour on the way back to stop by Sofiya’s room once more.

I’m at the doorway when I hear a voice. Rowan’s voice, specifically.

She’s talking to Sofi, whispering. “… just that, sometimes, I wonder if your father’s protection is worth the cost.”

I freeze, my hand hovering over the keyboard. She keeps talking, but I can’t hear her voice over the roar of angry, anguished blood in my ears.

Because deep down, behind the walls I’ve built around my heart, I’ve started to wonder the same thing.

39

ROWAN

A mother knows when the monsters retreat.

After forty-eight hours of hell, Sofiya’s fever breaks like a wave crashing against the shore—violent at first, then gradually receding until only a subtle warmth remains.

The doctors confirm for the umpteenth time what I already knew: that it was just a virus, nothing sinister. Definitely nothing engineered by our growing list of enemies. No poison, no attack. Just the ordinary, run-of-themill suffering that comes with being human.

Ordinary. What a fucking concept.

I watch Vince touch his lips to our daughter’s forehead one last time before he leaves for Costa Rica. His eyes are still haunted by doubt. Even with proof in hand, he can’t bring himself to believe that sometimes, bad things simply happen without malice behind them.

“I’ll call when I land,” he says without meeting my eyes.

“Take as long as you need.” I don’t mean for it to sound dismissive, but it does. “The situation there sounds complicated.”

“Three days. Four at most.” His hand lingers on the doorframe. “Full security detail remains in place. Don’t leave the compound without —” “Without an armed escort, emergency protocols, and my tracking necklace.” I finish his sentence with a tight smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I know the drill, Vince.”

His jaw twitches. “This isn’t a game, Rowan.”

“Trust me,” I say with a grimace. “I’m painfully aware.”

After he’s gone, the compound feels emptier, but I breathe easier. Without Vince’s suffocating paranoia coating every surface, the air feels less heavy.

I tuck Sofiya into her crib for her nap. I can’t stop myself from checking again and again, but every time I do, her forehead remains mercifully cool beneath my palm.

I should sleep, too. God knows I need it after the hospital nightmare.

But as I stand to leave, an unexpected wave of nausea hits me like a sucker punch. I barely make it to the bathroom before emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

When I stand on shaky legs and rinse my mouth, a thought forms, unwelcome and intrusive.

Didn’t I experience this exact same nausea before? About, oh… ten months ago?

I stare at my reflection, counting backwards. My period is late. Not alarming on its own—stress does weird things to a woman’s body, and it’s the understatement of the year to say I’ve been stressed. But combined with the nausea…

“No,” I whisper to my ghost-white reflection. “Not now.”

But my body has already made the decision without consulting me.

Cut to a few panic-stricken minutes later. I’m staring at a pregnancy test I stole from the back of my bathroom cabinet. Two perfectly pink lines stare back at me, clinical and unambiguous.