Chapter 154

Tears burn behind my eyes. I blink them back furiously. “When did you get so damn wise?”

“When someone tried to kill me for loving the wrong man.” Her smile is razor-sharp. “Tends to clarify one’s priorities.”

Sofiya babbles loudly, drawing our attention. She’s trying to stack blocks but keeps knocking them over, her tiny face scrunched in concentration.

“Look at her,” Anastasia says quietly. “She has no idea that men with guns guard her playroom. She just knows she’s loved. That her parents would burn down the world to keep her safe.”

“That’s the problem,” I whisper. “We have been burning down the world. And for what? So our children can inherit the ashes?”

“Or perhaps to clear space for something new to grow.” Anastasia squeezes my hand once before releasing it. “The old ways are dying, Rowan. Your man and mine—they’re building something different. Something that might actually last.”

I want to believe her. God, I want to so badly it feels like a physical ache in my chest.

“What if we’re wrong?” I ask, voicing my deepest fear. “What if all we’re doing is perpetuating the cycle? Violence breeding more violence, generation after generation?”

“Then we fail.” She shrugs. “But at least we tried to build something beautiful in the midst of all this ugliness.”

I look at Sofiya. Her dark curls bounce as she knocks over her tower again. The fierce protectiveness I feel for her doesn’t diminish at the thought of another child. If anything, it expands.

“I need to be sure,” I say, more to myself than to Anastasia. “These tests can be wrong. And I want—I need—to process this before I tell Vince.”

“Of course.” Anastasia stands and gathers our teacups. “Though I think you underestimate him. For all his faults, Vincent loves being a father.”

“It’s not that I think he won’t be happy about the baby,” I explain. “It’s that I’m afraid of what he’ll do to protect it. There are lines I’m not sure I want him to cross. Lines I’m not sure I want to cross.”

“Some lines exist to be crossed, Rowan.” Anastasia’s voice hardens. “When it comes to protecting your children, there are no limits. That’s something our men understood long before we did.”

A chill runs down my spine at the steel in her tone. Poised, elegant Anastasia suddenly revealing the fangs behind her perfect smile.

“I’ll get another test tomorrow,” I decide. “Just to be certain. Then I can figure out how to tell him.”

“A wise decision.” She gives me a knowing look. “Though I suspect deep down, you already know the truth.”

My hand drifts unconsciously to my stomach. She’s right—I do know. The same intuition that told me when Sofiya was in danger now whispers that another life has begun inside me.

“How do you do it?” I ask suddenly. “Live with this fear every day without letting it consume you?”

Anastasia considers this, her face serious. “I don’t fight the fear,” she answers finally. “I acknowledge it. I respect it, even. And then I decide that love is worth the risk.” She smiles. It’s a sad, beautiful thing. “Besides, what’s the alternative? To live half a life because we’re afraid of losing it? No, no. That’s not living at all.”

Sofiya chooses that moment to topple her block tower again, this time laughing delightedly at the destruction she’s caused. The sound is so pure, so unburdened, that it pierces straight through my chest.

This is why we do it. This is why we risk everything.

For moments like this. For laughter in the midst of chaos. For love that blooms in the most hostile conditions.

“I should put her down for another nap,” I say, scooping up my daughter. “Thank you, Anastasia.”

She nods. “We’re in this together now, aren’t we? For better or worse.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “We are.”

I take Sofiya back to her crib, her eyelids already drooping with sleep. My fingers brush against my stomach again, and I wonder about the tiny spark that might be kindling there.

“What do you think, Sofi?” I whisper to my drowsy daughter. “Would you like a little brother or sister to boss around?”

She yawns, utterly unconcerned with my existential crisis.

My phone buzzes with a text from Vince: Landed safely. Hotel secure. How’s our girl?

I gaze at the screen for longer than I ought to. What do I say? She’s fine. Oh, and by the way, I might be pregnant again during the worst possible time in our catastrophe of a life?

No. Not yet. Not until I’m absolutely certain. Not until I can deliver the news with conviction rather than fear.

Fever’s gone completely, I type instead. She’s back to destroying block towers and babbling in her secret language.

Three dots appear as Vince types his response. Good. Miss you both.

My throat tightens. Despite everything, he loves us. Truly, deeply loves us.

And that love, twisted as it sometimes may be, is the foundation everything else is built on.

We miss you too, I reply. Come home soon.

I set my phone aside and watch Sofiya sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll get another test to confirm what my body already knows.

But today… Today, I’ll allow myself to imagine a future where our children play without armed guards watching from the shadows. Where Vince’s smile comes easier and stays longer. Where we build something that outlasts the destruction we’ve caused.

“Is this a fantasy?” I whisper to the ceiling. “Or is it a map to somewhere we could actually go?”

From the doorway, Anastasia’s voice startles me. “The difference between fantasy and reality,” she says softly, “is simply a matter of how badly you want it—and what you’re willing to sacrifice to make it happen.”

I turn to find her leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. In the dim light of the nursery, her expression is unreadable.

“And what if the sacrifice is too great?” I ask. “What if the price is our souls?”

Her smile is knife-sharp in the shadows. “Oh, Rowan,” she says, “haven’t you realized yet? We gave those up a long time ago.”

40

ROWAN

I sleep like shit that night. My stomach stays tied up in knots and my head is even worse than that. Hours tick by like molasses.

The problem is that, somewhere along the line, I’ve started to want this baby.

It goes against all sense and all reason, but the heart wants what it wants, you know? Try talking it out of that. I’ve never had any luck on that front.

So when the gray dreariness of dawn finally sneaks through the curtains, I get out of bed and creep back into the bathroom.

I squat and pee, just because I need to see it one more time before I can start to figure out what to say to Vince.

Now, the pregnancy test I bought yesterday sits on the bathroom counter— sleek, clinical, impersonal. The harbinger of fate disguised as a plastic stick.

Three minutes until my life gets rocked yet again. They go by insanely slow.

I remember Anastasia’s words from yesterday: “The difference between fantasy and reality is simply a matter of how badly you want it—and what you’re willing to sacrifice to make it happen.”