Page 114 of The Lazarov Bratva

I’m sure he loves me in his own way, but not enough to care about what I want.

As per Kristof's request, Chek and Andrev don’t leave my side. They follow me up the stairs like shadows, but thankfully, they don’t follow me into my bedroom. They take up posts at the door, one on either side, and while Andrev flashes me a tight smile as if trying to make me feel better, it doesn’t help.

The bedroom is cold and quiet. The curtains hang by the window like dark streaks and the bed still has unruly sheets from my night of tossing and turning. It’s insane to think that hours ago, when I woke up here and complained quietly that Kristof hadn’t come to bed, I’d be back here with the man I love off to confront my father.

Kristof left with Ivan and Nastja. His kiss lingers like a ghost on my lips, and I lightly caress my lower lip as I replay the kiss in my mind. What if it’s our last one?

What if he doesn’t come back?

“No,” I scold myself in a whisper. “Stop it.”

I won’t think about that. I won’t think about how, if Kristof fails, I’ll be back behind gilded bars, facing down a marriage to Mikhail. I’ll be a resurrected pawn on the chessboard of the Orlov family games, and this bright future I’ve found will be snuffed out.

I won’t survive Mikhail. Timid old me might have, but the woman I am now? No chance.

I tell myself over and over not to think about it.

I fail.

The harder I try, the more thoughts of Kristof plague me. The thought of him facing down my father and the might of the Pakhan’s security makes my stomach twist into knots. I don’t know what his plan is. He refused to tell me.

Will they talk? Will they discuss everything that’s happened and find a way to move forward that’s for the good of the family? Or will they come to blows, ending their lives in a hail of gunfire?

My stomach rolls painfully. Acid floods up my throat, and I barely make it to the sink in the ensuite before I’m throwing up. My body convulses as if trying to purge those very thoughts from my body. Nothing escapes me but bile that I wash away with the turn of the tap. Heat prickles up my spine, and sweat breaks out across my forehead as I slump against the counter, bracing on both hands.

The chill of the counter brings little relief, and a tremble shakes through me, head to toe, as another rush of bile sweeps up and hits the sink.

“Fuck,” I croak softly, wiping the corner of my mouth.

“Alena?” Alyona’s voice drifts through the door. Then, her face peeks through. I lift my gaze and smile weakly at her in the mirror.

“Everything okay?” Andrev appears next, pushing the door open wide with his rifle raised as if expecting to find some sort of assassin hiding in the bathtub.

“I’m fine,” I assure them both, pouring water into the cup by the sink. “I’m just stressed.”

“Alright.” Andrev gives the bathroom a once-over with his gun raised, then he retreats to the bedroom, but this time, he doesn’t leave. He lingers near the window, half shrouded in the curtain as he stares out at the grounds below.

“Still sick?” Alyona tsks softly and busies herself around me, refilling my water cup with colder water and ushering me to sit on the toilet.

“It’s stress this time, I swear,” I say as she presses the cup into my hand.

“Have you taken the test?”

“Now is hardly the time,” I mutter. A new fear lances through my chest then. What if the test is positive? What if I am pregnant and I end up back with my father? How the fuck will I hide that?

“It is the best time,” Alyona scoffs, beginning to clean the sink. “The sooner you know, the sooner you can take care of yourself.”

I want to tell her to stop, that cleaning isn’t what she should be doing right now, but I reason it’s because she’s worried. Cleaning is a distraction from what might happen.

“Do you think he will come back?”

Alyona glances over her shoulder. “Who?”

“Kristof.”

Her hand pauses with the cloth. “He will be fine.”

“How can you be so sure?”

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