Page 34 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

Her words hit harder than I expect, a blunt force to my concern. I lean against the doorframe, the distance between us feeling like miles now. "Lana, I... We'll fix this. You're not alone in this mess."

Silence greets me, a barrier as effective as any locked door. I know she's on the other side, probably curled up, probably crying, and it tears at me. We're supposed to protect each other, but here we are, fractured and divided.

"I know you're hurting. And I wish I could do something—anything—to make it better. But I promise you, we're going to get to the bottom of this. Roman, the money, Perez's lies... We'll sort it out. You're the toughest person I know, Lana. You've pulled us through hell and back before. We'll do it again, together."

It's a plea, a promise, a vow. But the door remains closed, her silence a clear message. I linger for a moment longer, hoping for something, anything. But there's nothing. Just the sound of my own heartbeat and the quiet of a house that's seen too much.

With a heavy heart, I turn away, my mind racing with plans, with contingencies, with a fierce determination to right the wrongs that have led us here.

We've been through hell before. We'll go through it again. Because that's what families do, even ones as broken and battered as ours. And as I close my eyes, trying to find a moment's peace in the chaos, I hold onto that thought. Because sometimes, it's all you've got.

Chapter 17

Lana

A week flies by, and Roman's as absent as my patience these days. The vibe around here? Ice cold. Grigori and Luca try to pretend everything's peachy, but it's like walking through a ghost town—echoes of the past haunting every corner. Without Roman, we're a trio that's lost its beat, and trying to rejig this operation without him is like playing chess with a missing queen.

Stress is my new best friend, whispering sweet nothings about headaches and heartaches, especially with this little one doing somersaults in my belly. So, I do the unthinkable—I take a day. A whole day off. Leave the boys to run the show, with Julia playing messenger. Me? I'm bed-bound, swimming in a sea of thoughts and what-ifs.

Lying here, I can't help but let my mind wander down memory lane, back to times when things were less complicated. Like that night Roman and I stayed up till dawn, talking about everything and nothing. His laugh, it was infectious, made you want to spill all your secrets without even realizing it. I never thought I'd miss it this much.

The truth hits me like a freight train—I had feelings for Roman. Real ones. The kind that sneak up on you and catch you off guard. And yeah, there's Luca and Grigori, each of them holding a piece of my heart in ways I can't even begin to dissect. But Roman? His betrayal slices through me, leaving a wound deeper than I want to admit. Why him? Why does this feel like the ultimate betrayal?

I remember a time, must've been a few months back, when the four of us were at this dive bar, laughing over beers. Roman was sitting across from me, his eyes catching mine in a way that made my heart skip a beat. He was always the one who understood my sarcasm without taking offense, the one who could dish it right back. That night, he said something so damn funny, I spat out my drink. We locked eyes, and there was this... moment. A flicker of something more. And now? That memory stings, tainted by the shadow of his supposed betrayal.

It's maddening, feeling so torn. On one hand, there's this deep-seated anger, a betrayal by someone I trusted with my life. On the other, this ache, this void that Roman's absence has left. It's a mess, a tangled web of emotions that I'm too exhausted to unravel.

The boys think I'm just stressed, chalk up my mood swings to the pregnancy. But it's more than that. It's the realization that maybe, just maybe, I let Roman in deeper than I ever intended. And now, with him gone, it feels like he took a part of me with him. A part I'm not sure I can get back.

So, here I am, stuck in bed, a prisoner of my own swirling thoughts. The irony? In trying to protect my heart, I've exposed it more than ever before. And the real kicker? I'm no closer to figuring out this mess of love and loyalty. All I know is that Roman's departure has left a void, and no amount of sarcasm or stubbornness can fill it.

I decide to shower. The steam from the shower envelops me, a comforting embrace in this world.

Standing under the cascade of warm water, I let it envelop me, hoping it can wash away more than just the physical remnants of a day spent in bed. For a moment, it's just me and the water, a cocoon of warmth in a world that's turned cold. The tears and the sadness, I let them mix with the water, imagining them spiraling down the drain, leaving me lighter, freer.

But as the water runs over me, my thoughts drift, unbidden. How can I mourn a betrayal? How can I ache for someone who stabbed me in the back? It's a battle within, between the heart and the head, and as I stand there, I take a deep, steadying breath. No, it's not worth it. The sadness, the betrayal—I can't let it define me. I need to wash it away, let it go with the water.

Just as I reach this semblance of resolve, my sanctuary is violated. A shadow crosses the thin veil of the shower curtain.

“Grigori? Is that you?”

No answer.

As the shadow looms larger, a sense of unease creeps over me. My heart quickens, beating a frantic rhythm in my chest. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable under the onslaught of hot water. "Who's there?" I call out, my voice wavering slightly despite my attempt to sound strong.

Panic begins to claw its way up my throat as I fumble for the shower knob, ready to defend myself against this unexpected intrusion. With a deep breath to steel my nerves, I yank the curtain aside, prepared for whatever—or whoever—may be on the other side.

It’s a masked man.

"Who are you? What do you want?" My voice, meant to be strong, comes out as a frightened whisper, betraying my fear.

The man doesn't speak. Instead, he brandishes a knife, the gleam of the blade a sinister promise in the dim light. My mind races, terror gripping me tight. "Please, just back off," I plead, my voice rising in panic. My hands shake uncontrollably.

Before I can even process the danger, my instincts kick in. Adrenaline surges through my veins, sharpening my focus and quickening my movements.

Adrenaline surges through me, a fierce, protective wave. This masked intruder, his intentions clear as he lunges towards me, knife aimed with chilling precision at my stomach, at the life growing inside me. My mind screams, a feral mix of fear and anger. No way am I letting this happen.

As he thrusts the knife towards me, time slows down. My survival instincts kick in with a ferocity I didn't know I had. I catch sight of the blade, its deadly gleam inches away from my skin. With a desperation born of pure instinct, I grab the knife by the blade, pain searing through my palm, but I hold on. Hold on for dear life, for the life of my unborn child.

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