Page 52 of Perfect Stalker

“Good. Then let’s talk about prenatal care and what to expect in the coming weeks.”

As Dr. Matthews outlines vitamins, dietary changes, and future appointments, my mind drifts. How am I going to tell Ivan? When? Should I wait until after the ultrasound? The questions swirl endlessly.

“Ms. Graham?” Dr. Matthews’ voice cuts through my thoughts. “Do you have any other questions?”

I blink, refocusing on him. “No, I don’t think so. Not right now, at least.”

He hands me a stack of pamphlets. “These cover the basics of what we discussed. Please call if you have any concerns or questions, and congratulations, Ms. Graham.”

Congratulations. The word feels surreal. I manage a weak smile as I gather my things and head for the door. Andre is waiting in the lobby, his imposing figure drawing curious glances from other patients.

He stands as I approach, and his expression is carefully neutral. “Everything okay, Ms. Graham?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. I can feel his concerned gaze on me. I know he’ll report back to Ivan, and for a moment, I consider telling him the truth, but no, Ivan needs to hear this from me directly.

CHAPTER 19

IVAN

Isquare my shoulders and scrutinize my reflection, my fingers working the silk tie for what feels like the hundredth time. The Brioni suit fits perfectly—it should, for what it cost—but something feels off. The man staring back at me in the full-length mirror isn’t the feared leader of the MarkovBratva,who made three men disappear just yesterday. Instead, I see uncertainty in my eyes, and tightness around my mouth that speaks of barely contained anxiety.

“Blyad,” I mutter, yanking the tie loose again. The heavy watch on my wrist shows 7:15 p.m. The office holiday party starts in forty-five minutes, but my thoughts are on Jenny.

I pull out my phone, checking it for the dozenth time. No messages. No calls. Nothing.

“Where are you,moya zvezda?” The endearment slips out in a whisper. Jenny’s been at her appointment since three, and this silence is unlike her. She must know how worried I am. I haven’theard from Andre or Daniil either, which isn’t that unusual. They usually report to Marcus, not me, but he’s been quiet too.

I grip the edge of the marble vanity. The possibilities tornado through my mind. Could something be wrong? Is she sick? Or...

“Fuck.” I remember the times we’ve been careless. The number of times neither of us thought about protection. Thinking back to when she moved in, I realize she hasn’t had a period during the time she’s been here. She’s late.

A baby. Our baby. The thought sends equal parts terror and fierce possessiveness through my veins.

The thought of fatherhood chills me. Not because I don’t want it, but because I’m not sure I deserve it. How can I raise a child in this world of violence and betrayal? TheBratvahas been my life for so long, but now...

I shake my head, trying to focus on the task at hand. The office Christmas party awaits, and I need to put on a good face for the employees. Yet my thoughts keep drifting back to Jenny.

If she is pregnant, changes need to be made. Big ones. I can’t raise our child in this world. It’s too dangerous and too unpredictable. I’ll have to find a way to make our lives safer. The thought is daunting, but as I consider it, warmth fills me.

A child. Our child. Despite the fear, I find myself hoping it’s true.

My phone buzzes, and I snatch it up eagerly, hoping for news from Jenny. Instead, my blood runs cold. On the screen is a photo of Marcus, bloodied and bound. His eyes are wide with fear, a sight I never thought I’d see on my steadfast right-hand man and best friend.

“Fuck.” I’m already moving. I bark send a frantic text to my network of people while rushing down to the garage.“All units mobilize. Track Marcus’s last known location. I want eyes on every street corner between here and there.”

The Aston Martin roars to life when I peel out of the parking garage. My mind races faster than the car, cataloging potential enemies, hideouts, and strategies. Who could have gotten to Marcus? He’s one of the best in the business, not someone easily taken down. It must have been Alexei.

As I weave through traffic, my thoughts flicker back to Jenny. She’s still out there, potentially vulnerable. I can’t risk calling her now when I need to focus on finding Marcus, but the worry gnaws at me, a constant undercurrent to the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

The city blurs past my windows, a kaleidoscope of lights and shadows. Every instinct honed over years in theBratvascreams at me to slow down, to approach this methodically, but the image of Marcus, beaten and helpless, drives me forward with reckless abandon.

My phone chirps with an incoming message. A location. I adjust my course, pushing the car to its limits. Whoever took Marcus is going to pay dearly for this. No one touches my people and lives to tell about it. I still owe Alexei retribution for Dmitri, who fortunately survived. I look forward to extracting it one drop of blood at a time, especially since he’s targeted my best friend now too.

As I near the location, I force myself to slow down and think strategically. Rushing in blindly could get Marcus killed. I grip the steering wheel tighter. The image of my friend bound and bloodied flashes through my mind again. I’m so close to thelocation, I can almost taste it, but I need a plan and to coordinate with my men.

Suddenly, my phone rings. I snatch it up, expecting an update from my team. Instead, Marcus’s voice comes through, clear and confused. “Ivan? What’s going on? I just left the salon and saw all these frantic messages about rescuing me.”

I slam on the brakes, the tires screeching as the car comes to an abrupt halt. “Marcus? You’re okay?”

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