by Renee Rose
I bury my head in my hands. Smuggling. Yes, I’d guessed that match.
“Smuggling what?” I mumble to the table.
“Russian antiquities. It’s illegal to take them out of Russia, but he’s got some kind of direct line for them. Probably going through that diplomat he came to Black Light with.”
“Gretchen. You have to get me out of here.”
“They really want a statement from you, Luce. They’ve been looking to get something on these guys for a long time. You could be their ticket.”
Up until now, I’d been lost. Like I got thrown off the boat and was flailing around, trying to find a buoy to hang onto. I didn’t know which shore to swim to.
But the moment Gretchen tells me that, I pick my side.
I crumple the empty Oreo wrapper and throw it at the observation window. “Not going to happen,” I say, glaring at the one-way glass. “I’ve been on bed rest, and I moved in with the father of my child, so he could take care of me. End of story.”
Gretchen’s eyes narrow. She knows it’s not true.
“Now get me out of here.”
She covers my hand. “You’re sure? That’s your statement?”
“Get me out of here.”
Gretchen gets up. “Yep. I will get you out of here right away.” She strides out of the room, every inch the barracuda lawyer, herself, when she wants to be.
It takes twenty minutes. I give the statement I gave Gretchen, and then she hustles me out by the elbow to a cab outside.
Chapter 18
Lucy
It’s not until after I’ve eaten a meal and cried my last tears that I can even function. Gretchen hangs around my apartment making tea, sitting quietly near me, waiting for me to talk.
Finally, she says, “So talk to me, please. I had it right, didn’t I? Were you in trouble?”
I nod, mutely. “I don’t want to talk about it.” I couldn’t stand the thought of the feds going after Ravil, and I don’t like the idea of Gretchen hating him, either.
It’s strange that I would feel protective of him, but I do.
“I know you don't want to, but I think you need to.”
“You need to get them out of custody. The feds have nothing on them, unless they found something when they searched the penthouse.”
God, I hope they didn’t find anything.
Gretchen blinks at me. “You want me to act as their attorney? After I blew the whistle?”
“I think Conflict of Interest might come into play if I do.”
“Seriously? That man kidnapped you, right? Tell me what happened.”
“His name is Ravil. Ravil Baranov. I’ll tell you what happened if you get them out of there.”
“I’ll get them out of there when you tell me what happened,” she counters.
We stare at each other at an impasse.
“I don’t know if you’re in the proper state of mind to make this decision,” she explains.
“You see!” I point a finger at her. “That’s why I won’t tell you until it’s done.”
She raises her brows. “Because I won’t want to after you do?”
I purse my lips. “I need this from you, Gretchen. That’s the father of my child.”
“Let me ask you this: do you want me to get them out of there because you’re scared of him? Or because you’re in love?”
I shake my head. “I’m not scared,” I say. And it’s true. Yes, it’s possible Ravil will go through with his threat to carry me off to Russia because he believes I triggered the arrest, but I can’t bring myself to believe it. And honestly? As long as he was there with me, I’m not sure I would mind it so much.
“So you’re in love.”
My hand trembles as I lift the cup of tea to my lips. “I guess I am.” I’m in love with Ravil Baranov, head of the Chicago Bratva, known smuggler, murderer and criminal.
Father of my child.
It’s a terrible match, and yet I can’t imagine any other man in my life. He’s the one.
The man who understands me. Protects my pride, takes care of my needs, cherishes me. I love him.
“Fine,” Gretchen says. “I’ll go back down there and stomp my feet until they release them. But if anything happens to you… Nevermind. I’ll save that threat for Baranov.” She slings her purse over her shoulder and walks out.
I slump back against the couch and close my eyes. Gretchen will take care of it.
After that? I don’t know what will happen.
Ravil wronged me. He doesn’t get to come collect me again. Not if he wants to stay in this country.
I guess now we sit down and have that negotiation for shared custody I was buttering him up for.
Something painful twists in my heart. Is that really all I want? An amicable shared parenting agreement?
Or is there a way for the two of us to come together for more?
Ravil
It’s late evening. I’ve been sitting in this interrogation room for hours.
I haven’t said a word to them. Not Russian. Not English. They asked if I wanted a lawyer present, and my heart bailed out of my chest, flopping on the floor like a wounded eel.
Yeah, I want my attorney.
Oh, right. My attorney’s the one who put me in here.
It was her friend Gretchen, of course. I knew they’d had a conversation. I’d listened to it. I didn’t hear any kind of hints or veiled secrets passed, but the two are good friends. Maybe there was something I missed.
I can’t even bring myself to be angry that I was bested by Lucy.
I hardly care what they do to me. Whether I find out what it’s like to serve time in an American prison, or whether they send me back to Russia to serve time there. None of it matters compared to the pain in my chest.
The utter destruction of my being when I realized she was faking it all. That she doesn’t care. She was just biding her time until she could get free of me.
I was a fool to think I could make her fall in love. That I could keep her. I was a fool to put the entire operation at risk for something that isn’t even allowed in the bratva.
And this is why, of course.
I just fucked everyone over this woman and my unborn child.
I’ve sat for hours while they tried to interrogate me with threats and intimidation techniques. They are fools if they think their methods will work. I’ve served time in Russian prisons.
I’m not afraid of them.
Two new agents are in here now. They started about an hour ago.
The door opens and one of the guards says, “His attorney,” and hands a card to one of the agents.
Stupid me. For one split second, hope reared its head. But no, it’s not my Lucy. It’s her friend, Gretchen.
If I were smart, I would say she’s not my attorney because I don’t know what game she’s up to, but I’m not smart. I haven’t been smart from the beginning when it comes to Lucy, and right now I need to know if she’s all right. Where she stands.
“I demand you release my client at once,” Gretchen says.
The agent narrows his eyes at her. “Excuse me? Aren’t you the one who notified the police about your friend’s suspected abduction?”
She lifts her chin. “I did, but I was mistaken. As you know from Ms. Lawrence’s statement, there was no abduction. She moved in with her boyfriend and the father of her child. Willingly. There is no reasonable suspicion of a crime. Unless you have something on Mr. Baranov or any of his four associates, I demand their release immediately.”
“Ms. Proxa. From the Attorney General’s office in DC,” one of the agents drawls, looking at her card. “You’re not a defense attorney. Are you even licensed to practice law in this state?”
“I can practice Federal law anywhere, Agent Rossi. As you should know.”
He snorts and folds his arms across his chest, showing how unimpressed he is.
“We’re not finished questioning the suspects.”
Gretchen walks over in her t
ight brown pencil skirt and stilettos, perches her ass on the table and folds one leg over the other. I seem to recall she is a switch. She does the domme thing very well. “I will advise my client not to answer any further questions.”
Agent Rossi tips his head to the side, taking in the length of Gretchen’s legs. The way she uses her sexuality as a weapon. “I do know I can keep them for twenty-four hours without charge.”
“There’s no reason to do that, Agent Rossi. No crimes were committed. My clients won’t speak to you any more. It’s been a long day, and I’m sure you want to get home, too. I apologize for my role in this wild goose chase. To both of you,” she says, nodding my way but not meeting my gaze. It’s an apology she doesn’t mean.
I don’t give a shit, though, because my mind keeps tripping back to what she said about Lucy—the statement she’d given. She moved in with her boyfriend and the father of her child. Willingly.
Lucy lied for me.
I touch the tips of my fingers together to think. Could it be that this wasn’t a betrayal? Did Gretchen act on her own?
After a little more tit for tat between Agent Rossi and Gretchen, mainly for sport as far as I could tell, Rossi agrees to release us. I’m fairly certain it was mainly because he became incapable of refusing the sexy attorney anything she demanded.
I find Gretchen waiting for us outside. “A word, Mr. Baranov?”
“Ravil,” I correct, stepping several yards away from the building with her.
She stops and squares off to me. “I know what really happened,” she accuses. “And I have documentation. So if you come near my friend again”—she lifts one red-tipped finger in my face— “I will have you put away. Those guys in there are dying to nail something on you. They wouldn’t need Lucy to press charges. All they would need is my signed affidavit. Which I have put in a safe place. So don’t even think—”
“She sent you,” I interrupt. I have to know.
Gretchen closes her open mouth, a grudging expression on her face. She folds her arms across her chest. “Yes, she sent me.”
“She didn’t call for help.”
Gretchen regards me coolly. “No.” The finger comes back out into my face. “You fucked with her head. Now leave her alone. Unless you want the stress to harm the baby.”
I know she’s posturing, but the suggestion hits me in the solar plexus just the same. The idea of anything harming our sweet baby kills me. I can’t imagine how stressful today must’ve been for her.
“Where is she now?”
“She’s back at her place. Where she will stay. Leave her. The Fuck. Alone.”
I draw a breath and nod. Not because Gretchen’s threats scare me. Because it’s the right thing to do. I was wrong to force Lucy into my penthouse... not that I wouldn’t do it all over again if given the choice.
But I won’t force her again.
She’s paid her penance for trying to keep the baby from me. Now I have to pay mine and suffer the heartache of giving her up.
Even though it fucking guts me.
Chapter 19
Lucy
I open and close the largest matryoshka doll. Staring at the gift leaves me feeling like a bomb exploded in my chest. Somehow I made it through the last few days. Ravil hasn’t called or come over. I didn’t call him, either. I’m too confused. Gretchen explained what she’d told him, and that he agreed to leave me alone.
Part of me didn’t believe he would. But the next day, Oleg showed up with all my things, which he brought in and left without a word. Well, of course, without a word. But also without a message. Which made me wonder if that’s why Ravil sent him and him alone.
He barely looked at me when he brought the stuff in. I caught his arm as he was leaving. “Mne zhal',” I said. I’m sorry. I’d been practicing that one.
He just shook his head and left. Left me with even more angst.
If it had been one of the twins, I might have asked how Ravil was. Apologized for their arrest.
Although—what do I really have to apologize for? They were accomplices to Ravil’s kidnapping. And he did abduct me.
I can’t forget that.
Maybe I do have Stockholm Syndrome. I find myself missing them—all of them. I miss the massages and the food. I miss the easy banter between the guys. The warmth they all showed me despite the fact that I was a prisoner.
And mostly I miss the hell out of Ravil.
Guilt eats at me. This gnawing sensation that I’ve done something wrong. That I screwed Ravil.
But that’s not right.
He’s the one who abducted me. He held me prisoner and threatened to send me to Russia.
But was it really so bad? a little voice keeps whispering.
Dammit, if I don’t want to be his prisoner, still.
I try to keep working from home. I keep up the farce that I’m still on bedrest, at least until I stop feeling like a zombie.
Sarah wrote me a very groveling email which she copied all the partners on, so of course, she wasn’t fired. I find myself unable to give two fucks or even one fuck about her, the partner position, or the firm.
I can barely make it through the day. Barely feed myself or shower. I’ve been sitting on this couch in the same yoga pants since the night everything blew up.
I don’t even realize it’s Saturday until my mom calls and startles me. I must’ve dozed off. The dolls clatter to the floor and roll around.
“Honey? Are you coming today?”
I sit up with a sharp inhale and the room spins. “Oh, mom. I’m sorry, I was asleep, I’ve been having a hard time sleeping at night because of the hormones and having to get up and pee three times a night.”
“What’s this I heard about you being on bedrest?”
Gretchen had been smart enough not to put my mom on full alert when she’d called about my bedrest, so my mom still doesn’t know about the kidnapping situation.
“Yeah, it’s just for a week or two. I’m fine, though. Hopefully I’ll be able to make it next week. I miss you guys.”
“Well, should I come over there?”
“No, Mom. You have your hands full with Dad. Gretchen flew out to help me this week, not that I needed any help. I promise I’m fine. Give Dad a kiss for me, okay?”
“Lucy?”
“Yes?”
“What’s going on with you and Ravil? Are you two seeing each other?”
The heaviness in my chest grows even weightier. “No, Mom. We’re just going to figure out how to co-parent.”
“He doesn’t look like your type.” That’s my mom’s very polite way of saying he looks like a criminal.
“He’s not, Mom, but that doesn’t mean he won’t make a great dad.”
That much I believe. With my whole heart.
But does Ravil even still want to be part of the baby’s life?
How ironic that when I didn’t want him to be a part of it, he demanded his place, and now that I’m comfortable with it, he’s ghosting me.
Of course, Gretchen told him to ghost me.
And I haven’t called to say anything different.
I just can’t figure out if I want to call. If I should call.
Are things easier this way? He is a criminal, after all. The FBI are just waiting to take him down. Is that the kind of role model I want for our son?
Hell, no!
My eyes swim with tears. “I’m going to go, Mom. I love you.” I try to make my voice sound normal.
“I love you, too, dear. Let me know how you’re doing.”
“Thanks, I will.”
I look at the clock on my phone.
Birthing class.
It’s ridiculous. I don’t need to go to that class. I can now go back to my plan for a hospital birth with the epidural where I don’t have to worry about anything, the doctors take care of it all.
Except… now that I’ve seen those beautiful home births, my birth plan has lost its appeal.
And I really want to go to that class.
I want to see more videos and cry at the beauty of birth.
And yes… I do secretly hope Ravil will be there.
Or that I’ll see him.
We can talk. Figure things out.
I get up, shower and head to the Kremlin. As I approach, my heart starts hammering in my chest. Harder, louder, more insistent than in any courtroom. The place holds so much meaning for me. Tangled, knotted up, confused meaning.
Maykl gives me a wary, suspicious look as I come in, and my heart sinks. Of course, everyone in the building would know what happened. The feds were all over this place.
“Is Mr. Baranov expecting you?” he says, too formal for friendliness.
I swallow. “I’m here for the birthing class.”
His face clears and he straightens. “Right. Third floor. You remember how to get there?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He picks up his phone and starts texting. Telling Ravil, no doubt.
I get a similar reaction from Svetlana when I show up. A bit of shock to see me, but she recovers quickly. “Is Ravil coming?”
I shrug. “I don’t think so. I didn’t tell him I was coming.”
“I see. Well, welcome. I’m glad you came.” She waves a hand in Carrie’s direction. “As you know, birthing at home without a partner is just as beautiful.”
Birthing at home.
Without a partner.
Is that what I’m doing?
I don’t know about that. I just came for the videos. But I don’t tell her that. I have months to decide, still.
I sit through class, sob at the end of each birthing video, and go home alone, without seeing Ravil.
The moment I walk into my apartment, I burst into tears.
Ravil
“No disrespect, but what in the fuck are you doing?” Dima says.
I crack my lids against the afternoon sun to see Dima standing over me, Nikolai beside him. Both of them have their arms crossed over their chests. Twin demons waking me from a drunken stupor.
I’m on the rooftop, getting sunburnt by the pool and drinking enough Beluga Noble vodka to permanently pickle my liver. I’ve been here since last night, I think. I might have slept here.
