3
ANTON
“Where’s Jessa?”
Lev gives me a puzzled look. “You lost her?”
“She was supposed to be resting in her room,” I say impatiently. “Dr. Spegal said she should get as much rest as possible.”
“Is that your version of an early push present?”
“Am I supposed to know what the fuck that is?”
Lev rolls his eyes. “You know, the gift you give the mother of your child for pushing the kid out? My sister has a couple of kids and she got a push present for each of them. A diamond bracelet, a new purse—shit like that.”
“If she thinks she’s getting shit like that from me, she’s delusional.”
Lev gives me a smirk. “You realize that Jessa is no Bratva princess, right?” he says. “She’s a normal girl who might expect to have normal experiences. Especially now that she’s pregnant.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “She’ll adjust.”
“Really?” Lev asks. His eyebrows are doing that annoying thing they do when he thinks he knows better. “Because I doubt she’s ever going to adjust to watching you murder people.”
“That was the last time.”
“Anton, brother, you and I both know it’s not the last time,” he sighs. “This is our life. Deals, meetings, betrayals, and murder. It’s a never ending cycle. You need to make sure she’s prepared for it.”
When I found out Jessa was pregnant, everything felt flawless, perfect. But now, fissures are appearing. I’m trying my damndest to hold it all together.
Just then, one of the maids passes through. I stop her. “Margarit, have you seen Jessa anywhere?”
“No, sir, I haven’t seen Ms. Jessa.”
“Go ask the rest of the staff,” I order. “Let me know when she’s found.”
She gives me a deferential nod of her head and backs out of the room, leaving without turning her back on me. It’s a habit the staff has developed over the years.
Lev notices it and rolls his eyes. “You’re a don. Not royalty.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A king with an heir,” Lev muses with a smug smile. “Who would’ve thought?”
Not me, that’s for damn sure. But seeing the brightness in Jessa’s eyes when it finally sunk in that she was pregnant… it was nothing short of magic. A piece of happiness that I never imagined I would experience for myself.
Which is strange in its own right. Love—if that is truly the name for whatever this is between us—is the one luxury I never expected to have.
“Mr. Anton, sir?” Margarit interrupts cautiously, once again standing in the threshold. “Mr. Caplan saw her a few hours ago.”
I rack my memory for the matching information. Caplan—broad-shouldered, gray-bearded, stern. He works security at the front gate. Mother with terminal cancer. I got her enrolled in an experimental drug trial. Last I heard, she’s in remission.
The man in question steps into view, his face darkened slightly from what looks like an uneven sunburn. “Don Stepanov, Ms. Jessa left the compound two hours and thirty-six minutes ago via the western gate.”
I stare at him in disbelief as Lev rises to his feet.
“What do you mean, she left?” he asks for me, since I’m having trouble finding my words for the first time in my life.
Caplan is starting to look nervous now, if a man that dour can ever seem nervous. He shifts from one foot to the other, wringing his hands together the entire time. Margarit, sensing that a storm might be brewing, steps to the side and all but disappears behind the door. Though she knows better than to leave without being dismissed.