The soft amber light of dawn filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a golden sheen over the modest cottage interior. The wooden floor creaked beneath my bare feet as I stood at the large window, one hand clutching the rim of a steaming teacup, while the other rested gently over the swell of my belly.
The sweet scent of milk and honey wafted through the air, teasing my senses as I gazed out the window. The golden fields outside stretched across the horizon, the morning breeze rustling leaves and wild grass. A few birds cut lazy arcs through the pale sky, their squeals mingling with the distant hum of a tractor swallowed by the vastness of the Montana countryside.
For over seven months, this place had been my home, my safe haven, even though it was nothing like Chicago. In fact, it was the exact opposite. No honking cars, no flickering neon lights, and most importantly, no shadows lurking in alleyways. This place was quiet, peaceful, and I was already in love with the serenity and calm it provided.
Here, things were very different from what I knew—what I was used to. As opposed to the fast-paced Chicago life, the Montana countryside dripped like honey: slow, quiet, and undisturbed. This was the perfect place to lay low, to find myself and think about the next phase of my life. In this forgotten corner of the world, my secrets could sleep and my wounds could heal. For now, at least.
I took a sip from my steaming teacup, then exhaled, the fog of my breath kissing the cold windowpane. I wrapped the cardigan tighter around my shoulder, eyes dropping to my swollen belly.
Seven months. That was how long it had been since I left Chicago—since I left everyone and everything behind. A faint smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I placed a palm over the curve of my belly. I felt it again, the tiny kick fluttering beneath my hand, more nudge than strike. My smile widened.
Two weeks ago, the doctor had told me it was a boy, but I’d suspected long before that. Little Nik was in my belly—a constant reminder that I couldn’t ever truly run away from him. No matter how hard I tried, how well I hid, his shadow would always follow me wherever I went. I’d built a life here—safe and simple—yet the past still lingered like smoke in the rafters. Nikita Tarasov seemed to echo in every heartbeat and in every breath.
And now, in my son.
My smile faltered by a whisper at the realization that I couldn’t erase Nikita Tarasov from myself. The man was carved into my very existence, as permanent as blood.
When my son was born, each time I’d look at him, I’d see his father, the man who ruined my life.
I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and pressed my forehead against the glass. The morning light wrapped around me like a blanket, the steam from my teacup warm against my face.
As safe as I was here, I knew it was only for the time being because nothing stayed buried forever.
Not love.
Not hate.
And definitely not a name like Nikita Tarasov.
Just then, the sound of my phone ringing startled me, forcing my head to turn toward the table. I didn’t realize until now that my hand had reflexively darted to my chest, as if to prevent my heart from jumping out. The fear of Nikita Tarasov still lingered, his ghost haunting me day and night.
I drew a deep breath and slowly walked over to the table where the phone was buzzing incessantly. Setting the teacup on the surface, I squinted my eyes at the caller’s identity: Mateo, my father’s most trusted lawyer.
That was strange. Why was he calling me this early in the morning? He’d never reached out to me before because all of his dealings were either with my father or my brothers. This was out of the blue, and that alone heightened my suspicion.
I swallowed hard, my heart suddenly racing in my chest. For some reason, fear had overshadowed me, and I could feel the anxiety creeping in. I was tense but didn’t know why, and when I reached out to pick the phone up, I noticed my hands were shaking. It was almost like everything inside me was warning me about an imminent danger.
Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones.
The ringing stopped, and seconds later, Mateo called back. I stared at the buzzing phone, too scared to pick it up because I wasn’t sure what this strange call was all about. However, just before the call ended, I summoned the courage to snatch the device off the table and answered, “Hello?”
“Alessia, thank God!” Mateo sighed on the other end of the line, his voice laced with both relief and urgency. “I thought he got to you, too.”
My heart stopped for a moment, and my breath hitched in my throat. “You thought who got to me, too? What’s going on?” I asked, feeling the heat spreading through my body.
“The Romano empire has crumbled to the ground, Alessia,” he stated, his words striking like a thunderclap. “Powerful allies turned traitors overnight, and damning evidence against your father has surfaced. He’s gone underground for now, and your brothers have all fled the country for their safety. It’s bad, Alessia.”
As the words tumbled out of his mouth in a frantic rush, each syllable cut deeper than a knife, forcing me to drop onto the nearest chair. I swallowed hard, a hand on my forehead as I began sweating in awkward places. My heart was pounding rapidly, hammering like a drum.
Only one man was capable of destroying an empire overnight. Nikita Tarasov.
“The Romano name is now a target, Alessia,” he continued, his voice dripping with fear and urgency. “Nowhere is safe right now—not even that small place you’re hiding.” He paused as if letting his words sink in for a moment. “I don’t know who has been compromised in your father’s house. We can’t risk it, so you have to run. Run, Alessia, run.”
