Eileen
Anton keeps me busy and gleefully entertained. Between the lovemaking sessions and the intimate dinners, the evenings spent in the reading room, or in the company of his brother and sister-in-law, I’m starting to feel like everything is going to be okay.
But then Anton leaves, never telling me about his business. Or where he’s going. Or how long he’ll be away.
I’m left behind, waiting, minding my growing baby bump and hefty appetite. Days turn into weeks. My father keeps me at bay, cutting our phone conversations short whenever I bring up the idea of going over to his place to check up on him.
“He sounds worse than ever,” I tell Ian one morning as I help him set up the breakfast table. “He’s sick. I know he is. But he won’t tell me anything.”
“Mrs. Karpova, please, allow me,” Ian says with a gentle smile. “You’re the lady of this house. I cannot in good conscience let you set the table.”
“I want to.”
“Please.”
“No, dammit!” I snap, my eyes instantly filling with tears. “I’m almost six months pregnant, I haven’t seen my husband in a week. Everybody’s walking on eggshells around me, and I can’t even leave this house! Let me at least help you set the fucking table!”
Ian stills, briefly lowering his gaze. Oh, God, is this what it’s going to be like? And for how long? How long will I feel so miserable and alone? When did I allow Anton to become my sole source of peace and happiness?
“I’m sorry, Ian.” I sigh deeply and take a seat at the table. “My hormones are getting the better of me.”
“I completely understand, Mrs. Karpova, and I would—”
“Eileen. Please call me Eileen.”
He nods. “I completely understand, Eileen, and I would gladly let you if I could. But I have clear orders, and frankly, it’s for your own good.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. One too many times.”
A minute passes in the most awkward silence as Ian looks around, cutlery still in his hands. “Perhaps you’d like to assist with cutting the fruit?” he asks. “I was thinking about putting together a citrus salad for today’s breakfast. Oranges, mandarins, grapes, maybe an apple or a pear for extra sweetness.”
“That sounds good. I’ll cut the fruit,” I say, eagerly taking the ingredients out of their basket and setting them on the cutting board.
The enormous counter island is in the middle of the kitchen. It gives me a great view of every angle, including through the French doors leading out to the gardens. Ian doesn’t know I’m aware of the key to the doors he keeps hidden in the cabinet above the sink.
“What else?”
“Pardon me?” he absent-mindedly asks as he continues setting the table.
“Oranges, mandarins, green grapes, a pear. It looks fabulous, but what do you think about adding some raspberries to it? They would add color and a sweet tartness.”
“You’re absolutely right, Mrs.–I’m sorry, Eileen. I believe we have some in the fridge.”
“No, it appears we’re out. I checked a while ago. I was looking for an early morning snack.” I exhale sharply, feeling a pang of guilt as I lie through my teeth.
“Are you sure?”
“You don’t believe me?” I ask, trying to sound offended.
“Of course, I do,” Ian replies. “If you’d be so kind as to give me a minute, I’ll ask one of the staff to fetch us some raspberries from the farmers’ market down the road.”
I give him a surprised look. “There’s a farmers’ market nearby?”
“Just half a mile north, actually. We source most of what’s in the kitchen locally. Our fruits come from our closest neighbors. The meats, too. I’ll be right back, and in less than twenty minutes, we’ll have raspberries for your salad.”
“Thank you, Ian. I truly appreciate it,” I reply with a warm smile.
Once he’s out of the kitchen, I know what I have to do. The fact that my father keeps brushing me off has become unbearable. I understand my stepsister being prickly until the day she dies, and I’m ready to accept that particular loss, but where Dad is concerned, I can’t sit tight anymore. I’m worried about that man, and I need to see him face to face.
So, I slip through the kitchen doors using the hidden spare key.
Carefully, I sneak around the house and make my way into the massive garage. The keys are in the ignitions, because nobody’s dumb enough to break into a Karpov property to jack a handful of luxury vehicles. That would be suicidal.
The fact that no one suspects I would ever do what I’m about to do is great, because it increases my chances of a clean escape.
The Karpov’s security detail hasn’t made a habit of keeping close tabs on me as long as I’m on the grounds. It’s why Ian felt so comfortable leaving me alone in the kitchen—then again, he doesn’t know I saw where he stashed that extra key.
By the time the bodyguards realize what’s happening, it’s too late. I’m already past the front gates and speeding up the main road into the city. Once I hit the beltway, they’ll lose me altogether. Anton will be furious, but I have to do this.
“Ah, dammit!” I grumble as I realize I left my phone behind. I was in such a rush to seize the opportunity that I completely forgot about it. But it might be for the best. They could use my phone to track me.
I take the side streets through Chicago and pull over a couple of blocks away from my father’s house. Nervous as hell, I get out of the car and look around until I’m sure that no one is following me.
I cross the street and make my way up the road, hands in my pockets, my nerves causing me to shiver a bit. I glance over my shoulder just as I’m about to turn the corner. Recognizing a few faces, I pull my hood over my head and proceed toward the back alley.
I don’t spot Ian until he’s standing right in front of me, a sour look on his face.
“You’re going to get me in a heap of trouble here, Mrs. Karpova,” he grimly declares.
“Dammit Ian,” I gasp, startled by his unexpected presence.
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
“My family lives here. I just wanted to see my dad.”
“It’s not safe.”
I scoff, giving him an annoyed look. “You can’t stop me from seeing my family. Now get out of my way before I get pissed.”
“No.” He grabs me by the wrist, and my heart starts pounding.
“Wait. Ian—”
POP. POP.
Something whizzes past both of our heads at a terrifying speed.
“Shit, run!” Ian yells, blocking me with his surprisingly athletic frame.
“What the hell?” I croak, but there’s no time to ask questions.
As we run down the street, Ian takes a gun out from a holster I had no idea he was wearing. He fires a couple of shots, and I yelp, finally spotting the people he’s exchanging fire with.
Two men, tall and muscular, wearing all black. They look like Russian goons.
POP. POP.
A few more shots ring out as I run as fast as my feet can carry me, desperate to survive, desperate for my unborn child to survive.
Ian shoots back. We turn a corner to find a car waiting, engine running. Ian opens the driver’s side door and shoves me into the passenger seat, before climbing in beside me. He guns the accelerator.
“Oh, shit!” I scream when the side-view mirror of the car explodes from another bullet. In a flash, we’re speeding up the road, engine roaring, as we leave our assailants behind. “Oh, God, Oh, God, oh, my God…”
“A simple thank you would suffice,” Ian grunts as he leans into the steering wheel.
“Thank you! Who were those people?”
“Precisely the people I expected to show up as soon as you came here,” Ian says. Beads of sweat bloom across his forehead. He doesn’t look well, and it quickly becomes clear why. Red blooms across his white shirt and grey vest. “Eileen, perhaps now you understand why your husband wanted you to stay put.”
“Oh, my God, Ian! You’ve been shot! We need to get you to a hospital!” I yell.
He shakes his head, eyes sharply focused on the road. “I’m good. I just need to get you home, Eileen. Mr. Karpov is on his way as we speak.”
My blood runs cold as I realize that my reckoning is coming a lot sooner than I had hoped. Glancing back, I breathe a momentary sigh of relief when it appears that no one seems to be following us.
“What about my dad?” I ask.
“They’re not after him, Eileen. They’re after you.”
I shudder, my skin crawling as I struggle with the concept. I was raised my whole life knowing that I’d become a target for one of my father’s rivals sooner or later. But that day never came, and I was always well-protected. It completely slipped my mind until now.
I am still susceptible to violence, and this serves as a grim reminder.
Once back at the mansion, I discover that Anton has doubled the security detail. I was able to speak to my father on the phone—courtesy of Anton calling him. He’s fine, but worried about me. I feel like such a fool, but I’m angry.
“I think you understand now why I’ve been insistent on you staying put,” Anton says, his gaze set on my face.
“I understood that there were risks involved in any sort of outing, but I was careful—”
“Careful? Eileen, it doesn’t matter how careful you think you’re being, because our enemies have eyes on every single point of interest. Your father’s house included. They were already there, waiting for you.
“I didn’t think they’d be at my father’s house,” I say meekly.
“Well, they were. And like I told you before, I will protect you and our child, no matter the cost.”
“I’m the one paying, though, being kept in the dark and locked up in my own home,” I mutter.
“Our enemies will stop at nothing to hurt you.”
“Your enemies,” I correct him.
Anton gives me a hard look. “My enemies?”
“You’re the one they’re trying to get to by hurting me. They’re your enemies.”
“Let me remind you that you were already pregnant with my child, and fully aware of it when you allowed Sergei Kuznetsov to visit and discuss your wedding arrangements,” he shoots back. “Let’s not play saints, Eileen. We each have our share of the blame here.”
I lower my gaze. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s frustrating as hell; I get it.”
“Is this what it’s going to be like from now on?” I ask, my eyes filled with tears. “Constantly looking over my shoulder? Afraid to leave the house? Walking around with an army of bodyguards? Is this my life, Anton? It was never this bad in my father’s business.”
He takes a deep breath and sits on the sofa next to me. “It’s just until I find out who’s behind the threats and the attacks. Right now, I don’t have any conclusive evidence against anybody in particular, especially Kuznetsov. And without proof, I can’t make a case within the organization either.”
“That leaves you with your hands tied and the snake still in the garden, so to speak.”
“Precisely. But none of this even fucking matters if you’re not safe. If our baby isn’t safe. So, for the love of God, will you please do as I say? Please just follow my orders and play your part while I dig into this and find the evidence I need to get rid of Sergei, and whoever else he’s got on his payroll.”
There goes the small semblance of peace I thought I’d acquired. There goes my ritzy, artisanal café. My dream is to make something of myself, to bring my child into a world I could be proud of, our little corner of the universe. It’s tainted now, forever shadowed by the threat of monsters lurking in the dark.
I’m stuck here.
Anton’s company no longer feels like it’s enough to soothe my soul. He continues to say it’s only a matter of time. He keeps a certain distance from me, though he probably thinks I haven’t picked up on it yet. But I have. He’s here, but not really, not fully.
I can feel my happily ever after slipping away.
