He nods, leaning in just a little. “Yes. We can and we will.”
Chapter 17
Anya
As the reception hours pass us by and the time for the board meeting approaches, anxiety weighs heavily on my shoulders. I’m separated from Ezra for the night, and because I have no reason to return to my bedroom before the meeting, I don’t. Instead, I use the restroom for the third time over the last hour—baby enjoys kicking my bladder—and I pace outside the boardroom.
I pace until my lower back starts to ache and my swollen feet demand to sit. Kostya is still with me and he suggests I return to the reception area to sit and wait until it’s time. But thankfully—or perhaps, not so thankfully—Cordelia O’Shea makes her way toward us just then, moving past me to unlock the boardroom.
She forces herself to greet me with a simple, “Hello,” though I see the way her hands shake in rage as she turns the key.
She’s enraged because I killed Vigo—because, apparently, she had some sort of affection for the monster who almost killed me. I don’t feel an ounce of remorse for the fact that I took her lover’s life. I don’t know much about Cordelia, but I do know that anyone who would willingly have a relationship with Vigo Vittori is either evil or a moron.
And she’s probably both.
In any case, my nerves send a ripple of unease through my limbs as I cross the threshold of the boardroom. Kostya graciously shows me where to sit, leading me to the spot where Nikolai would sit.
Nikolai.
Fucking Nikolai.
Each reminder of him is like a wrecking ball of pain slamming into my chest, stealing my breath away at the reminder of everything he put me through and worse with the reminder that he’s gone now. He chose my fate—this fate—before he died, and he left me to navigate this nightmare with the four families alone.
I’m happy that my seat isn’t near either head of the long, rectangular table. In the middle, on the side, I can blend in and feel less like I’m on display. Still, I know I need to assert myself. Somehow, I think that will be easier from this position.
Board members file into the room and settle into their seats. Murphy enters last, moving around behind the chair at the head of the table and he begins to speak before he sits.
“Welcome. I think it’s best that we avoid the pomp and circumstance and get right down to handling business, shall we? The changes we’ve seen in the organizational structure of the four families over the past year have been unprecedented and dramatic. We have some major decisions to make tonight and we’re going to dive right in. The finalized agenda is in your folder.” The others open the black leather folio placed in front of them, one at each spot around the table, and I follow suit to open mine. “Any changes, additions, or objections?” Murphy asks the room.
“I object to all of this.” Every head in the room snaps to look at the sassy girl I met in the theater—Murphy’s new wife, Stella.
She still looks surly with her arms wrapped tightly across her chest. She has an interesting appearance, though she doesn’t quite look like she fits in with the four families. She wears a tight, deep burgundy dress that cuts low between her average-sized breasts, revealing a tattoo along her collarbone—a scribbling of words I can’t make out—and more artwork appears on the side of her arm. Her nose is pierced and there’s an unnaturally bright red streak of hair peeking out from behind her ear. Not to say there’s anything wrong with her appearance—I like it on her—she just seems out of place here.
Murphy finally snaps, bending over the corner of the table and reaching out to wrap his hand around Stella’s throat. “Be quiet, lass, or I’ll make certain you won’t speak again.”
She looks up at him with surprise in her eyes, but I’m not exactly sure she looks as fearful as she should be. Honestly, I’m surprised with Murphy’s restraint. He forces a strained smile as he removes his hand from her neck, one finger at a time. No one bats an eye at the fact that this poor girl was just publicly throttled by her husband.
Fucking monsters.
Murphy straightens, smooths his waistcoat, and continues, “Changes, additions, or objections?” His eyes fall on Stella beside him with an intent glare.
She meets his eyes with unwavering contact and there’s an almost palpable crackle between them—a sizzle of heat and chemistry. It makes my pulse quicken and it sends my thoughts spiraling to Ezra.
No.
Pay attention.
I glance down at my agenda for the first time, only just realizing I should have looked at it before he called for changes or objections.
Focus.
Breathe and focus.
Item one is listed as:
Family M: Gender & DNA Result
My head snaps up more dramatically than it should, and I find myself glancing around the room—to look at what or whom, I really don’t know.
Murphy’s commanding voice demands my attention and I whip my head toward the sound, finding he’s already lowered into his seat. “First item of business is the matter of Anya Mikhailov, the gender of her unborn child, and the DNA result which determines family placement.”
“You know the gender and the father?” I ask with too much nervous energy.
I’d been given an ultrasound a month and a half ago where Doctor Lombardi was able to see the gender of the baby, but no one would tell me. Now I understand why—the four families are nothing if not dramatic. And revealing this information here and now—determining the fate of my baby and my future as a board decision—was about as dramatic as they could get.
Murphy flips through his folio and produces a single white sealed envelope. He places it on the table and gives it a push, sliding it across the smooth surface so it glides toward me. Kostya grabs it to spare me the embarrassment of attempting to reach over my protruding belly for it and hands it to me. My name is scribbled on the front.
Anya Mikhailov.
I swallow, looking at Murphy for direction.
“Open it,” he urges. “Read it out loud for the board. This letter was sent to me directly by Doctor Lombardi. This first letter should contain the gender of your baby as determined via your twenty-week ultrasound. Depending on what this letter states, we may or may not need to open the second.”
“Why?” I run my fingers along the edges of the envelope.
“If your baby is a girl, the paternity result doesn’t really matter, now does it?”
My eyes immediately fall on Renata across the table from me. “Does she know?” I ask Murphy.
“No one knows. The result is in that envelope and in Doctor Lombardi’s personal notes. We’re all finding out together. For your sake, let’s hope it’s a boy. Now open it.”