So I do. One quick, sharp inhale.
And that’s all it takes.
There’s a deafening crack — the unmistakable sound of a gun firing at mid-range. In the split second following, I gasp and close my eyes tightly, wrapping my left arm around my stomach, my mind going totally blank with fear as I brace myself for the inevitable pain.
But it doesn’t come. Instead, the office window breaks with a hail of broken glass and the laptop to my right shatters in a spark of electrical light, plastic bits flying. I scream involuntarily, and in response I hear a deep, cruel laugh.
He yells something in Russian that I don’t understand.
“Leave us alone!” I cry, fumbling to get a solid grip on the gun. Everything is still totally dark — I can’t even tell what direction the voice is coming from, other than vaguely in front of me. Trembling, gritting my teeth so hard it makes my jaw ache, I lift up the gun and point it weakly before me.
“Vremya umirat!” he snarls.
I hear the distinct, horrifying sound of a gun cocking.
Before I have even a nanosecond to think about it, I pull the trigger.
The gun pops with such a powerful, loud jolt that it falls from my hand. There’s a strangled shout and then the sound of something heavy collapsing to the floor. I hyperventilate, rocking back and forth with both arms wrapped protectively around my belly. I have no idea if I have killed my attacker or if he is simply wounded and preparing to shoot at me again — but I know that I simply cannot bring myself to fire the gun another time.
Just then, the warehouse door swings open with a bang, admitting a wide column of moonlight to break through the shadows, the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man in the doorway. Several yards in front of him, the dim light just barely illuminates the still, lifeless body of the intruder.
“Andrei?” I call out, my voice wavering. I am too frightened to even consider the possibility that this second person might be yet another enemy.
“Cassie!”
It’s Andrei’s voice. My heartbeat quickens and tears burn in my eyes as I struggle to get to my feet. I need to be near him, now. I need to hold him in my arms and make absolutely certain that he is real, that he’s alive.
He bolts toward me, sidestepping the dead body in front of him, bursting through the office door and sweeping me into his arms. He smells like gunpowder, like death — and yet, when he kisses the top of my head, I feel more alive than ever.
“Moya lyubova, are you alright? Oh, my sweet zhena!” he murmurs, covering my face with kisses, his hands gripping me like he is afraid I’ll dematerialize at any moment.
“I — I shot him,” I reply through a thick layer of tears.
“You did, malyshka, and you got him. You did so well, and I am so proud of you.”
“Is he — is he dead?”
“Da, angel. He’s dead.”
“And Sergei?”
“We will never see the likes of him again,” Andrei assures me, his hand reaching down to rub my pregnant belly. “Our son will be born into a much safer world now.”
“Oh, Andrei!” I gush, burying my face in his strong chest. He strokes the back of my head, gently weaving his fingers in and out of my blonde hair.
“I promise you things will be different now. We don’t have to live in fear anymore. I’m going to protect us, and I’m never leaving you again.”
We cling to each other this way for what feels like an eternity, simply soaking in each other’s presence, breathing in a shared relief. I never want to let him go.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” I mumble into his shirt.
“I love you, too.”
Epilogue
One Year Later
“Smile, Max!”
Andrei stands in front of us holding his iPhone, the camera flash lighting up and making the ten-month-old baby in my arms blink in confusion. I beam at the camera, tickling him to make him giggle. An infectious, delighted peal of laughter comes out of his little mouth, causing both Andrei and me to burst into laughter, too.
We’re sitting on a woolly blanket in Central Park, the three of us bundled up in thick sweaters, mittens, and scarves. My little son’s chubby, cherubic face is all rosy-cheeked from the brisk cold, so I reach into the diaper bag to retrieve his knit beanie with ear flaps. He hates the hat, I know, but the last thing we need is a sick baby on our hands. Especially since we are just about to leave on a trip tomorrow!
“Oh, that’s a good one,” Andrei says, grinning. Sometimes it still catches me off-guard to see him looking this way — so happy and carefree. He used to smile only rarely, and when he did, it was a tentative, fleeting expression. Like he was afraid to be happy. But nowadays he’s almost always smiling, laughing, making silly faces and sounds to entertain baby Maxim.