Love of a Queen: Chapter 20

“Ivan, I’m not going to apologize.” I lay on the couch, phone to my ear, legs up, contemplating how many holes in socks were too many. The holes were only on the calves, none really in the bottom, and I still liked that the tops read “Fuck” on one and on the other “You.”

The lecture from my grandfather continued. He’d heard about me kissing Rome in front of all of Chicago. Everyone had, really. My security, the Armanelli’s security, and the Stonewood’s security had eyes on us.

I’m sure a few cameras went off. The people we were with were infamous enough and now maybe I was too.

I didn’t care. The statement had been made; the news was out. “Ivan, you retired to your bedroom during the last meeting. Do you recall?”

My question was met with silence. I heard a rustling on the phone, as if he was getting up to leave whomever he was with for a more private setting.

“Little girl, you still have a lot to learn. Don’t wash your hands of me so quickly.”

“The last time I saw you, you left after holding a gun to your great grandbaby’s head. I can’t figure out why that is. You’ve known all along that we were going to be bound to the Armanellis in some way. So what if Rome and I have this child?”

“Ack.” He dismissed my idea with just a sound. “You don’t trust the one who gave you power.”

“Power isn’t given, Ivan,” I replied and stuck a finger in one of my sock holes. It was probably time for a new pair. “You actually taught me that. Quite frankly, it only took a bullet to the thigh for Konstantin to give me the power. And I’m taking the rest in my own way.”

“You’re treading on thin ice. You’re not merging leadership by having Rome’s baby.” There was a beat of silence. “It should be Bastian’s.”

Ah, there was the wrinkle in the suit, the chink in his armor. Therein lay the frustration. My grandfather wanted pure blood. The highest leader in the Armanelli Family tied to his own.

It pissed me off so much that I disclosed what Rome and I had found out through a call on one of my blood tests. “I forgot to tell you, you can officially call the baby a girl now. She’s healthy in case you’re wondering.”

He grumbled over the phone line but I smiled at the news. Finding out the baby was a girl brought some sort of weird recognition and reality down upon me. I wanted to meet her so badly, see the innocence and perfection I created.

“She’s worthless. Not the right Armanelli.” My grandfather carried on.

“And, have you forgotten that I’m a mutt?”

He sighed like he knew his argument was null and void. The traditions of families and their bloodlines didn’t make sense. They never had. No one’s blood was as valuable as their actions or loyalties. His own son had been disloyal in the end. He was a testament to that. Just as Rome’s father had been a testament and Mario too.

Family was only as good as their loyalty to you, not their blood relation.

Power shouldn’t revolve around a birthright.

His voice was low and ominous when he said, “I don’t forget anything, Katalina. Not in the way people think I do. I remember enough to know when to test the bratva and when not to. You’re making your own bed.”

“Are you saying you won’t help me tuck in the sheets?”

“I don’t deal with messes, darling. If you choose this path, have that baby, be with that man; I will wish you the best. But my hands will be tied when it comes to the repercussions.”

I shrugged and let the apathy roll through me. It stopped in my gut and bloomed into worry and fear. Something grew there that I couldn’t shrug off. My neutral ground had been lost, lost to a little soul growing innocently in my belly. The doctor had let us know I was officially 13 weeks along now. My morning sickness had subsided and I had been feeling a wave of normality. But now I was being threatened by the old head of the bratva.

“Ivan, there will be repercussions either way. What’s done is done. You can consider yourself officially retired.”

I didn’t hesitate to hang up the phone. Cutting ties with the man was easy. I hadn’t known him long enough to mourn his loss. I texted Maksim and a few others that Ivan should not be included in meetings in the future, that he needed to focus on his health. Ivan replied in the group chats that he appreciated my blessing.

It was all for show.

He was seething mad and probably plotting something against me. It didn’t matter.

I got the call that afternoon. The last part of the government and the police force had signed off on the contracts with our lawyers. Our state would be held to a new standard regarding sex trafficking, along with about a billion other things, but that was the one that mattered to me. The lawyers had been hired for this very reason. The partnerships were ironclad, the contracts written by the best in the world, and the government, along with the big players in the city, were all in the know.

If someone acted out, every partner brought them down, legally and with the government behind them.

Rome turned the key in the front door minutes later. I didn’t sit up when he came in, just

looked at him from my spot on his couch. We’d finally agreed to pass the time between my penthouse and his. And by his place, I meant the one with the panic room. I made him get rid of the damn apartment under my penthouse.

Crazy man.

Crazy man that I loved.

This place with the cream tones and the muted colors appealed to me, not because of the design, but because of that damn panic room. It was a little home of mine, a place where I’d felt safe in a weird sort of a way. I’d found comfort there with him and Edgar Allen Poe, with him curled up next to me doing nothing for a time.

“I heard the news, Cleo.” He was smiling, a big bag at his side.

“Did you now?” I swung my legs back and forth in the air, the “fuck” and the “you” written on them flying at him over and over.

“Want to celebrate by opening your gift?”

I turned on the couch and sat upright, a bit intrigued with what was in the bag. “You were out buying gifts?”

“I was at the club, setting up. The opening is in the next few days. There’s something in here you can wear to it.”

I hummed. With all that was going on, I’d forgotten that the man I now lived with was opening a sex club. “I’m not sure how to feel about my future baby’s daddy participating in this exclusive endeavor.”

“You feel fine about it because you are who you are,” he said as he came to sit down next to me.

“And who is that?”

“The woman who’s got my soul pinned to her own.”

“If you say so.” I glanced down, not really sure I wanted to explore the subject any further. I had to let it settle. I’d bottled my feelings for so long, I wasn’t used to owning and expressing them now. “Anyway, I’ll bite. What’s in the bag?”

He waggled his dark eyebrows at me. I pursed my lips, trying my best not to smile. The man was bringing me gifts and doting on me like we were actually together. It wasn’t really established. I was having his baby, and we were sleeping and living together. Yet we hadn’t said the words that would seal the deal.

“A couple things.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed for it.

He pulled it back. “Now, now. Don’t get impatient. Maybe we should feed the baby in you first. What do you want for dinner?”

“Oh, get fucked, Rome. Give me the bag.”

“Don’t I get a please?”

“You get a give-it-to-me-or-leave.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“This is my place, woman.”

“Until you knocked me up. Now, what’s mine is yours.” I smiled but it was a bunch of saccharine bullshit we both knew was going to be followed up by something foul. “And when that’s the case, I make the call.”

“Hmmm… we’ll see.” But the man handed it over with a dopey look on his face.

Maybe it was the moment that got me or the fact that I was pregnant, I wasn’t exactly sure. Suddenly, though, the words bubbled to the surface and I couldn’t hold back saying, “I appreciate you. I appreciate this space with you. I appreciate the gift and the standing by me.”

“You shouldn’t appreciate it,” he said softly. “You should expect it. Every woman deserves that, right? And a woman like you probably deserves a lot more.”

“A lot more?” I raised my eyebrows, already backtracking with a sly comment. “What’s in here anyway?”

I pulled open the bag and saw no clothing. “Looks like I’m going naked to the sex club.”

“I’m not buying your ass clothes when I know you’ll throw them away or rip them all up to make them your own. You handle that.”

I hummed because he was probably right. Plus, my eyes had locked onto the beautiful brown box I knew and loved with the crisp white cursive writing and the big L showcasing the name of the best designer in shoes. I’d have red bottoms now for sure. I’d had plenty of them over the years. Men liked to hand them over as a gift.

These felt different, though. These had been bought with my baby in mind.

I pulled one box out, along with the one under it and another, smaller one. I narrowed my eyes at Rome, looking at the smallest box first.

Was this what I thought it was?

My heart thumped so loud, I felt the beats in my temples, in my ears, throughout my body. My hand shook as I grabbed the edges of the lid. The sturdy cardboard slid off and in that box was a deep red dust bag. I glanced at Rome who was sitting there next to me, arms crossed, waiting patiently.

“You didn’t,” I whispered.

But he had. We both knew it.

I lifted the bag and saw two tiny little combat boots. They were black with red bottoms and they looked just like the ones I wore every now and then. Tiny dual zippers popped in the color silver, next to little itty bitty shoelaces. I flipped them over to showcase the red bottoms.

I slapped a hand over my mouth but couldn’t really hold back the choked-up sob that escaped my lips.

“What the fuck is wrong?” Rome moved quickly, ripping the box from my hands and kneeling before me.

“I just… I didn’t… She didn’t feel real until just now.”

In some ways, I’d pictured her. I thought about what it would be like and I imagined how much I would love her and how protective of her I was already. I rubbed my stomach like I was trying to reach her, trying to feel what it would be like.

Those shoes, though—they were real and they were so tiny.

“She’s very real. She’s as real as you. And she’s going to be just as beautiful too.”

“Oh my God,” I practically sobbed and dropped my head to his shoulder. “Don’t say shit like that. You’re supposed to be a monster and an asshole.”

“I am,” he grumbled. “Sort of. Not exactly when it comes to her, though.” He brushed his fingers over my belly.

“Oh really?” I rolled my eyes, lifted my head from his chest, and smeared away the makeup that was probably running down my face. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m not my normal callous self about her either. I’ve been secretly reading all these damn studies to make sure I’m doing everything right.”

He nodded like that was completely normal. “Me too.”

“What?” I glared at him. “You didn’t tell me…”

“I’ve only brought you specific food-based recommendations. You’re on a multi-vitamin, but we need to make sure of other things too.”

“Like what?” I was curious to hear if he’d been reading the same stuff I had.

“Supposedly you can’t go in sandboxes or some shit.” He shrugged.

“Right? Oh my God. I was reading why. What the fuck is that about?”

“A damn parasite that comes from animals in there.”

“We’re going to turn into germaphobes after all this.”

He chuckled. “Finish opening your damn present, woman.”

“They’re both for me?” One side of my mouth went up. “I wonder what they could be.”

“Those two”—he eyed them carefully—“are weapons.”

I pulled back to look at him, my hands on his shoulders. “Huh?”

He grabbed one and set it on my lap as he sat down in front of me. He pulled out the combat boot first, a larger version of my future mini-me’s. He hit the bottom stud in the middle of where my Achilles tendon would be. Fast as lighting, two large blades on the side shot out.

“Shit,” I gasped out.

He did the same with the stilettos. Then he tapped my nose. “Weapons, Katalina, for the queen of the bratva.”

“I shouldn’t need those. I have security.”

“You have yourself first. Remember that. Don’t trust a single person except yourself if I’m not with you. Ivan’s made his intentions clear.”

“People build trust by exchanging it with one another, Rome. I have to trust these—”

“Never trust the bratva. Never trust a man that’s envious of your power. Every man beneath you is. The Armanellis, the Stonewoods, we’re on your level. They are not. I promise you that.”