The spa was enormous—tucked away in the quiet hills beyond the city, framed by ivory stone walls and lined with soft, whispering trees that danced lazily in the breeze. A shimmering fountain stood at the entrance, the sound of trickling water instantly soothing the soul. It looked like something out of a dream—tranquil, pristine, and untouched by the chaos of the world.
Elara took a long breath as she stepped through the glass doors, her eyes widening at the sleek interior. The marble floors reflected the golden chandeliers above, and the scent of lavender, rose, and honey seemed to float through the air like silk. A soft instrumental melody played in the background, just loud enough to lull her mind into a peaceful daze.
"This looks... refreshing," Elara whispered, her eyes scanning the expansive spa with appreciation.
"Oh honey, trust me, it's more than relaxing," Natalia said, slipping off her oversized sunglasses and handing them to a staff member. Dressed in a chic beige wrap and with her hair twisted into a neat chignon, she looked every bit the elegant mafia matriarch Elara was just beginning to know.
They were ushered into the VIP suite—a private sanctuary with plush lounge chairs, ambient lighting, and a panoramic view of the spa gardens. The room was lined with silk curtains that moved with the breeze, and the gentle gurgle of an indoor water feature provided the perfect backdrop for relaxation.
For the first thirty minutes, neither woman spoke. Elara melted into her massage bed, the hot stones easing the tension in her back and shoulders, and for the first time in what felt like weeks—maybe months—her mind stopped racing. She didn't think about her pregnancy. She didn't think about Nikolai. She didn't think about how she loved and hated him at the same time. She didn't think about the diary hidden under his pillow, or the horrors she'd read about what he had endured in Moscow's juvenile prison. She just breathed.
But the peace couldn't last forever.
They moved to the sauna afterward, both women wrapped in soft white towels. Natalia poured eucalyptus water onto the hot stones, and the room filled with a comforting steam.
"You look better," Natalia said, glancing at her from across the wooden bench.
"I feel better. I haven't felt this relaxed in a long time," Elara admitted.
Natalia smiled knowingly. "That's the trick. A day away from testosterone, guns, and stubborn men—it does wonders for the soul."
Elara chuckled softly, pulling her towel a little tighter around her. "Can I ask you something personal?"
Natalia raised a brow, intrigued. "Of course."
Elara hesitated, then asked, "How did you feel when you found out you were pregnant with Nikolai?"
Natalia's smile faltered just slightly. She leaned back against the bench, her eyes lifting to the ceiling as though trying to conjure the memory.
"I felt like strangling Dimitri," she said flatly.
Elara blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Oh, don't look so shocked," Natalia laughed, waving her hand. "I had been on birth control. Or at least I thought I was—until I found out the bastard had switched my pills with vitamin tablets."
Elara gasped. "He didn't!"
"Oh, he absolutely did. The smug bastard even had the nerve to act surprised when I showed him the test results. I was livid. I crashed his brand-new sports car into the fountain in the courtyard. On purpose. And I do not regret it."
Elara laughed until her sides hurt.
"But," Natalia continued, her voice softening, "when Nikolai was born, everything changed. I held him and thought, 'God, I hope you're nothing like your father.'"
Elara looked at her, touched by the honesty.
"Is he like Dimitri?"
Natalia tilted her head, thinking. "Yes and no. He inherited Dimitri's stubbornness and protective nature, but Nikolai... he's also soft in ways his father never was. He learned how to braid my hair when he was ten because I had surgery and couldn't lift my arms. And he got really good at it too. Sometimes he would do my makeup just to make me smile. I remember thinking, 'For a little bratva prince, he sure knows how to blend foundation.'"
Elara smiled, her chest tightening.
"He's a good son. He runs to me when he has problems. Not to his father. I'm proud of him for that. Even now, under all that hard exterior, he's still got that soft center."
She paused, then added with a wry smile, "Dimitri is still in there too, underneath all the grunts and possessive idiocy. He just has zero clue what romance looks like. I love him dearly, but sometimes I want to smother him in his sleep."
Elara laughed again, this time feeling a strange warmth bubbling in her chest.
"I don't know how you do it."
Natalia's expression turned fierce, yet amused. "Oh darling, it's simple. You become his headache. You be the reason his blood pressure rises every morning. Since he refuses to let you go, make him work for your attention."
"That's your advice?" Elara asked, blinking.
"Absolutely. Don't chase. Don't explain. Don't apologize for being yourself. You want freedom? You earn it inside the walls. You find your own ways. You build your life here, on your own terms."
Natalia reached over and took her hand gently.
"The bratva may be his world, but this house? That's yours to rule."
Elara looked down at their joined hands and felt something she hadn't in a long time—power. Not the kind that came from guns or violence, but from knowledge, from resilience, from womanhood.
"You're stronger than you think," Natalia whispered. "And you don't need to escape to survive. You just have to outsmart them."
Elara nodded slowly. Maybe she didn't need to run. Maybe she could win the game by playing it better.
They spent the next two hours floating in a scented mineral pool, sipping cold fruit drinks and gossiping about the ridiculous men in their lives. Natalia shared stories of Dimitri's possessiveness, how he once flew across three countries just because a waiter flirted with her in Vienna. How he bought her a hotel because she liked the scented soap in their suite. How he locked her in the library once during an argument because he thought it was safer than her walking out on him.
"He's crazy," Natalia said fondly. "But he's my kind of crazy. And sometimes, I let him beg. Then ditch him, just for fun."
Elara laughed so hard she nearly snorted. For once, she felt light. Safe. And oddly empowered.
By the time they left the spa, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow across the sky. Elara climbed into the car with Natalia, feeling refreshed in body and soul. She wasn't sure what tomorrow would bring, but today? Today reminded her she still had choices.
And she planned to make them count.
After their spa treatment, skin glowing and muscles relaxed, Natalia and Elara changed back into their clothes, each of them radiating that specific kind of peace that only comes from an afternoon of being pampered and waited on. Natalia tossed her sunglasses onto her face with flair, checking her reflection briefly in the full-length mirror by the spa exit.
"Well," she said, adjusting her pearl earring, "as much as I love a steam room and a full-body massage, I am not ready to go back to a house full of testosterone and men who think they own the world because they can pull a trigger faster than they can make a decent cup of coffee."
Elara smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you ever miss the chaos?"
"Not even a little," Natalia replied. "Which is why I think we deserve a little shopping therapy. There's this new jewelry shop that just opened up across town. Word is, their diamonds sparkle brighter than most marriages in this family."
Elara laughed. "That's… probably true."
Natalia grinned, holding up the keys to her custom matte-black Bentley. "Let's go, sweetheart. And don't worry about the price tags—I'm using the business credit card. Emotional damage compensation."
Elara raised her brows in amusement as they stepped into the luxurious car, slipping into buttery-soft leather seats. "You mean the Bratva's money?"
"Exactly. Bratva money. Stolen, laundered, or earned—I don't care. They owe us."
---
They arrived at the jewelry shop fifteen minutes later. It was nestled in the heart of the city's luxury district—a place where glass-front boutiques gleamed under the afternoon sun like treasure chests. The sign was simple and elegant: Solstice Jewels. Two doormen opened the glass doors before they even reached the entrance.
Elara's heels clicked against the polished marble floors as she walked in beside Natalia. Her eyes widened almost instantly. The store was jaw-droppingly opulent. Tall display cases stood under pristine spotlights, each piece of jewelry nestled on velvet cushions—diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires of all sizes, some shaped into chokers, others into cascading earrings, brooches, rings, even anklets with enough sparkle to blind a mortal.
"This place looks like it was designed by a goddess and funded by a cartel," Elara whispered.
"Exactly why I love it," Natalia murmured back.
A young man in a sleek, dark suit approached them with a charming smile. "Good afternoon, madams. Welcome to Solstice Jewels. May I assist you today?"
"Yes," Natalia said, removing her sunglasses. "She's shopping." She nodded to Elara. "And I'm funding. Bring us the most exclusive, most expensive pieces you have in the vault. We're celebrating."
The assistant blinked but didn't question it. He bowed slightly. "Right away."
A few minutes later, they were seated at a private consultation table draped in velvet, and trays were brought out—trays that shimmered with more wealth than Elara had ever seen in one place. Her fingers hovered over a teardrop-shaped diamond pendant that looked like it belonged in a museum.
"This necklace," she murmured, lifting it carefully. "It's…"
"Eighteen-karat white gold," the assistant supplied. "Set with a rare blue diamond, 3.5 carats, flanked by two smaller pink Argyle diamonds."
"How much?" Elara asked.
"Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars."
Natalia sipped her complimentary champagne like it was water. "Get it. Try it on, too."
"Are you serious?"
"As a gun to the head," Natalia said. "You're carrying a Volkov heir. Your neck deserves diamonds."
Elara laughed softly and did as she was told. The necklace settled against her skin like it had always belonged there.
She tried on more: a bracelet made of woven rose gold and studded with tiny emeralds, chandelier earrings with cascading rubies, and a platinum ring that gleamed like moonlight.
Then she saw it—a golden-plated pacifier encrusted with tiny, delicate diamonds along the handle. It sat in a tiny display case next to a ridiculously luxurious baby bottle with a gold rim.
"You have got to be kidding me," Elara said, laughing as she pointed.
The assistant's smile widened. "It's actually one of our novelty items. Not very practical but... quite the statement."
"I want it," Elara said.
Natalia laughed. "You've been corrupted."
"No, I just want to see Nikolai's face when he sees I bought a golden pacifier."
"Then we're absolutely getting it."
By the time they finished, the assistant had called for backup to carry the bags. Elara had selected enough jewelry to last a lifetime—or at least several high-society galas. Natalia had added a few pieces for herself as well, insisting that diamonds were a woman's armor, especially when living in a house full of emotionally stunted men with superiority complexes.
The bags were loaded into the car—boxes in cream and gold ribbon, receipts folded neatly into velvet envelopes. As Elara slipped into the passenger seat, she looked at the ridiculous gold-plated pacifier resting at the top of the smallest bag and grinned.
Natalia settled into the driver's seat and glanced at her. "Feeling better?"
"Way better. I get why you're always so chill."
"I'm not chill," Natalia said, starting the engine. "I just weaponize my femininity and spend enough of their money to remind them who really has the power."
Elara laughed again, leaning back into her seat as the Bentley pulled out into traffic. The city glowed around them—tall buildings, the hum of luxury, and a sky slowly fading into evening. For a few blissful moments, she wasn't thinking about being trapped, about the choices stolen from her, or the pain she saw in Nikolai's diary.
She was just... existing.
And it felt damn good.