“Honey, are you okay?” Cara said.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine. You’re acting really strange.”

I rubbed the floor until it was dry. I didn’t know if the few lunch dates Cara and I had been on constituted us as friends. My baby was currently my top priority. I loved my child so much already.

Talking to Cara about my pregnancy was not high on my list. “You talked to Slavik?”

“Yes. He is struggling, as I’m sure you can imagine,” Cara said.

I glanced at Cara, and she watched me. Head tilted to the side. Her voice sounded strange to me.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t called me. I don’t know what he’s going through.” I stood, taking the towel to the sink as my words sank in to my own ears.

Slavik, my husband, had called Cara before he’d even talked to me. Had our time together meant nothing? I knew the truth, and it hurt more than all the other rejections I ever felt.

“You know, it’s not a big deal. Vik is a complicated guy.”

Vik. The name some of his friends called him. “I guess.”

“You know what, we’re going out to lunch. No questions asked. My treat.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

Cara tutted. “Come on. I’ll talk to your guard. He can drive us. It’ll be fun.”

So that was how I ended up in the back seat of a car, dressed in a pair of jeans and a shirt, sitting next to a really beautiful woman, being driven across town to a quaint little café.

“I will say I need to make a pit stop first. It won’t be long.” She gave directions to my guard, and I sat back, hands on my stomach. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Good. We’re getting so close to Christmas. It’s always a busy time, the festive holidays. Men cannot stand being at home with their women and they come to see me and my girls.”

Cara continued to chat incessantly. I stopped listening, staring out the window at the passing scenery.

The car came to a stop, and I didn’t notice or recognize any of the buildings. Slavik had taken me all over the city to his different venues and enterprises. He was a very rich man and an astute businessman.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Come on.” Cara climbed out of the car.

My guard followed suit as we walked toward the old rundown factory. It wasn’t large, perhaps a two-story building, but on a small scale. The sign on the side had decayed and the paint had chipped away from years of neglect.

Cara opened the door and we entered. The scent of dust filled the air. I spotted a couple of rats up ahead, and I screamed.

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot filled the air, and I spun around to see Cara holding a gun. My guard was dead. The wound to the head had sprayed all over the walls. My stomach instantly recoiled, and I bent forward, vomiting.