“No buts,” I snarl. “You guard him, or we’ll be cleaning up your goddamn body from the floor.”What? Did I really just say that? Me?
“Okay. And if she doesn’t show, we’re calling Child Protective Services, right?” Igor adds. “Because you said that’s what the note said.”
“‘No, we’re not goddamn calling them!” I roar. “What the hell is wrong with you?” It’s like I’m possessed or something. I don’t understand why I’m saying these things—why I even care about what happens to this little baby. He has nothing to do with me. And I can’t fucking stand babies or kids or the noise and chaos they create. “If she doesn’t show, you’re not calling Child Protective Services under any circumstances, understand?”
Igor and Yuri both nod, and I take that as my cue to escape. Andthe further from the kitchen I get, the more I rationalize it’s just that I’m feeling sorry for the kid. He didn’t pick his idiot dad or his flighty mom who Geliy told us cares more about going on vacation than looking after her kid. He’s just a baby who happens to be in the crossfire of a shitty situation.
Yeah, that’s it. That’s all that was back there. I’m just feeling sorry for the baby. Because I know that I’m not capable of anything else.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AVELINA
I rub my tired eyes behind my glasses. The plane has just landed, and it’s warm in Vegas, and I look at the strappy tops other women wear before looking down at my long-sleeved T-shirt. I never wear anything that shows off too much of my back or shoulders. Our connecting flight from New York was cancelled, and this was the earliest flight I could get us rebooked onto, but we’re still arriving much later than planned. My phone pings as soon as I switch it on.
My eyes run over the text as my brow puckers.Geliy has left our baby son with one of his ex-military buddies I’ve never met?
The anger that bubbles in my chest isn’t a match for the relief I feel from just knowing that I’ll soon be holding Leon. That he’s safe, presumably, with someone Geliy trusts—someone called Viktor.
As soon as we collect our bags and exit the airport, we get a cab home, and we shift straight into my small car so that we can head over to this Viktor’s place. I type in the address into my phone. It’s about forty minutes away.
I rub at my neck which is aching from where I slept awkwardly during the flight.
Sofia is in the back seat, and she watches out the window. I smile at her through the rearview mirror. “Is it going to take a long time, Mama?”
“Hopefully not, baby.”
“Will it be loud?”
“I don’t know yet, baby. But I’ve got your headphones in my bag.” I give her a smile to reassure her. Her headphones are actually ‘ear defenders.’ They look like headphones, but they’re used to help block out noise.
As we drive through Vegas, I watch the neon lights blur past and think about how this city saved me. When I first arrived here, I was a broken eighteen-year-old with nothing but a suitcase and a head full of nightmares. But Vegas doesn’t judge your past—it only cares about who you choose to be today.
I built a life here and found work doing what I love—coaching figure skating at the university. I met other coaches who taught me that skating could be about joy again. With the kids being born, I created a small but steady world for us. It’s not glamorous, but it’s ours.
Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I’d tried to compete professionally somewhere else. But then I look at Sofia and Leon, and I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. They are my greatest accomplishment, better than any medal could ever be.
We passed a few nice-looking homes and neighborhoods. The kind you see in the movies or on TV. Fancy and well-maintained. The GPS navigates us through the neighborhoods and on to even more luxurious homes. Gated communities and the sort of places I could never dream of living in.
A soft whistle leaves me as we pass a mansion. I wonder how much a place like this would cost. And how many hours I’d have to coach to afford just one night’s stay in a place like this.
We take the last right, and I slow my car to a crawl as we approach a property with heavily armed men stationed outside the gates. Thestucco wall is lined with barbed wire, and the six men at the gate have bullet-proof vests, earpieces, and dark sunglasses—and they look like they could snap me in half with a single look.
We stop at the gate, and one of the men approaches, his weapon aimed at us.
The armed guards have enough firepower to level a city block. My chest tightens as my survival instincts scream danger. But Sofia is watching from the backseat, and fear is contagious. So, I force my voice to stay bright.
“Hi!” I greet him.
“Name?” he barks. His Russian accent is clear.
“Avelina. Is Geliy here? He sent me a text about our baby son.”
“You’re the mother?”
I nod.
He grunts, lowers his gun, and waves us through the gate with a scoff.
