I couldn’t stop the soft smile from tugging at my lips, even as my heart splintered.
My fierce little protector. My boy.
“No, baby,” I said gently, crossing the room in quick strides.
I sat on the bed and pulled him into my lap, pressing my lips to his curls, inhaling the sweet tang of lavender shampoo and boyhood warmth. I rocked him slowly, letting the fragile sense of calm sink into both of us. “We just... talked. Like grown-ups.”
He twisted up to look at me, eyes wide and searching. “We’re leaving tomorrow, right?”
I nodded, forcing my voice steady. “Six a.m. sharp. The cab’s already booked.”
His face fell, shadowed with worry, confusion, and that heartbreaking little-boy longing. “Mom... what if I don’t want to go? Greece is... big houses and old people. Here feels... alive. And it’s where my dad is from.” He climbed onto his knees, hands gripping my shoulders like anchors, whispering like we were plotting a rebellion: “Please, Mom. I want to know him.”
Each word was a dagger twisting inside my chest.
I cupped his little face in my hands, thumbs brushing along the sharp Volkov cheekbones that I both adored and cursed. “We will come back one day,” I promised, voice soft, trembling, but resolute. “But right now... we have to go home. I have... reasons.”
He searched my face, scrutinizing every line, every hesitation, every unspoken truth, and finally nodded, trusting me with the blind, fierce faith only a child can give.
I pulled him into a tight, fierce hug, pressing my face into the back of his neck so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to spill. “Everything will be fine,” I whispered, shoving all my courage, all my will, into the words. “I’ve got you. Always.”
He clung to me like I was gravity itself, holding on with every ounce of his small, determined body.
Neither of us slept that night.
The dawn came early, pale and brittle.
At exactly 5:47 a.m., we were dressed, bags packed and zipped tight, standing outside in the pre-dawn chill.
The world smelled of frost and stone and promise.
A chartered cab idled at the curb, exhaust curling upward like ghosts, ready to carry us back to a life that felt impossibly fragile.
Vanya shivered, arms wrapped around himself.
I slung my coat over his small shoulders, smoothed the hair from his forehead, and whispered, “Almost time, baby. Almost safe.”
For a heartbeat, he looked at me, eyes wide, vulnerable, and full of trust. I swallowed the lump in my throat, clenched my fiststo keep them from trembling, and told myself: we were leaving Lake Como. We were leaving him — for now.
But the shadow of Volkov still lingered in every corner, every cobblestone street, every whisper of the wind. And I knew, deep down, leaving him behind — even for a night — would never really be possible.
I took Vanya’s small hand tight in mine as we stepped forward, muscles coiled, nerves screaming.
Every step felt like wading through molasses, my mind trapped in that smoky suite, replaying Dmitri’s impossible words on a merciless loop.
Marry me.
I made her faint.
I needed a wife.
You’re not leaving.
I shook my head, willing the memories to fade.
He hadn’t recognized me. Ruslan’s masterpiece of deception had held. One more hour, one more turn of the plane’s wheels, and we’d be gone, free, untouchable.
I opened the rear door of the cab, relief beginning to bloom in my chest as Vanya slipped in first. I followed him quickly, shutting the door behind us like I could shut out everything that had just happened.
