Lily’s little footsteps echo in the hallway before I even hang up the call. The door pushes open and she comes bounding in, curls flying, dragging her worn bunny by one ear. She’s grinning, pure energy, but her socks slip on the hardwood and she tumbles right onto the rug.
“Careful, love,” I say, half rising, but she’s already giggling, picking herself up.
Aleksander swings his legs off the bed, wincing as he tries to get up, but Lily’s attention is already on him. She marches over, all seriousness now, and climbs onto the bed, kneeling right next to his bandaged arm.
She points at the gauze and frowns. “You get a boo-boo,” she tells him gravely, as if he might not have noticed.
Aleksander blinks, and something in his face softens so much I feel it in my chest. He puts on an exaggerated pout, his big frame curled awkwardly to Lily’s level. “Yes, malyshka. Papa got a big boo-boo.”
She studies the bandage, her little brow furrowed in concentration. “You need a Band-Aid.”
I have to look away, swallowing a lump in my throat as I watch Aleksander—the man everyone fears—nodding solemnly at his toddler’s diagnosis. “I think you might be right,” he says.
Lily leans in, presses a kiss to the edge of the bandage, and declares, “All better now.”
Aleksander’s jaw flexes. I can see how hard he’s working not to fall apart. He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes locked on Lily’s little hand gripping his. The room feels softer somehow, the daylight brightening the edges of the night we barely survived. Lily sits cross-legged in front of him, proud of her magic kiss, looking up for approval.
“Thank you, Dr. Lily,” he says, his Russian accent thicker, almost playful.
She grins and nods, completely serious. “You not cry, okay?”
He chuckles quietly, the sound rough but real. “I promise. Not a single tear.”
I move to sit beside Lily, brushing her hair back from her forehead, overwhelmed by the sight of the two of them together. Aleksander looks at me, something unspoken passing between us—a question, a hope, maybe a promise he’s too cautious to make out loud.
Lily’s attention flits to her bunny, then back to Aleksander. “Mama say rest. You need rest too.”
He smiles at her, then glances at me. “I think our daughter is right.”
My heart stutters.Our daughter. The words linger between us, heavy and beautiful, and for a moment I almost forget all the pain and danger that brought us here.
“Maybe we all need some rest,” I say softly.
Lily nestles between us, bunny in her arms, her head resting against my side. Aleksander settles back on the pillows, careful not to disturb his wound. He reaches for my hand, and this time I don’t hesitate. I take it, holding on tight.
We sit like that for a while, the three of us wrapped in an uneasy peace, sunlight creeping across the floor, breathing in and out as if life could start again right here.
18
ALEKSANDER
I stand at the window,watching the city wake up. Sunlight spills over glass towers, painting gold across the rooftops. I’m used to seeing everything from above—controlling the board, every piece where I want it. But now all I feel is helplessness. A new wound throbs in my shoulder, the old ones deeper still. My mother’s shadow stretches further than I ever imagined.
No one in this world has ever truly scared me. Until now.
I hear Bella behind me before I see her. The soft pad of her footsteps, the gentle click of the door. It’s become a comfort I never expected. Even now, with my life on fire, I find myself breathing easier with her in the room.
She hesitates, then moves to my side. Her presence is steady, careful—like she knows how close I am to falling apart.
“I’ve been thinking about that night in the garden,” she says, her voice low. “When I was trying to find a way out—I heard two people talking, near the hedges.”
I turn from the window, studying her face. She looks tired, but determined, wrapped in a soft robe that dips low between her breasts.
“What did they say?” I ask.
“They were talking about the man who was killed on the plane,” she says, searching my eyes for understanding. “They said something about ‘sending a message’ and that everyone would be too busy looking for the wrong suspect.”
I nod, the pieces shifting in my mind. “You think that has something to do with my mother?”
