The man sets the tray on the dresser and straightens and his gaze flicks between me and the boy. It's like in that split second, he's read my mind and knows I want to bolt. "Don't try anything stupid."
Then he turns and walks back into the hallway, and I take one step forward before I hear Sasha's voice crack behind me.
"Miss Dragunova?"
I freeze and my throat closes around the words I want to scream at the guard’s retreating back. The door swings shut and the lock clicks into place, and I stand there staring at the wood grain and feeling my chance slip away. My hands shake and my vision blurs, and I blink hard against the tears threatening to spill over.
One month ago, I stood on that playground thinking of all the ways I would rescue Sasha Koryabin if I could, and here I am, given a perfect opportunity to lean into the role of nurturing him, and I'm thinking of leaving. I should be ashamed of myself. Turning, I say, "Yes, baby?" and he smiles at me.
A genuine smile that I've seen a million times on the playground. And I know I can't leave him. Which means whatever this is that Mr. Gravitch has going on, I'm in it for the long haul, or until I can figure out a way to get both of us out of here together.
7
FYODOR
The car's headlights cut through the darkness and light up the narrow dirt road leading to the first safehouse, bouncing with every rut and pothole we hit. Lazar sits in the passenger seat beside me turned toward the window, watching as we approach. Lev sits in the back seat, and I can hear him checking his weapon to make sure it's ready to go. We get one chance at this. Every one of us has to be prepared.
The safehouse appears through the trees as a low, dark structure with no lights visible in any of the windows. My stomach tightens and I ease off the accelerator and let the car roll to a stop about thirty meters from the building. The engine idles for a few seconds while Lazar checks his weapon, and I kill it and plunge us into complete darkness except for the faint glow of the dashboard. Nobody speaks for several seconds while we all scan the building and the surrounding area for any sign of movement or occupation.
"Looks empty," Lazar grunts, but it's obvious he doesn't have to say it. There are no cars here to indicate a presence, but we still have to go through the motions.
"We check it anyway." I push my door open, and the interior light flicks on and lights up the night before I step out into the cold and close the door behind me. The frozen ground crunches under my boots and the sound carries in the quiet night air. Lazar and Lev climb out behind me, and we converge at the front of the car as I pull my weapon out to check it too.
We move toward the building in a loose formation with me taking point and Lazar covering my right flank while Lev hangs back slightly to watch our rear. The windows are dark and the front door hangs slightly open on its hinges, which tells me immediately that nobody's secured this location in weeks.
My jaw clenches and I feel the familiar frustration building in my chest as I reach the door and push it open wider with my boot. The hinges creak but draw no attention and confirm what I already suspected.
The safehouse is abandoned.
I step inside, and the smell of mildew and stale air hits me immediately and makes my nose wrinkle. Lazar moves past me and heads toward the back rooms while Lev stays near the entrance and keeps watch. I pull a small flashlight from my jacket pocket and click it on and sweep the beam across the main room. Dust covers every surface and there are no footprints in it, which means nobody's been here for at least a month.
"Nothing. The place hasn't been touched in weeks…" Lev sounds as irritated as I feel, but I sweep the downstairs quickly just to put any lingering doubt out of my mind.
"Second location then…" I say, and I don't bother hiding my annoyance as I head back outside.
We're halfway back to the car when Lazar's phone vibrates and he answers it. The three of us climb in, but given how intense Lazar sounds, I'm interested in knowing what he's talking about. I pull the car around and start back down the bumpy drive as he ends the call and turns to me.
"That was the private investigator we hired to track down Murial Koryabin."
It's about time we got some damn information. "What did he find?"
"A death certificate was issued in her name five days ago." His voice falls to a monotone. He knows I won't like what he's about to say. "She was terminal and the pain management wasn't working anymore, so she overdosed on her medication."
It's a gut punch I wasn't quite ready for, though I'm not entirely shocked. No woman just sends her son to live with a Bratva soldier out of spite. I don't even remember Murial that well, but she must've remembered me.
"So the boy…" I say, letting my thoughts trail off. It's hard to believe I just get handed custody of a kid and there's no one to help me figure this shit out.
"Murial put him in the lawyer's custody about ten days ago when she got too sick to care for him properly. She spent those ten days getting all the paperwork sorted to prove you were the father and making sure everything was legally documented." Lazar shifts in his seat, and I can feel him watching me even though I keep my eyes locked on the road ahead. "The lawyer spent the next few days after her death tracking you down and then delivered the boy to your address and washed his hands of the whole situation."
"Of course he did." Bitterness floods my mouth, and I taste copper on my tongue from biting the inside of my cheek too hard. "Nobody wants to deal with the complicated parts."
Lazar doesn't respond, and I try to wrap my mind around the reality of my situation. Murial had my child and kept him from me for ten years without ever reaching out or asking for help or even letting me know he existed.
She raised him alone and only contacted me when she was dying and had no other options left. The anger that surges through me is irrational because she's dead and there's no point in being angry at a corpse, but I can't stop the emotion from flooding my system and making my jaw clench until my teeth ache.
I have a son now.
A ten-year-old boy who doesn't know me and is terrified of me and needs things I don't know how to provide. That's a hell of a lot of responsibility for one person. I'm not built for fatherhood and I have no idea how to raise a child in a way that won't damage him beyond repair. Everything I know about parenting comes from my own childhood, which was a masterclass in neglect and emotional abandonment. The thought of repeating those patterns with Sasha makes my stomach turn.
