“Should we take her soup?” the doll in Sophia’s hand asks. “Sick people need soup.”
Years of counselling, more like, but I just shake my head. “Maybe tomorrow. Right now, she’s resting.”
Sophia nods, her blinks already slowing, easing into sleepiness. I read her a book she’s a bit old for—about a dog who’s incredibly into digging—but she doesn’t protest. The doll stays firmly tucked under her arm, too. A hark back to when her mother left, and she desperately needed something to hug while she fell asleep. Dads excluded.
I lie on the bed beside her, making sure she’s fully lost in her dreams before I extricate myself from her embrace.
Then, even though there’s work piling up, even though I need to sort through my intel to ensure nothing’s been missed, even though there’s a Sergio loose in the city when he should be in a torture room with my name on it, I stay. Staring at my sleeping daughter’s long lashes, wondering what horrific memories are stored up behind those closed eyes.
In my line of work, I should’ve known better than to become a father. Should have known my nearest and dearest would always be targets.
Except I did know that. The house isn’t impenetrable because it’s fun. It’s meant to keep us safe.
Likewise, the guards I hire, straight from their six-month stint in a European training camp. Each paid a generous salary because otherwise they’ll revert to mercenaries, and I want loyalists.
None of it was enough.
I bend to kiss Sophia on her forehead, smoothing the hairs from her brow and smiling at the peaceful expression on her face. And who am I kidding, thinking I could ever deny myself a love as strong as this?
Long minutes later, I tear myself away because there’s another female in the house just as deserving of my attention. Maybe more so since it’s choice rather than genetics that landed her at my doorstep.
Isabelle is still clothed, still on top of the covers. She’s moved, otherwise I might have thought she was catatonic. But no, her knees have drawn up to her chest and her arms hug them close.
“Hey.” I shut the bedroom door, striding to the bed and pulling a chair from the dressing table over so I can sit, watching her. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like I’ll never be able to sleep again.”
My lips curl and I can’t resist teasing. “Do you need me to tire you out?”
But my mild flirtation, if it even counts as that, falls on deaf ears. Her eyes stare ahead, a crease between her eyebrows the only expression.
“The doctor will be back late tomorrow to examine you.”
“I don’t want to be examined. I want to go back home without people following me or spying on me from cameras every minute of the day.”
“Not every minute.” I want to touch her so badly that I clench my hands together, so I know where they are. “You’d have to be slightly more exciting to warrant that much supervision.”
“There must be another way to—”
“Please stop.” Her voice cuts off so abruptly at the request, I feel cruel. “Move over.” She jerks, then scrambles a foot farther across the bed, leaving me space to stretch out beside her. “Sorry,” I say, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. “I’m not great company when I’m exhausted.”
“Considering the size of the men you have quaking in their boots around here, I’m willing to bet that extends outside of when you’re tired.”
I close my eyes, my body relaxing for the first time in two days. “Who’s quaking?”
“Yuri wouldn’t even take me out shooting today because he needed to wait for your permission.”
“Shooting?” I chuckle and open my eyes in time to see hers narrow. “Whose brilliant idea was that?”
“He listed everything he does around here for fun and that was the only thing that came close to qualifying.”
“It’s not meant to be entertainment.” The weapons range is all clay, brown stubby grass, and a light dusting of spent cartridges. “But he can take you out tomorrow. You were on home detention today while we researched you more thoroughly, but tomorrow you should be okay to roam the grounds.”
“Roam.” She snorts at the description, curling further around my body, her fingers reaching out to lie on my chest. “And it’s nice to hear you admit this is a prison sentence.”
“I never—”
“Home detention isn’t any less of a punishment just because I have a Yuri instead of an ankle bracelet.”
