I'm nervous, my heart pounding at the thought of involving Robbie. He’s my best friend, my safe space in the city. What if this pulls him into the gunfire, the shadows? But Viktor's gaze is unwavering, that leader's certainty radiating from him.
Part of me wants to argue, but another part—the part that's starting to see him as more than a captor—whispers to trust him. I unlock the phone, fingers hovering over the keys.
Eddie: Hey Robbie, I'm okay. Weird stuff happened, but I’m safe. Can we meet tomorrow? Need to talk. Xoxo.
I show him the screen. He nods. I hit send.
I set the phone down, my hands trembling slightly…
Tomorrow, the city. It’s going to be scary. I mean, it’s not like I’m not scared here either. But there’s something about the thought of heading back into the city that makes me feel very scared. Terrified even. What if Viktor is taking me back as some kind of bait? What if he wants to exchange me in return for information? Maybe I’m being totally paranoid, but what do I know about him other than the fact that he killed a man in cold blood?
I glance back at my sculpture, the figures leaning into each other full of passion and angst, and wonder if I'm molding my own future here, or simply shaping my demise…
Chapter 14
Viktor
The plan is in place.
The boy knows this as well as I do.
Our secluded paradise is about to be interrupted and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it…
Night falls heavy over the house, the kind of darkness that presses against the windows like an uninvited guest. I watch it from the study, whisky in hand, the amber liquid catching the low lamp light.
Eddie has been quiet since dinner—picking at his food, eyes distant, that spark from the art room dimmed. He’s nervous about tomorrow, I can sense it. The city looms in his mind like a threat, full of shadows and memories of gunfire and bloodshed.
I don't blame him.
It's a risk, heading back in… but necessary.
The whispers Ivan mentioned are turning into shouts. I need to stomp them out before they become a roar. And not only that, I need to strike fear into my rivals’ hearts like never before.
Buttonight?
Tonight, my boy needs something else. Something to ease the fear, to pull him into that safe space where worries fade. A perfectly Little evening should do it.
I finish the whisky, set the glass down, and head upstairs to change. Pajamas—simple gray cotton, comfortable. In the drawer, I find the romper I had delivered earlier today, wrapped in discreet packaging. Pale pink, soft fleece with a hood and footies, sized just for Eddie. Specially ordered, because if I'm doing this, I'm doing itright.
I carry it down to the living room where Eddie is curled on the couch, Goldie in his lap, staring blankly at the TV screen. Some animated show plays, bright colors flashing, but his eyes are unfocused. He looks up when I enter, a small smile trying to form but not quite making it.
"Time for bed soon," I say, sitting beside him. "But first, change into this."
I hand him the romper. His eyes widen, fingers tracing the soft fabric. "For me?"
"Yes,” I laugh. “I mean, I really don’t think it’s Alexander’s color."
Eddie laughs and takes it to the bathroom, returns minutes later—transformed. The romper fits like it was made for him, hugging his peachy ass but loose enough for comfort, the hood flopped back, feet snug in the built-in socks. He looks adorable, vulnerable, every bit the Little I suspected he was. Goldie gets tucked under his arm as he climbs back onto the couch, nestling against me without hesitation.
I wrap an arm around him, pulling him close. "Milkies?"
He nods, cheeks pink. I prepared it earlier—heated just right, in a bottle with a soft pink teat. He takes it tentatively at first, then settles in, sucking gently as the TV flickers with a gentle cartoon about friendly animals. Goldie sits between us, his mane brushing my leg. Eddie floats away visibly—eyes glazing, body relaxing fully against mine, drifting into Little Space. The bottle empties slowly, his tummy filling with the warm comfort, sighs escaping between sips.
“Daddy, Daddy,” he gurgles, hiccupping and then sipping some more.
He’s adorable like this. Pure, unburdened, trusting. It stirs that Daddy part of me wide awake, the one that's been dormant too long. I stroke his hair, watching his eyelids droop, the bottle slipping from his lax fingers. I catch it, set it aside.
As Eddie drifts off to sleep in my arms, his breathing even and deep, a weight settles in my chest—not fear, but memory.
