Daria is standing in the kitchen with her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the counter. I guide her to the couch, pull the blanket from the back, and tuck it around her shoulders.
“Stay here. I need to call Dmitri.”
I climb out the window and step onto the fire escape before I dial. He picks up on the first ring.
“It’s done,” I tell him.
“Confirmed?”
“Three rounds, center mass. Boris has the documentation.”
“The federal investigation has been redirected to Bogdan’s network,” Dmitri explains. “Daria’s name will be formally removed from the case within forty-eight hours, and the custody filing will be dismissed by the end of the week. Kira can come home. Tell my cousin to call Mila and arrange it.”
I come back inside and crouch in front of Daria. Her hands fit inside mine when I take them. “Kira can come home.”
She remains motionless at first, then every muscle that’s been holding her together for weeks releases, and pure, unguarded joy floods her so brightly that it transforms her face.
This is who Daria gets to be again.
She grabs her phone and dials with trembling fingers. I head for the balcony, but she catches my wrist.
“Stay.”
Mila picks up, and Kira’s voice fills the kitchen thirty seconds later.
“Mama!”
Daria holds the phone against her chest for one second with her eyes squeezed shut. Then she brings it back to her ear.
“Hi, baby. Guess what? You’re coming home.”
The squeal that comes through the speaker could shatter glass. Kira launches into a breathless monologue about the new dinosaur book Dmitri bought her, and Daria laughs and cries and nods along like it’s the most important thing anyone has ever said.
I lean against the counter and watch. This is what it looks like when a person gets their life back. Not a dramatic moment, just a mother on the phone with her daughter, listening to a five-year-old go on and on about nothing at all.
She hangs up fifteen minutes later. “Mila is driving her up tomorrow. She’ll be here by lunch.”
“Then we’d better clean this place up.”
She laughs, and the sound has no edge beneath it for the first time since I’ve known her.
We spend the afternoon putting the apartment back together. Daria makes Kira’s bed with fresh sheets and arranges Rex’s backup dinosaur on the pillow. I fix the cabinet hinge that’s been loose since I got here, and we take out the trash. Normal tasks.Domestic and mundane and more satisfying than any mission I’ve completed.
By nine, we’re running on fumes. After a shower, I step onto the fire escape with a glass of water and lean against the railing, shirtless as the cold air bites into my skin. It isn’t long before I hear the window slide up behind me.
Daria wraps her arms around my waist from behind and kisses the scar on my left shoulder where shrapnel from Aleppo left a raised white line eleven years ago. She holds her lips there long enough that I feel the shape of her breath against my skin.
I turn and take her face in my hands. The bruised shadows under her eyes remain, but the woman looking back at me isn’t checking for threats or bracing for the next blow. She’s just here.
“Come to bed,” she prompts huskily.
My cock springs to life as she takes my hand and leads me down the hallway. Inside the bedroom, she closes the door and opens the top drawer of the dresser. Then she turns back around, holding a pale, gray silk scarf.
I raise an eyebrow.
“I want to try something.” She meets my eyes. “Blindfold me.”
I search her face for any trace of doubt. Her jaw is set, and her fingers are steady on the silk. This isn’t a request born from panic or adrenaline.
