It took us a minute to get here—lift up from the TV room, past a couple of heavy doors, down a hallway that just kept going. This house is too big for its own good, but somehow everything feels bare.
Cold.
Like Leonid had enough money to fill it with furniture, but decided to keep things as minimal as possible.
Elijah’s humming now, fork in hand, tapping it against the edge of his plate like it’s a drumstick. His legs swing happily under the table.
“Mommy, this place is nicer than our kitchen.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yes, baby, it is.”
Movement catches my eye. Two guards patrol the garden, guns visible on their hips. I scan the corners of the ceiling. One, two, three—yep, cameras. Because of course there are cameras.
Left alone in an unlocked kitchen? Sure. They’re watching us from somewhere, probably betting on what we’ll try first.
“Mommy, Mommy.” Elijah tugs gently on my neck, his small arm pulling me closer until I have to hunch down a bit so he canwhisper into my ear. His breath tickles as he presses his face to mine. “Are they bad guys?”
For a second, a sharp sting hits my chest. He’s too young for this. Too innocent to be stuck in a world where bad guys surround us. I swallow the lump forming in my throat.
“Yes,” I admit quietly, bracing myself for the fear I expect to see in his eyes. Instead, Elijah leans in closer, his tiny hand still holding onto my neck for balance. He whispers with all the confidence in the world, “Don’t worry, we’ll train them to be good guys again, like Ash does.”
I blink, and then a chuckle slips out. God, I love this kid. He’s completely unfazed, convinced that with enough determination, he can flip an entire mafia operation like he’s turning Pikachu into a superhero.
Just then, Dmitry pushes the door open and steps through. A wave of garlic and butter hits us, and suddenly, I’m starving.
Elijah’s whole body perks up like a meerkat. “Smells so good!” His little butt lifts off the chair, nose in the air.
“Food’s coming.” Dmitry materializes beside us, two glasses in his hands. He puts one in front of Elijah, then places the other in front of me.
He stalks to the fridge, back muscles rippling under his black shirt like steel cables. Returns with a glass jar of orange juice that looks tiny in his grip.
He fills one glass, movements precise like he’s handling nitroglycerin instead of Tropicana.
Elijah’s eyes go from the juice to Dmitry, then to me.
Dmitry stands there, eyes flitting between the two of us.
I nod, aiming at Elijah. “Yes, you can drink it.”
“YEAH! Orange juice!” Elijah bounces in his seat. “Thank you! See? You’re getting better at being nice already!”
The corner of Dmitry’s mouth twitches. Something shifts in his face. The hard lines soften, just a fraction, as he watches myson demolish his orange juice. It’s the same look I’ve seen on guard dogs when they find a kitten to protect.
Unsettling.That’s what this is.
The door swings open. I expect one of Leonid’s plastic-perfect bots. Like the ones from The Aerie that night I slipped poison into his whiskey. All bedroom eyes and dead smiles.
Instead, Kayla bustles through with a tray that makes my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.
“My God, this smells incredible!” I say it out too loud.
Kayla beams, but her eyes keep drifting to Elijah. Just as quickly as I catch it, she’s already looking away.
“Lunch is ready,” she says as she drops the tray in front of us.
Oh. My. God.
Grilled cheese, but not like any I’ve made. Golden-brown sourdough, some fancy cheese melting out the sides, and what looks like caramelized onions peeking through. A bowl of tomato soup that’s definitely never seen the inside of a Campbell’s can sits beside it.
