“Sure,” he says, like he’s humoring a kid. “And I keep beer in my fridge for hydration. Try again.”
“Ray—”
“Anton.” He cuts me off, calm but firm. “You’re human. You bleed, you feel, you screw up. That’s not weakness. That’s proof you’ve still got a pulse.”
He lets that hang in the air, long enough for me to hear the sound of Sarah laughing inside the kitchen, the kids fighting over a popsicle, the dog barking like he’s in on the joke.
“You know what I think?” Ray says, finally, voice softer now. “You didn’t come here to talk shop. You came here to see what normal looks like.”
I glance at him. “And why would I need that?”
He lifts his beer. “Because you never had it, and some part of you wants to know what it feels like.”
For a second, I can’t look at him. The words hit straight, no place to hide behind them.
He’s right.
I’ve watched men die for power. Bleed for loyalty. Kill because someone told them to. But this? This noise behind the door—kids yelling, a woman laughing, a life that doesn’t need a gun to stay alive—I don’t know what the hell to do with it.
Normal isn’t something I lost. It’s something I never had. And maybe that’s the worst part. I don’t even know if I’d know what to do with it if it were handed to me.
The breath I take feels wrong in my chest. Heavy.
“Hey!” The back door opens, and Sarah steps out, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her belly’s showing now, a small curve under her shirt. “Food’s ready in ten,” she calls, smiling at Ray before disappearing again.
He watches her go with this quiet kind of awe. Not loud, not dramatic. Just love. The kind that’s steady enough to build a house on.
The screen door shuts, and for a second, I see something else—Mary in my kitchen, sleeves rolled, hair messy, moving like she belongs there. The smell of garlic, the soft hum under her breath. She fits. Too easily. Too damn well.
I don’t deserve her.
I force the thought out, drag my eyes toward the pool. The sunlight hits hard, reflecting off the water.
Zeus, the golden retriever, trots over, tail wagging, tongue lolling. Emma’s right behind him, barefoot, hair wild from running.
“Hi, Mister Anton!” she chirps, voice too bright for the weight sitting in my chest.
Zeus noses at my knee. I reach down, awkward, give his head a pat. My mouth tugs into something that might be a smile.
Emma studies me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle, then leans in quickly and plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Don’t be sad,” she says, and before I can answer, she’s already sprinting back toward the house. Zeus chases after her, tail a blur.
For a second, I just sit there. The spot on my cheek burns in the best way.
It shouldn’t hit anything, but somehow it does. My chest feels too tight and too full all at once—heat and ache mixed together in a way I don’t have a name for.
Ray watches his daughter run toward the house.
“She’s got a radar for people carrying heavy things,” he says quietly. “Always has. Picks it up before the rest of us do.”
I keep my eyes on the pool. The water shifts, bending my reflection out of shape until it’s just a blur. Easier to look at that than whatever she saw in me.
Ray takes another sip of his beer. “So,” he says. “You gonna tell me why you haven’t taken Timofey down yet? You’ve got the reach. The men. The proof.”
“Because Igor’s still breathing.”
He snorts. “So you’re waiting for permission from a man who’d have you shot if your loyalty looked too pure?”
