“I thought the children might want a snack,” she says, setting the tray on the small table near the window.
“Thank you.”
She nods and leaves. My pulse is still racing. I’m jumping at every sound now. Every footstep in the hallway could be him. Every door opening could mean he’s coming to check on us.
I’m losing my mind.
Three days of replaying that gunshot. Three days of watching Luca move through the house as if nothing happened. He hasn’t mentioned the warehouse. Hasn’t asked if I’m okay. Just continues his routine like he didn’t execute a man in front of me.
Maybe this is routine for him. Maybe killing people is so ordinary that he doesn’t think twice about it.
The thought makes my stomach turn.
“Mama, I’m hungry,” Alexei announces.
I gesture to the tray Elena brought. “There’s fruit and juice.”
Both twins abandon their tower and run to the table. I watch them eat, but my mind is still stuck in that warehouse.
I need to pull myself together. The twins are starting to notice something’s wrong. Mila keeps asking why I’m so quiet. Alexei watches me with those green eyes that look too much like his father’s.
I can’t fall apart. Not here. Not where Luca can see it.
The days blur together after that.
I keep the twins close. We stay in their rooms or the garden, always away from the main parts of the house where Luca might be. I’m hyperaware of his presence now. I can hear his voice through the walls when he’s on phone calls. I track his movements through the house based on footsteps and door sounds.
He’s killed people before. Probably dozens. Maybe hundreds. And he’ll kill again without hesitation if someone crosses him the wrong way.
That’s the man my children are living with.
On the fourth day, I find a package outside Mila’s door. Pink wrapping paper with a white bow. No card.
I know who it’s from.
I pick it up and step into Mila’s room. She’s having quiet time on her bed, looking at a picture book. She sees the package and her eyes light up. “Is that for me?”
“No.” I turn slightly, holding it behind my back. “It’s a mistake.”
“But it’s pink. Pink is my favorite.”
“I know, baby. But it’s not for you.”
Her face falls. “Oh.”
I leave the room with the package and take it to my bedroom. I unwrap it there, alone. Inside is a porcelain doll with a hand-painted face, real hair, and a dress that looks like it cost more than my entire wardrobe. It’s beautiful. Exactly the kind of thing Mila would love.
I rewrap it and put it in the back of my closet.
Two days later, there’s another package outside Alexei’s door. Blue wrapping paper.
A remote-control car. Top-of-the-line, detailed like a real race car, probably cost hundreds of dollars.
I put it in the closet with the doll.
Luca doesn’t mention the gifts. Doesn’t ask if the twins received them. Just keeps sending more.
A stuffed rabbit for Mila. A set of building blocks for Alexei. Art supplies. Books. Toys that are thoughtful and age-appropriate and clearly chosen by someone who’s been paying attention to what the twins like.
