I look at Nadia. She watches us with sharp eyes.
“Yes,” I say. “You come. You help settle her. Then you return here with Vlad. I don’t want you in the house alone.”
That last part is true. For more than one reason.
She nods. “Of course,” she says. “I will do whatever you say.”
We move fast. Guards close the hall. The elevator is locked for us. We ride down to the garage. Nadia holds my hand so tight, I feel her nails.
On the way, she leans closer.
“Papa,” she whispers. “Do you trust Nastya?”
Her question lands like a blade between my ribs.
I keep my voice calm. “Why do you ask?”
“She was here when Mama fell asleep,” Nadia says. “She made the cocoa. She said it would help us sleep. She smiled all the time. A big smile.”
Her face tightens and her eyes grow bigger. “I didn’t like that smile,” she says. “Her eyes did not look happy.”
She says it in a simple way, but the meaning is not small.
“Did she ever do something that hurt you?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “She’s gentle. She brushes my hair, makes my games work, reads stories. She never hits or shouts at me. But I don’t like her because she keeps trying to know more about Mama. She’s nosy.”
I file that away.
“I hear you,” I say. “You did well to tell me.”
We reach the garage. A black sedan waits, not one of the usual convoy cars. I chose it on purpose. No tinted windows. No plates that scream my name. It’s a car for a quiet uncle, not a Pakhan.
I strap Nadia into the back seat myself. Anastasia sits beside her. I take the front passenger seat. One guard drives. Another car follows at a distance.
The ride to my aunt’s building is short. We pass through traffic lights and short blocks. Nadia watches the streets with big eyes.
I look back once. Anastasia’s hands are in her lap. She stares straight ahead. Her jaw is tight.
“You didn’t sleep,” I say.
“I could not,” she answers. “Not after what happened.”
I watch her a moment longer. She does not meet my eyes.
We arrive at Aunt Tanya’s building. It is old but clean. The courtyard is small, with a few bare trees and one metal bench. I see my men at two points already. They came before us to secure the place. Their coats are plain. Their stances are not.
We climb the stairs. I carry the backpack. Nadia carries the bear. Anastasia walks behind us.
Aunt Tanya opens the door before we knock. She always listens at the peephole when the bell rings.
Her hair is silver. Her body is thin. Her eyes are sharp and warm.
“Seryozha,” she says and pulls me into a quick, hard hug before I can stop her.
I breathe in the familiar scents of old soap and cabbage and tea. For a second I feel twelve again. I push that aside.
“Tyotya,” I say. “I bring you trouble.”
