The coffee mug I left on the counter is still lukewarm, a half-forgotten comfort, but the thought of drinking it makes my stomach twist.
Lettie is still at the dining table finishing her breakfast from before we left, her elbows braced on the shiny surface, watching me like a hawk. That raised brow of hers says it all—you’re a mess and I’m not letting you get away with pretending otherwise.
“What?” I mutter, trying to sound casual as I slide into the chair across from her.
“You tell me,” she replies. “You’ve been acting weird all morning. And don’t give me that ‘I’m just tired’ crap again. I know that one by heart.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. God, I’m tired. So damn tired of dragging all the weight of my past around, carrying the lies and the grief. The anger, the constant ache of wanting something I can’t have… it’s all too damn much right now.
The words claw their way up my throat whether I want them to or not, tearing me open as they spill out. “Okay, fine. You want the truth? Maksim’s alive.”
I lower my hands, forcing myself to meet her eyes.
Her mouth hangs open. She blinks once, twice, her brain trying to reboot. Then she lets out a laugh. It’s breathy and short, entirely disbelieving, like she’s waiting for the punchline. “What?”
I swallow hard. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears, hammering so loud I almost don’t hear my own words. “He’s alive. I saw him. He came to the house to tell me he finished wiping out thethreats against his family. Said he wanted to take Leo and me back to Russia with him.”
I hold back on telling her about the Mikhail stuff.
One crisis at a time.
Lettie stares at me, her mouth still parted like she can’t get it to close. “Holy shit.”
I breathe out slowly, my shoulders sagging. “I know.”
“No,” she finally says, shaking her head in a sharp, violent motion, like she’s batting the entire idea away before it can take root. “No, Ivy. You’re not going back with him. What the fuck is he thinking? Showing up randomly after seven years while you thought he was dead. He doesn’t get the right to demand things like that.”
Despite the tension coiling my stomach, I manage a tiny smile. She’s younger than me, but Lettie’s always been the protective one. Always the first to stand up when someone needed defending. Even me. “I told him the same thing. That Leo and I built a life here and he can’t just uproot us as he sees fit.”
“Jesus Christ.” She slams her palms down on the table.
The sound is so sharp it rattles the mug I left near the edge. Her eyes blaze at me, not with disbelief anymore but something hotter—anger, defense. The kind of feral love I’ve only ever seen when she thinks someone’s trying to hurt me.
“I can’t believe this,” she mumbles.
“I know.” Even to my own ears, it sounds unbelievable.
In the back of my mind, a part of me wants to make excuses for him—to tell her Maksim is only doing this because he thinkshe’s protecting me and our son. His sense of morality has never pointed north on any compass, but what else do I expect from a man raised inside a Mafia syndicate? That doesn’t exactly shape someone into a well-adjusted person, let alone a man capable of being a relaxed father.
But still, the truth coils in my stomach like a lead weight. He isn’t going to let this go. In fact, Maksim never letsanythinggo. It’s only a matter of time before he decides the choice is no longer mine and I’ll be on a plane to Russia whether I want to or not.
Before Lettie can spit another angry word out, the doorbell rings. The unexpected chime cuts through our conversation, forcing our words to die on our tongues.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
Then Lettie pushes back from the table with a scrape of wood against tile, muttering under her breath as she storms toward the front door. She yanks it open with a scowl already plastered across her face. “Oh. You have got to be kidding me.”
Maksim fills the doorway like he owns it. The quiet, cookie-cutter suburb around us suddenly looks like a cardboard backdrop compared to him. His leather jacket strains against his broad frame, the faint gleam of metal visible beneath as his arm shifts.
His face is the same as it was in the alley, unreadable and with barely contained frustration. But his eyes… those cold, steel-gray eyes lock on me the second I step into view. For just a flicker, relief breaks through. Like seeing me again has eased some unspoken torment that’s been haunting him.
He looks relieved. Like seeing me again has taken some weight off his shoulders.
Lettie, though, is bristling so hard she looks ready to claw his face off with her nails alone. “Oh, no. No, you don’t get to just show up here uninvited. You fake your death, traumatize my sister, and now what? You’re here to make things worse by trying to play nice-boyfriend?”
Maksims mouth tilts in the faintest ghost of a smile—amused, patronizing, like her rage entertains him immensely. “You take after Ivy.”
“Damn right, I do.” Lettie steps into the doorway like a guard dog, squaring her shoulders.
