I nod once.
“Oh my God.” Her hand flies to her mouth, then falls again. “I can’t believe someone would do that to their child.”
Me neither.
Her fingers curl gently around my forearm, and even though the touch is light, my muscles tighten anyway. “Then she didn’t deserve either one of you.”
My hand lifts almost on its own, the back of it brushing along her cheek. Her skin is warm, and she stills beneath the touch.
“You’re a very special woman. Do you know that?”
A faint, uncertain smile touches her mouth. “I don’t know if you’d agree if you actually knew me…but thank you.”
My brows pull. “What does that mean?”
A breath of laughter escapes her. “Nothing. I’m just saying I’m not perfect.”
“No one is. We do the best we can with what we have.”
“You’re right.” She exhales defeatedly.
Neither of us moves, her warmth pulling me in, and I realize I don’t want to leave her.
“If you still need to go to the store, you can go. I’m here now.”
“Are you sure?” she asks quickly. “I don’t have to.”
“I’m sure.” I bring her knuckles to my mouth and kiss them. “Go.”
She hesitates, studying me like she’s trying to decide whether I mean it. “Okay. I won’t be long.”
As she leaves, I tell Lev she’ll be back soon. And even as I reassure him that she’s only stepping out for a bit, a quiet part of me knows I don’t actually believe that’s where she’s going.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
SLOANE
The hot waterruns down my body the next morning, but it does nothing to quiet the nerves twisting through my muscles.
After I left to pick up the tools Eli had stashed for me, I almost didn’t come back. The whole drive home, I kept picturing Kirill stopping me at the door, asking what was in my bag, telling me to open it. But when I returned, he was in his study, so I slipped upstairs, shoved the tools into a shoebox, and hid them in the closet, praying no one would ever think to look there.
I told myself today had to be the day. Kirill is at work, Lev is at school, and once the guards rotate around noon, I’m going into that study whether I’m ready or not.
Still, every time I picture breaking into that safe, something goes wrong. The tools fail. A guard walks in. An alarm goes off. I end up bleeding out on Kirill’s polished floor. No matter how the scene plays out in my head, it always ends badly.
But I have to do this. I’m good at it. I’ve always been good at it.
All I need is ten minutes. In and out. Open it, take what I came for, close it, and make it look like I was never there at all.
By the time I step out of the shower, steam still clings to my skin, but noon is almost here and I have to be ready. I dry offfast, throw on something simple, twist my hair back, and tell myself to calm the hell down. If I let myself think too much, I’ll lose my nerve.
Back in my room, I kneel in front of the closet and drag the shoebox out from where I hid it before grabbing a tote bag and stuffing everything inside.
Then I wait.
When noon finally comes, no one stops me as I head downstairs. No one even glances my way even as my pulse pounds hard enough to make my ribs ache.
This is it.
