But tonight, with William warm and safe in my bed, I feel something I haven’t felt in months.
Hope.
And the ruthless determination to burn the whole fucking world down to keep this boy safe in a world that I know can be cruel, vicious, and full of the most evil men…
* * *
The following morning the sun is barely up when I wake William with a slow trail of kisses down his spine.
He stretches like a contented kitten and murmurs something sleepy and sweet.
By the time we step out into the crisp morning air, he looks fresh, glowing, and impossibly innocent in one of my black shirts knotted at his waist.
I take the boy to a quiet café a few blocks from the apartment, one with outdoor seating shielded by tall plants and a view of the street but not the world.
We sit at a corner table and I order pancakes stacked high with berries, strong black coffee, and a big shared plate of fresh fruit. William’s eyes light up when the food arrives. He cuts into the pancakes with genuine delight, drizzling them with maple syrup like it’s the best thing he’s seen all week.
I watch him over the rim of my coffee cup.
The domesticity of it feels foreign but not unwelcome. My Little at breakfast, hair still damp from our shower, cheeks pink in just the most perfect way.
“Do you have studies today?” I ask, spearing a piece of melon and offering it to the boy.
William laughs softly, the sound light and genuine. He leans forward and takes the fruit from my fingers with his teeth. “Ialwayshave studies. There’s never a day off when you’re a PhD candidate. Seminars, reading, writing, grading undergrad papers… it never ends.”
I smile, genuinely.
“You’re committed,” I say. “I respect that. You fight for your world the same way I fight for mine.”
William chews thoughtfully, then his expression turns serious. “Speaking of your world… Kane, we still need to talk about it. Aboutyou. I can’t keep pretending I don’t know you’re involved in something dangerous. I deserve to know what I’m getting into.”
The words hang between us.
I’m about to give William the careful, controlled answer I’ve prepared—enough to satisfy without revealing too much—when movement at the café entrance catches my eye.
Viktor Volkov walks in, flanked by Ivan Zorin and Kirill Antonov. All three are dressed sharply, exuding power. They spot me immediately.
Viktor’s gaze flicks to William for a brief second, assessing, before his face settles into a polite, almost charming smile.
The three men approach our table.
“Kane,” Viktor says warmly, extending a hand. “Good to see you. And who is this lovely young man?”
William tenses beside me. He senses the shift in the air, the way these men carry themselves, the undercurrent of threat beneath the civility.
William is smart. He knows.
“This is William,” I say smoothly, placing a possessive hand on his thigh under the table. “My boy.”
The three men nod politely. Ivan and Kirill offer small, respectful greetings—nothing overt, but enough to show they understand he’s under my protection.
Still, William’s discomfort is palpable. The darling boy shifts in his seat, winces slightly, and gives me a quick look.
I lean in and kiss the back of his hand. “Go on, little one. I’ll see you back at the apartment later. Text me.”
William nods, clearly relieved. “Okay. Nice to meet you all,” he says quietly, then gathers his things and slips away. I watch William until he disappears around the corner, making sure no one follows.
Only then do I gesture for the three men to sit.
