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“Learning you,” I correct. “There’s a difference, though I doubt it comforts you.”

“And then you…” The pieces are still locking, and I watch the worst one slide home. Her eyes widen in horror. “Seraphina. You took a child. You blew a hole through my cousin’s security, terrorized three families and stole a two year old…to get my attention?” Her voice rises sharply on the last word.

Here’s where I have to step carefully, because the real answer is more complicated than her fury is going to want to hear.

“No,” I tell her. “Not only that. If I’d wanted only your attention, there are easier ways to earn it, and I’m a patient man. I’d have used them.” I watch that register on her face and smile slightly. “Seraphina Santoro’s absence from that house serves several purposes, Katerina. Things I’ve been arranging far longer than the thirty days you’ll spend here. Your presence at this table is one outcome of that plan. A precious one—the most precious, if I’m honest—but not the only one. You’re not the reason the child was taken. You’re the reason I’ll enjoy the next month while the rest of it unfolds.”

It’s the truth that I’m willing to give her. It even has the virtue of frightening her more than a simple yes would have.

“What reasons?” Her voice cracks for the first time all night and her face screws up. “What could possibly—she’s a baby. What reason justifies that?”

“That,” I remark carefully, “is a thirty-day conversation. And we’ve only just begun.” I rise, looking down at this furious, frightened, extraordinary woman who has been the center of my world for two years and has only learned I exist. “Try to enjoy your stay. The grounds are beautiful in the morning. The kitchen will make you anything you ask for. And you are going to be here, Katerina, whether you’ve made your peace with it or not—so you may as well let yourself sleep.”

She’s on her feet, the napkin abandoned, her whole body strung tight as a wire. “I’d like to go to my room,” she snarls, her eyes alight with anger.

“Of course. It’s your home now.” I gesture to the door graciously, the perfect host. “Good night, Katerina.”

She walks out with her spine straight and her chin level and her hands clenched white at her sides, refusing to say one word. Rage and fear are braided so tight even she probably can’t tell them apart anymore.

I let her go.

I pour another glass of wine and stand at the window, hearing her footsteps fade as she heads upstairs.

I feel something I haven’t felt in two years, something I’d nearly forgotten.

Not anticipation. Not hunger.

Peace.

She’s here. She’s finally here.

Twenty-nine days.

5

KATERINA

Two years.

I stare at the ceiling. Two years vibrates in my head, getting worse the longer I think about it.

My life, the one I thought was just mine, had a front-row seat to it this whole time and I was none the wiser.

I shiver and close my eyes and I’m back at the coffee place on 168th, the one with the barista who draws a little heart in the foam and calls me “Doc” like we’re friends.

Was he there?

The cars parked across the street that I dismissed as a really lucky parking spot for neighbors.

Was it one of his people, watching me with a long lens and a lot of patience?

What about the date I went on in February?

The guy talked about his fantasy football league for forty minutes while I nodded and thought about impaling myself on my fork.

Was that monitored too? Filed somewhere with a timestamp?

I sit up so fast the room tilts.