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Ivy curls closer against me until I can barely separate where her trembling ends and mine begins. Her little fingers twist tighter into the back of my shirt while her face stays buried against my ribs.
My grip tightens around her, and I have to swallow hard before speaking. “I can’t leave you here with this.”
“Yes, you can.” His eyes soften painfully. “You’re not carryin’ this by yourself tonight.”
Emotion rushes up my throat so fast it burns. “Jules…”
He shakes his head before I can keep arguing. “Go take care of that baby and let me take care of this place for a few hours, alright?”
Alexei speaks from beside me. “You have my men here now as well. He won’t handle this alone.”
Jules looks over at him, exhaustion and grief written all over his face. “I appreciate that,” he says quietly.
Alexei gives a single nod, his attention returning to the shelter and the officers moving around it. “No one else gets hurt tonight.”
An officer approaches us, holding a notepad against his chest. “Miss Hayes, we still need your formal statement.”
I nod numbly and follow the officer to front of the shelter.
The next half hour blurs together into questions, exhaustion, and grief so heavy it feels lodged beneath my ribs. Ivy refuses to sit anywhere except glued to my side while I answer everything I can remember. The man with the baseball cap. The Italian accent. The scar near his jaw. The fake adoption paperwork he filled out right inside my shelter.
The detective writes quickly while another officer kneels a few feet away, trying gently to speak with Ivy.
“Sweetheart, can you tell me what happened tonight?”
Ivy says nothing. Not a single word. She only tucks herself tighter against me while her small body trembles again.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, smoothing my shaking hand over her curls. “You don’t gotta talk right now, baby.”
The officer gives me a sympathetic look before stepping back.
Alexei stays close enough that I feel him constantly, even when he’s not touching me. Every few minutes, another call comes through his phone. Every time he answers, his eyes grow darker.
When the detective finally walks away, Ivy slowly lifts her swollen, tear-filled eyes toward me. “Where’s Irina?”
The question cuts straight through me. I pull her closer, brushing damp curls back from her forehead while my heart aches so badly it feels bruised from the inside out.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Her lip trembles. “Is she hurt?”
I look helplessly at Alexei, who’s a few feet away, talking quietly in Russian on his phone, then back at her. How do you explain death to a six-year-old who just watched someone die protecting her? How do you tell her the woman who tucked her into bed every night is never coming home again?
“Irina…” My voice nearly breaks. “Irina isn’t hurting anymore, baby.”
Ivy stares at me in confusion, waiting. Hot tears stream down my cheeks now.
“She went to heaven tonight.”
As the words leave my mouth, her face crumples completely. “No.”
I pull her against me while sobs tear out of her little body hard enough to shake both of us.
“No,” she cries desperately. “I want Irina.”
“I know, baby.” Tears continue spilling down my cheeks while I hold her tighter. “I know.”
Beside us, Alexei suddenly turns away and plants one hand against the wall. His shoulders go rigid while his fingers curl hard against the plaster. Then he ends the call and turns back.
