Chapter 16
Izzy
"Back the fuck off."
Her face does this interesting thing, where surprise tries to register but can't quite make it past the Botox. Settles on hostile instead. "Excuse me?"
"The custody battle. The emergency hearing." My heart's doing its best impression of a jackhammer, but I keep my voice level, because showing weakness to women like Elena is like showing your throat to a predator. "Drop it."
"You came all the way to my house—uninvited—to tell me how to parent my daughter?" Her laugh could cut glass. "That's bold. Stupid, but bold."
"I came because Sergei's a good father, and you weaponizing Mila makes you a shit mother."
The Botox cracks. Actual emotion flickers across her face—fury mixed with something that might be guilt, if she were capable of it. "How dare you—"
"How dare I tell the truth?" I step closer into her personal space because I've learned that sometimes you have to crowd a predator to make them blink.
"This custody grab isn't about safety. It's about punishing Sergei for moving on.
For being happy. For finding someone who doesn't treat him like a trained dog. "
"You've known my daughter for two weeks." Each word is a small explosion. "You know nothing about her needs, her fears, what's actually best for—"
"I know she wakes up from nightmares about you taking her away from her dad." The lie comes out smooth because I'm betting it's true. "I know she pretends to be asleep when you call, so Sergei will say she can't come to the phone. I know she asked me if there's a way to stay with Papa forever."
Elena's face goes sheet-white beneath the foundation. "That's—she wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't she? Eight-year-olds are smarter than you think. Especially ones raised by a man who taught her to read people. She knows you're using her. Kids always know."
"He killed a man at a charity luncheon." Elena repeats it like a mantra, but there's less conviction now. Like she's reciting a script someone else wrote. "In front of Manhattan's elite. That's not stable behavior—"
"That man had a knife to my throat." I let my voice go cold.
Flat. The way Sergei sounds when he's explaining violence like it's physics.
"Sergei had two seconds to decide: Let me die or neutralize the threat.
He chose me. That's not instability. That's love.
But I guess you wouldn't recognize that, would you? "
Direct hit. Elena's jaw works like she's chewing glass.
"You think you're different? Special?" She leans forward, and I can smell her perfume—something French and expensive that probably has a waiting list. "You're just another woman who thinks she can fix him.
I tried for five years. You know what I got?
Nightmares. Silences. A man so broken, he can't tell the difference between protecting and controlling. "
"There's a difference between broken and dangerous. Sergei's dangerous. But he'd never hurt his family. Never use his daughter as a weapon in some petty war."
"Petty." She laughs, sharp and brittle. "You think protecting my child is petty?"
"I think funding a custody battle with Matthew Ashford's money is suspicious as fuck."
The color drains from her face. Fast. Like I've pulled a plug somewhere vital.
"I don't know what you're—"
"Save it." I watch her carefully, cataloguing every micro-expression.
The flicker of her eyes. The way her hand tightens on the doorframe.
"I know Matthew's been paying your legal fees.
I know you've been meeting with him. What I don't know is whether you're stupid enough to think he's doing it out of the goodness of his heart. "
"Matthew is a family friend. He offered to help when he heard about the custody dispute—"
"Matthew is a murderer who's been trying to kill me for weeks.
" The words come out harder than I intend.
"And if you're taking his money, Elena, you're either complicit or you're being used.
Either way, you should be very, very careful about which side you're standing on when this all comes crashing down. "
She's quiet for a beat. Two. The mask slipping just enough that I see something underneath that might be fear.
Good.
"When he hurts you," she says finally, voice low and venomous, "and he will—they always do—don't come crying to me."
"If Sergei wanted to hurt me, I'd already be dead. But thanks for the concern." I step back, creating distance before I do something I'll regret. "Really warms my heart."
"Get off my property."
"Gladly. But first—Mila's math workbook. Sergei said she forgot it. She needs it for school."
Elena's eyes narrow. For a second, I think she's going to refuse out of pure spite. Then she turns, disappearing into the house, leaving the door open like a dare.
I don't take it. Don't step inside. Don't give her ammunition for later.
Thirty seconds pass. A minute. I'm starting to think she's gone to call the police when she reappears, workbook in hand. She shoves it at my chest hard enough to make me step back.
"Take it. And don't come back."
"Wasn't planning on it." I tuck the workbook under my arm. "Your house smells like disappointment anyway."
The door slams hard enough to rattle the frame.
I stand there on her stupid perfect steps—probably imported Italian marble, breathing through the adrenaline crash.
Three beats to steady myself.
Five to remember why I came here.
Seven to realize I just lied to a woman about her daughter to win an argument, and I don't even feel bad about it.
Marco has the car door open when I reach the curb. Sees my face. Doesn't ask questions, just like the professional he is.
"Home," I tell him as I slide into the back seat. "We're done here."
He pulls away from the curb, and I watch Elena's townhouse shrink in the rearview mirror. All that white stone and old money hiding a woman who's either complicit in Matthew's schemes or too desperate to see that she's being played.
Either way, she's dangerous.
Either way, I need to tell Sergei.
My hand finds Dad's lighter in my pocket. The gold is warm from sitting against my body, familiar and grounding. I flip it open without looking.
Click snap
Click snap
Elena's warning echoes in my head. When he hurts you—and he will, they always do.
She's wrong. I know she's wrong. Sergei's violence is a scalpel, not a hammer. Precise. Controlled. Aimed at people who threaten what's his.
And I'm his now.
Which means Elena just threatened the wrong person.
The bridge to Brooklyn appears ahead, Manhattan fading behind us like a bad dream. I close the lighter, pocket it, and pull out my phone.
Me: Just left Elena's. She admitted Matthew's been funding her custody case. She's scared but won't back down.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Sergei: How scared?
Me: Scared enough to warn me that you'll hurt me eventually. Classic deflection.
Sergei: She said that?
Me: Among other things. We should talk when I get home. Something's off. The way she reacted when I mentioned Matthew—she's hiding something.
Sergei: Or she doesn't know what she's hiding. Matthew uses people without telling them why.
Me: Either way, she's a liability.
Sergei: Agreed. We'll figure it out. Get home safe, kotyonok.
I set the phone down, staring out the window at grey sky and greyer water. The East River looks angry today, choppy because of the wind, reflecting nothing but storm clouds.
Elena's not the enemy. Not really. She's a weapon Matthew's pointing at Sergei, too blinded by her own bitterness to see the hand on the trigger.
But weapons don't get to plead ignorance when they draw blood.
If she keeps pushing—if she helps Matthew take Mila—I'll destroy her, too.
The thought should horrify me. A few months ago, it would have. A few months ago, I was picking out shoes for charity galas and avoiding my mother's phone calls.
Now I'm making lists of people I'm willing to hurt.
The list keeps growing.
I pull out the lighter again, watching the flame catch and dance in the dim light of the back seat. Small. Defiant. Hungry.
Just like me.
"Mrs. Orlov?" Marco's eyes find mine in the rearview. "Everything alright?"
"Fine." I close the lighter, slip it back into my pocket. "Just thinking about fire."
He doesn't ask what I mean.
Smart man.
Brooklyn rises ahead of us, all brownstones and bare trees, and somewhere in that maze of streets is a house that's starting to feel like home. A man who's teaching me to protect myself. A little girl who's starting to call me Mom.
A family I didn't know I wanted until I had it.
Elena's warning plays again: When he hurts you—and he will.
But she's got it backwards.
It's not Sergei she should be worried about.
It's me.