Chapter 46 Slava
SLAVA
The penthouse feels different with Alessandro in it.
He stands in the foyer with his small hand in mine, head tilted back to take in the soaring ceilings and the floor-to-ceiling windows that frame Manhattan like it exists just for him, and his eyes go wide.
"Papa," he breathes. "It's so big."
"It is." I crouch down to his level, brushing a strand of dark hair from his forehead. "This is home now. Your new home."
The words feel strange in my mouth. I've spent six years making sure he was nowhere near this place. Choosing to keep him at the chateau with the ghost of Gia and tucked away in secrecy.
And now, thanks to Bella, he’s here.
Until now.
"Can I see my room?"
"Gospodi, kto eto?" Ludmilla’s voice greets us.
Her hands are pressed to her mouth, and her eyes are already bright with tears. She's known about Alessandro since the beginning but she's never met him because Gia was taken away before we could even make it home.
“Dobriy den’,” Alessandro greets Ludmilla.
"This is Ludmilla Iosifovna," I tell him. "She takes care of the house. She took care of me for a very long time."
"Still taking care of you," Ludmilla mutters, not looking away from Alessandro. "Someone has to. You certainly don't do it yourself.”
“Alessandro Slavovich,” he greets her with the solemn formality of a child who’s been around more decorum than he should. “Ochen pryatno.”
“Oh.” Ludmilla tuts. “So polite. There’s no need to be formal with me, malchik. Call me Ludmilla. Come, let me show you to your room.”
Alessandro takes her hand without hesitation and I stand in the foyer, watching them disappear down the hallway, Ludmilla's voice drifting back to me in gentle murmurs.
This is the bathroom, malchik. And here is where I keep the extra blankets. Do you get cold at night? I will make sure you have enough blankets.
The penthouse has never felt this full. It never had the chance to ever feel this full.
I move to the windows, and for once, the skyline glitters like it’s beautiful instead of indifferent. And it’s all because of Bella.
She brought life back into this place.
She brought life back into me.
And I’m taking her out on a real date tomorrow night.
I breathe deeply and square my shoulders, feeling my heart speeding up at the thought of doing something so ordinary with her.
Every once in a while, I glance down the hall, listening to the sound of Ludmilla introducing Alessandro to different rooms, and think about that question he asked Bella.
Are you going to be my new mama?
I think she could be.
I don't hear Ludmilla return until she's standing beside me, her reflection appearing in the window glass like a ghost.
"He's asleep," she says quietly. "Poor thing. The travel exhausted him."
"He’s a good kid."
We stand in silence for a moment, watching the city lights flicker against the darkness. Then Ludmilla speaks again.
"He looks like her."
"I know."
"It’s his smile, Slavochka. He looks like Gia when he smiles.”
My jaw tightens. "I know."
Ludmilla's hand finds my shoulder and gives it a warm and gentle squeeze. "What finally made you bring him home?"
Home.
"Bella," I admit. "She persuaded me that he’d be safer here than in France. And now that he’s here, I know this was the right decision."
Ludmilla's fingers tighten on my shoulder, ever so slightly, and when I glance at her, she's smiling.
"I told you."
"Told me what?"
"That you’ve fallen for her."
“You also told me that I would be afraid that she won’t fall for me back.”
“And has she?”
“I think so,” I answer her. “She’s agreed to go on a date with me tomorrow night. A real date.”
Ludmilla's smile widens. "A date."
"I need the penthouse empty when we return."
"Ah." Her eyes twinkle. "That kind of date."
I give her a stare. "Ludmilla."
"What? I'm old, Slavochka, but I was young once." She pats my arm. "I’ll make sure this place is empty for you and keep your son company while you remember what it feels like to be in love again."
In love again.
The phrase ripples through my chest and keeps spreading until it touches everything that I thought died six years ago.
"It’s not what I expected," I say quietly.
"Love never is."
"Thank you, Ludmilla Iosifovna."
“For what?”
“For believing that I can love again.”
She gives me a knowing smile, and then bows slightly before she walks away. "You deserve this, Slava. You deserve to be happy."
I don't know if she's right. But for the first time in six years, I'm willing to find out.
The call comes shortly before dawn.
I'm in my office, reviewing security protocols that now feel inadequate, when my phone lights up with Alik's name. As soon as I see it, my blood pressure spikes.
Alik doesn't call at this hour unless something has gone very wrong.
"What happened?" I bark into the phone.
"The chateau got hit."
“What?”
"Details are still fuzzy, but there’s D'Ambrosio dead and wounded all over the fucking grounds. They came with a fucking army."
My blood goes cold, and suddenly I feel even gladder than before that I did listen to Bella and brought Alessandro back with us.
"Casualties?"
"Significant. We lost a lot of good men." Alik's voice hardens. "It was like the D’Ambrosios knew exactly where to hit and how to hit. Almost like someone told them."
"That's impossible." My voice comes out flat, automatic.
“Are you really being this na?ve?”
"What are you talking about? Speak plainly.”
“Think.” Alik sighs. “Really think. Who did we see speaking face to face with Nico D’Ambrosio?
Who was conveniently kidnapped that very night so you’d bring her to your penthouse?
How was it possible that a D’Ambrosio hitman went after your son a week after I brought her there?
Who went to France with you? Who stayed at the chateau? Who had access to everything?"
"Don't." It can’t be her. I won’t believe that it’s her.
But then again… I think as I recall Bella asking me if there was a way to contact Lydia from the plane on our way back from France.
Was that when she did it?
“Slava, are you there?” Alik’s voice hovers by my ear but it sounds so far away.
“I’m here.”
“I think it’s pretty fucking obvious that Bella has been working with the D'Ambrosios this whole time. Just like her brother."
"No." I shake my head. "She's not—she wouldn't—"
"You caught her snooping in your office, didn’t you? Twice. You told me yourself."
"She explained—"
"She lied.” Alik’s voice drips with poison. “And you believed her because you wanted to believe her. I'm not saying this to hurt you, bratok. I'm saying it because someone has to. That woman is not who she pretends to be."
I think about Bella in the hunting lodge, her body warm against mine, her voice breaking when she said my name. I think about her face when I told her about Gia, the grief in her eyes, and how she didn't look away.
If you ever betray me, malyshka, you'll wish you were still my enemy.
I said those words to her after I saved her from the water, when she asked me if we were still enemies. I said them and then I kissed her, and she kissed me back.
I let myself believe she was something other than a threat.
"I'll prove you wrong," I say. "There's another explanation. There has to be."
"Slava—"
“I’ll be in touch.”
I end the call before Alik can argue. My hands are shaking in a fine tremor I haven't felt since the night Gia died and I promised her ghost that I would burn the world down to avenge her.
Alik is wrong. He has to be wrong.
And the first place I can prove that is in my office.
I walk over to my desk, bend down to the safe that Bella had examined, and press my thumb against the pad.
The lock clicks and the door swings open. Reaching inside, I pull out one document after another. My hand pauses slightly as I look at the list of baby names Gia wrote before we settled on Alessandro.
Nothing looks out of place so far.
That’s when I see something else—something new.
It’s so thin that I almost miss it. It’s a fragile little thing—translucent and feather-light—and it threatens to crumble in my fingers. I kneel down, pick it up, and hold it to the light.
It’s a small piece of dried glue that’s been pressed flat.
And there, etched on its thin surface, is the unmistakable shape of a thumbprint.
My thumbprint.
And that’s when everything falls into place. That day when she came to my penthouse dressed like sex on legs. When she insisted on taking my glass of water. When she was rounding the desk like I caught her doing something she shouldn’t.
She copied my fingerprint. She used it to open the safe. She found the list of names and sent it to the fucking D’Ambrosio Family.
She almost got my son killed.
She was playing me. The whole time.
Did she do all of this so she can get close enough that she can stab me herself? Every tender moment. Every whispered confession. Every time she looked at me like I was something other than a monster—was all of it an elaborate performance?
Manipulation. A long game I was too blinded to see?
Red seeps into my vision, and I have one more thing to confirm. I open my laptop, and tap into the terminal that monitors all communication to and from the plane’s satellite connection.
There!
Two texts and a call, all sent to the same phone number.
With trembling fingers, I type the number into my phone, hoping and praying that it won’t show up as someone already in my contact list.
But it does.
Nico D’Ambrosio.
I call Alik.
"Get as many men as you can," I say, my voice taking on the cold register of a pakhan. "Guard my son and Ludmilla tomorrow evening at 7PM at a safe location."
“While you do what?"
I look at the dried glue thumbprint that confesses Bella’s guilt, and resist the urge to crush it in my palm.
"I have a liar to punish."