Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Harper
"You really think I'd believe you?"
I sat by the window in the café, hands wrapped tight around a latte that had long gone cold. Across from me, Kirill looked like hell—dark circles under his eyes, stubble on his jaw, like something had hollowed him out from the inside.
But I wouldn't feel sorry for him.
"I don't need you to believe me." Kirill's voice was rough. He pushed a manila envelope across the table. "I just need you to look at this."
I stared at the envelope like it was a coiled snake.
"After you've seen it," he said, "then decide if you want to believe."
I hesitated for a few seconds, then finally reached out and opened it.
Inside was a stack of papers and a voice recorder.
I picked up the papers first. The top page was a confession statement, signed and fingerprinted by someone named Marcus. The content made my heart seize—
"...acting on orders from Mr. Julian Dante, assaulted nursing home staff member Ryan Miller on the evening of December 26th. Wore black coat as instructed, deliberately used Russian accent...purpose was to make Harper Evans believe the attacker was Kirill Orlov..."
My hands started shaking.
"Keep reading." Kirill's voice came from across the table, low and steady.
I flipped to the second page. A background report on Julian Dante. Underground power player in San Francisco, descendant of a fallen Italian noble family, linked to multiple murders, smuggling, money laundering cases...
And his connection to Genevie.
Turned out Genevie's ex-husband was Julian.
My stomach lurched, nausea rising in my throat.
"Listen to this." Kirill pushed the recorder toward me and hit play.
A man's voice came through the speaker, broken and halting, like he was speaking in absolute terror.
"...Mr. Dante said he didn't need the kid...after he takes the woman away, he'll arrange an accident...make the child disappear..."
I slammed the pause button.
"Enough." My voice shook. "I don't want to hear any more."
Kirill looked at me, those gray-blue eyes holding something I couldn't read.
"Harper—"
"This can all be faked." I cut him off, my voice sharp enough to startle even myself. "You're a mob boss. You've got ways to fake all of this. Confessions can be forced, reports can be fabricated, recordings can be edited—"
"You think I'd use my child's safety to lie to you?"
The question stopped me cold.
Kirill leaned forward, his gaze burning into mine. "Harper, that's my child. My blood. You think I'd gamble with his life?"
I opened my mouth but couldn't speak.
I searched his eyes, trying to find even a trace of deception.
I found nothing.
"I don't know who to believe." I finally spoke the truth, my voice so hoarse it barely sounded like me. "Julian, these past few months...he's been good to me. He took care of me, protected me, and stayed with me when I was at my weakest. He was even willing to give Aiden a home..."
"Because he needed you to trust him," Kirill said. "A hunter always lets his prey relax before he strikes."
I shook my head, unwilling to accept it.
"You don't believe me, fine." Kirill stood up, leaving the envelope on the table. "But I hope you'll think it over. Whatever happens, I'll be nearby. Anything feels off, send me a message."
Then he walked out, leaving me alone in the café with a pile of evidence that made my skin crawl.
On the way back to the apartment, my brain was a tangled mess.
Julian's smiling face floated before my eyes—that gentle smile, those warm eyes, all that careful attention and thoughtful words...
How could he possibly be what Kirill said he was?
"A hunter always lets his prey relax before he strikes."
I found myself replaying the past few months, searching for any suspicious threads.
Were there any?
Julian never talked about his work, though he'd said once he was also in the mafia. Every time I asked for details, he'd brush it off vaguely, saying he was just bottom-rung, and those things were too boring to waste our time together.
Julian's phone was always password-locked. Once when I accidentally picked up the wrong phone, he'd practically snatched it from my hands, though afterward he laughed and said it was classified work files.
And then...
That night, I'd gotten up to feed Aiden and heard Julian on a call in the living room. He was speaking Italian, voice low, and the instant he saw me he hung up.
I hadn't thought much of it then.
But now, looking back, was something wrong with that call?
No. That's not right.
I couldn't start doubting Julian just because of a few words from Kirill.
Julian had appeared when I was at my most desperate and given me a chance to start over.
But what if?
My steps slowed involuntarily.
Aiden was my only family in this world. I couldn't risk his safety on anything.
Even if there was only a one percent chance, I had to be sure.
When I pushed open the apartment door, Julian was busy in the kitchen.
"You're back?" He poked his head out from the study, that gentle smile on his face. "I got your favorite tomato pasta."
I looked at his smiling face, a nameless emotion rising in my chest.
"Where's Aiden?" I asked.
"Sleeping in the nursery." Julian walked over and kissed my forehead lightly. "He was such a good boy today. Went right to sleep after eating."
The moment his lips touched my skin, I stiffened involuntarily.
Julian noticed my reaction, frowning slightly. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"
"Nothing." I forced a smile. "Just tired."
He looked at me for a moment but didn't press, just put his arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the dining room. "Then eat first, get some rest early. We still have to pack tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
Right, tomorrow, we were supposed to leave San Francisco.
I sat down at the table, watching Julian bring over the steaming pasta.
"Julian..." I began, keeping my voice calm.
"Yeah?" He was pouring water and looked up at me.
"I was thinking..." I chose my words carefully. "Do we really have to move?"
His movements paused for a beat, but he quickly recovered. "Of course we do. Didn't we already agree?"
"I know, but..." I lowered my head, pretending to struggle. "I'm a little reluctant to leave here. This neighborhood is really nice, and the neighbors are all so friendly. I worked at the nursing home for almost a year, and those old folks are sad to see me go. And..."
I looked up, meeting his eyes.
"This is where Aiden was born. I think...this is a good place for him to grow up."
Julian set down the water pitcher. The smile slowly disappeared from his face.
"Luna," he called my fake name, a hint of barely detectable coldness in his voice, "we've discussed this. San Francisco isn't safe. Kirill could find you any time. We have to leave."
"But he already found me," I said. "He's known where I am for so long and hasn't done anything to me. Maybe...maybe we could reconsider?"
Julian's expression changed.
"No." His tone turned hard, brooking no argument. "You and Aiden have to leave. I know a place that's better for you, very safe, where no one can find you."
My heart sank.
"But—"
"No buts." He cut me off, his voice suddenly cold. "This isn't up for discussion. We leave first thing tomorrow morning. Go pack now."
He'd never spoken to me in this tone before.
Never. Every alarm in my head went off.
"Okay...okay." I lowered my head, pretending to submit. "I'll go pack."
I stood up and headed for the bedroom. With every step, I could feel his gaze on my back, like a cold blade pressed against my spine.
In the bedroom, I started mechanically packing.
Julian's reaction wasn't normal.
I opened the closet and started stuffing Aiden's clothes into the suitcase. His little sweaters, little socks, that blanket he loved most...
"Don't pack so much."
Julian's voice suddenly came from behind me, nearly making me drop the clothes.
I turned around. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with an indifferent expression.
"What?"
"The kid's stuff," he said. "Don't pack so much. They have everything there. I'll buy him new things."
Would someone who actually cared about a child say something like that?
Aiden was only a few months old. He was used to his own clothes, his own blanket, that stuffed toy that helped him sleep. Anyone who understood babies knew how stressful a sudden change of environment was for an infant, let alone not even letting him bring familiar things.
"Okay..." I tried to keep my voice normal. "I'll pack less then."
He nodded but didn't leave, just stood in the doorway watching me pack.
I turned back, continuing to put things in the suitcase, my mind racing.
I needed to contact Kirill.
I needed to tell him what I'd discovered.
My phone was in my coat pocket. If I could send a message while Julian wasn't paying attention...
"I'll go check on Aiden," I said. "He should be waking up soon."
"No need." Julian's voice was cold. "He's sleeping fine. Keep packing."
I pretended to continue organizing clothes, and in the instant I bent down, I quietly slipped my hand into my coat pocket, felt the outline of my phone.
Just a little more...
"Give me the phone."
Julian's voice was like ice water dumped over my head.
I froze.
"What?"
He walked over, grabbed my wrist, and yanked the phone from my pocket. The movement was rough enough to make me cry out in pain.
"Julian, what are you—"
"You think I don't know who you saw today?"
His face was inches from mine, those once-gentle eyes now like ice, completely devoid of warmth.
"You think I don't know you and Kirill Orlov spent an hour in that café?"
My heart nearly stopped.
He knew. He knew everything.
"Every bag of yours has a recorder in it." He waved the phone, his tone casual, like he was commenting on nice weather. "Your conversation with that Russian, I didn't miss a word."
My body started shaking.
"Julian..."
"So he told you? Told you I'm going to kill the kid?" He tilted his head, looking at me with a twisted smile. "That's not good. I was planning to handle this more gently."
"You...you really want to..."
"What? Kill that bastard?" He shrugged. "Of course. Harper, you have to understand, I like you, not someone else's kid. That little thing has Kirill Orlov's blood. How could I possibly let him grow up?"
My legs went weak, nearly buckling beneath me.
"Don't think about running," he said, his tone returning to that elegant composure, though the coldness in his eyes deepened. "This apartment is surrounded by my men. Guards at the door, at the windows. You've got nowhere to go."
He walked to the nursery door and pushed it open. My heart leaped into my throat.
"Aiden!" I rushed forward, but Julian grabbed me.
"Don't panic, your precious is still sleeping." He pressed down on my shoulders, pushing me back into the bedroom. "If you behave, I can let him live a few more days. But if you try anything..."
He didn't finish, but the threat was clear enough.
"What do you want?" My voice was hoarse. "What do you really want?"
"I already told you." He bent down, close to my ear, his voice a low whisper like a demon's murmur. "I want you. Just you. You only need me in your world—not that child, not Kirill Orlov, not anything from your past."
He straightened, that gentle smile back on his face, but now it looked more terrifying than any other expression.
"Get some rest, Harper. Tomorrow we hit the road."
He turned and left. The door closed behind him, followed by the sound of the lock clicking into place.
I struggled to my feet and started searching the room for any way to escape. The windows were locked from the outside, and the door was solid wood. I couldn't kick it down. I tore through the entire room—not even a decent tool.
Aiden's crying came from next door.
"Aiden!" I threw myself at the door, pounding frantically. "Let me see him! He's crying!"
No response.
Aiden's cries grew louder, more desperate.
My tears finally came.
Kirill.
Please...please realize something's wrong.