Chapter 15
ELLE
Time flies, they say, when you're having fun. Back when I lived in that tower of mine, a month seemed like a year and a year like a lifetime.
Wish Mother could see me now. She made it her mission to destroy any bit of freedom or happiness I might have.
She failed.
It's been four weeks since I crashed into Nikolai's world, and life's looking up.
We've found our rhythm. Every day, he comes home from some mysterious meeting or another, looking like he's committed treason for fun.
I don't ask much, he doesn't say much. But he kisses me on the forehead, shares a cup of coffee, and tells me there's nothing I need to worry about.
Whatever that means in mafia-speak, I don't push.
Though lately, something's shifted. More guards on the perimeter.
Pavel checking the gate cameras twice instead of once.
I caught the name Egor Barinov in a conversation that went dead silent the second I walked in.
The name alone made the staff go still, like animals hearing a branch snap in the dark.
Nobody tells me details. I file the unease away and focus on the good stuff.
And the best part of my day? Pasha. Hands down. That kid has me wrapped around his little finger.
We've been spending our afternoons turning the backyard into a borderline illegal STEM lab. Today we're launching the mini rocket we built. Nothing explosive. Just a soda bottle, a pump, and enough duct tape to make the cops nervous.
Pasha's practically vibrating with excitement, goggles pushed up on his forehead, yelling a countdown like we're about to breach the atmosphere.
"Three! Two! One!"
WHOOSH. The rocket shoots up, sputters, and flops sideways like it's drunk.
We both double over laughing. Sir Isaac trots off in the opposite direction like he wants no part of whatever criminal science is happening here.
"Again!" Pasha yells, already sprinting to reset.
"Give it two minutes! Let the pressure build!"
This is what normal feels like. This is what I've been missing my whole life.
I'm chasing after him, hair whipping loose from its ponytail, feeling lighter than I have in years, when I see the security detail coming toward us. Two of them, fast-walking, earpieces in, hands near their weapons. That particular kind of calm you learn to distrust real fast.
My stomach drops.
"What's going on?" I ask, standing straighter, stepping between them and Pasha without thinking.
"We need to get you both inside. Now."
"Is something wrong?"
"There's a situation at the gate."
"What kind of situation?"
They exchange a look. The one that says she's too delicate for the truth.
I hate that look. It reminds me of every time my mother stripped me away from information to keep me obedient.
Mikhail says, "Just someone trying to get onto the property. Nothing to concern yourself with."
"Yeah, see, that's not how this works." I live here now, and I'm done being treated like someone's clueless plus-one. "I don't love cryptic threats in my own front yard."
Pasha, still at a distance picking up the rocket, hasn't noticed yet.
That's when I hear it.
A woman's voice. High, strained, furious. Shouting from somewhere beyond the front lawn. I can't make out everything, but one word hits like a sucker punch to the gut.
"Son."
I whip around. "Did she just say son?"
The guards stiffen.
"Damon! Damon, I'm your mom!"
My brain scrambles. Damon? Who the hell is that?
"You want to tell me what that's about?" I ask, already moving to shield Pasha from view.
"Ma'am, some woman thinks she's here to get her son." Mikhail's voice is firm. "We need to get you and the boy inside. Now."
"No. You're getting him inside. I'm going to talk to her."
He frowns. "With all due respect, ma'am, that's not how this works."
The guards exchange glances. I feel the flicker of indignation in my chest. Four weeks ago, I was a stranger in this house. Now I'm Nikolai's wife. These men work for us.
"This is my house," I say, and my voice comes out colder than I expect. "If someone's screaming about our kid, I'm handling it. Take Pasha to the kitchen. Keep him occupied. Don't let him hear anything."
I hear myself and nearly wince. Who do I think I am? But I'm not going to weaken the stance with an apology. Not now.
They hesitate. Then comply.
Pasha groans as he gets guided away. "But we just launched!"
"I'll save your turn!" I call out, forcing a grin.
Mikhail takes Pasha inside. The other guard stays.
"I'm not leaving you, Mrs. Ivanov." He shakes his head like he fears decapitation if anything happens to me.
"Fine." I huff.
He draws his weapon and follows as I walk toward the front gate, my heart thudding against my ribs harder with every step.
I've been the lady of this house for a few weeks. Now I'm making decisions that could upend everything.
A moment later, I see the woman on the other side.
Late twenties. Painfully thin. Dark hair in a messy ponytail. Clothes clean but worn, face bare and streaked with tears.
Not a junkie.
Not visibly drunk.
Just desperate.
Her hands grip the iron bars so tight her knuckles shine white. Two guards hold her back from the fence, but she's not giving up.
Her eyes lock onto mine. "Please," she says, voice breaking. "Please help me. I know my son is here."
"I'm Elle Ivanov. This is my home. Who are you?"
"Natalia." She swallows hard. "Natalia Petrova. My son, Damon, he's here. I know he is."
"There's no Damon here," I say gently, careful not to let Pasha's real name slip. "You have the wrong house."
"No!" She shakes the gate hard enough to rattle the locks. "I saw the father in the newspaper. A charity event last month. The paper said he has a son. That's my son!"
The guards tense, hands moving to weapons.
"That's not his name," I correct.
"Damon," she insists, eyes feverish. "Eight years old. Born May 17th. I left him..." Her voice catches. "I left him with his father. Outside his apartment. There was a blue blanket with stars. A diaper bag. A note."
My blood runs cold. Every detail matches what Nikolai told me. The date. The car seat. The note with no name.
"That's impossible," I whisper.
"I was nineteen," she continues, words tumbling. "I couldn't... I wasn't..." She takes a shuddering breath.
A guard leans toward me. "Mrs. Ivanov, we should go."
I ignore him. Step closer to the gate, close enough to see the gold flecks in Natalia's brown eyes. Eyes that suddenly seem familiar.
"Please," she says. "Just let me see him. Let me explain. Let me tell him I never stopped loving him."
Something in her words sends me reeling. I think of what I might be taking away from Pasha if I don't listen. I think of my own mother, who never once said she loved me.
I stare at her.
Her eyes are locked on me like I'm the gatekeeper to her entire past.
I turn to the guards. "Open it."
They freeze. "Mrs. Ivanov..."
"I want to hear what she has to say. And if she gets even one inch out of line, you can shoot her in the leg or something."
Her eyes widen in panic. But the guards relent.
The gate buzzes. Swings open slow. And the woman steps forward.