28. Alina
ALINA
“Mama.”
Oisin’s voice is right in my ear, soft and serious, like he’s saying my name the way he says a rule.
I try to open my eyes and my body argues first. Everything feels heavy, thick, like I’m pushing through wet cement. My throat aches when I swallow, my tongue tastes metallic, and my head is sore in a slow, stubborn way.
“Oisin,” I blurt out, because that’s the only thing that matters enough to force me awake.
A small weight presses against my chest.
He’s on top of me, curled up like he’s guarding his spot. His hair tickles my chin. His breath is warm against my neck. One of his hands is fisted in the front of my shirt like he fell asleep holding on and didn’t let go.
I blink until the room sharpens.
I’m in a bedroom I know. Not mine from years ago. Not some borrowed hotel room. This is the estate. The one I came back to and swore I wouldn’t get swallowed by again.
The curtains are drawn. The light is muted. The air smells clean, like soap and linen and whatever Mikhail uses that isn’t cologne and isn’t trying too hard.
Oisin’s face is inches from mine. His gray eyes are wide, intent, and too old for him. “You’re awake,” he says, like he’s confirming a fact.
“I’m awake,” I whisper.
He touches my cheek with two fingers, carefully, as if I’ll break if he presses. His little mouth tightens. “You went away.”
“I didn’t,” I say, and my voice cracks because my body’s still catching up. “I’m here.”
His gaze flicks to my throat. I can tell he notices the faint bruise there, even if he doesn’t know what it means. Kids notice everything. Especially the ones who learn early that adults lie to keep them calm.
“Did they hurt you?” he asks.
I force air in through my nose slowly. “No. Not the way you think.”
He frowns. “Did someone yell at you?”
I almost laugh, but it comes out like a breath. “Yes.”
“Who?”
I don’t answer directly because I don’t want his brain attaching a name to fear. “A bad man,” I say. “He’s gone now.”
Oisin’s eyes narrow. He’s small, but he’s Morin stubborn when he wants to be. “Gone where?”
I lift my hand, slow, and smooth his hair back. My fingers shake a little. He sees it and goes still.
I keep my hand there anyway. “Gone for good.”
He doesn’t look convinced. He shifts, climbing higher on my chest, and presses his forehead to mine hard enough that it’s almost a headbutt.
It’s his version of checking.
I close my eyes for a second and let the contact hit me fully.
He’s warm. He’s alive. He’s here.
Something inside me gives way without warning. Not a sob. Not even tears yet. Just a crack, deep, like a locked door finally opening. I didn’t know it was still locked.
I didn’t know I’d been holding that much in my body.
Oisin pulls back and studies my face again. “You’re making the sad eyes.”
“I’m tired,” I tell him.
He looks at me like he’s deciding whether that’s allowed. Then he nods once, like he’ll permit it. “Okay. But you’re here.”
“I’m here.”
He relaxes by one degree, then he shifts again and curls up with his cheek against my collarbone like he’s claiming me as a pillow and a shield. I wrap my arms around him and hold him like I’m afraid someone will take him out of my hands if I grip too tightly.
My body aches. My head throbs. My throat hurts.
None of it matters compared to this.
A soft knock comes at the door. Oisin stiffens immediately.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
The door opens a fraction. Sofia peeks in first, eyes cautious, like she’s checking the mood before she steps into it.
She spots me awake and her face shifts into relief so fast, it’s almost funny.
“Thank God,” she mutters, then catches herself because Oisin is watching.
She clears her throat and puts on her calm voice. “Morning, Boss.”
Oisin lifts his head. “You said two stories.”
Sofia’s mouth twitches. “I did, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he confirms, very serious.
“I delivered,” she says, walking in. “Two stories. One snack. One bathroom break. One nightmare about a dinosaur with a gun.”
Oisin looks offended. “It didn’t have a gun. It had teeth.”
Sofia points at him. “That’s even worse. Teeth don’t run out of bullets.”
Oisin considers that, then nods like she’s made a fair point.
Mikhail’s mother comes in behind Sofia, silent as usual, dressed neatly as if there’s no such thing as chaos in her world. She has a tray in her hands. Water. Tea. Something that smells like broth.
She doesn’t rush to my bed or make a show of concern. She looks at me once, reads my face, then shifts her gaze to Oisin. “Off,” she says to him, simply.
Oisin doesn’t want to move. I can feel it in his body. But he also listens to her in a way he doesn’t listen to anyone else.
He sighs dramatically, as if we’re all unreasonable, then climbs off me and sits on the edge of the bed, still touching my arm with one hand like he’s keeping contact. Mikhail’s mother sets the tray down on the side table. She picks up the water first and holds it toward me.
I try to sit up and my body protests. My head spins.
Sofia’s hand appears at my back immediately, steadying me. “Slow,” she says under her breath.
Mikhail’s mother doesn’t repeat herself. She just waits, water still offered, like she knows I’ll do what I need to do and she doesn’t need to baby me. I take the glass. My hand shakes a little more than I want it to.
I drink. The cool water hits my throat and stings.
I swallow again, slower.
The capsule is gone. They removed it after. I remember Mikhail’s men around me, quick hands, Sofia’s face close, telling me not to fight it. I remember Mikhail’s voice, saying my name like a command. It’s strange, waking up without that tiny, hard reminder lodged near my throat.
It’s quieter inside me.
Oisin watches every movement. When I lower the glass, he asks, “Did you win?”
Sofia snorts before I can answer. “That’s not how—”
“Yes,” Mikhail’s mother cuts in calmly. “She did.”
Sofia’s eyes widen slightly. She glances at me, like she’s surprised Mikhail’s mother would give a child a straight answer.
Oisin’s shoulders drop a little. He nods once. “Good.”
Then he climbs back into my arms like the decision is final.
Mikhail’s mother turns her gaze to me, and her eyes are sharp in a quiet way. “You’ll eat,” she says.
I open my mouth to argue and don’t, because I don’t have the strength for pointless fights. “Okay,” I say.
“Good,” she replies, like we’ve completed an agreement.
Sofia shifts her weight. “He’s downstairs,” she says to me, keeping her tone neutral.
My stomach tightens on instinct.
Oisin hears it anyway. “Papa,” he says, bright and immediate.
The word still hits me in a place I don’t fully control.
I don’t correct him.
I don’t say Mikhail.
I don’t say no.
Because after last night, after the van, after the way Mikhail carried me out like I weighed nothing and everything at the same time, I can’t pretend this is still a temporary arrangement.
I made a choice.
I said it out loud.
Sofia reads my face and softens. “He hasn’t come up because he didn’t want to crowd you,” she says. “He’s also been on the phone with about ten people who sound like they’re afraid of him.”
That sounds right.
Mikhail’s mother lifts the bowl of broth from the tray and offers it next. “Eat,” she repeats.
I take it, sip slowly. It tastes like salt and herbs and actual care. My chest tightens again, and this time, it’s not fear. Oisin leans into me and watches Sofia. “Are we safe?”
Sofia doesn’t dodge. “Yeah. We’re safe.”
Oisin’s eyes narrow. “Promise?”
Sofia holds up her hand like she’s swearing in court. “Promise.”
He studies her for a second like he’s deciding whether she’s serious enough, then nods.
Mikhail’s mother touches Oisin’s shoulder once, lightly. “Go wash your hands,” she says. “Then breakfast.”
Oisin looks at me like he’s refusing.
I smooth his hair. “Go. I’ll be right here.”
He hesitates.
“Two minutes,” Sofia says. “I’ll race you to the sink.”
Oisin’s eyes light up. “You can’t beat me.”
Sofia grins. “Watch me.”
They leave in a blur of feet and whispered arguing.
The room settles.
Mikhail’s mother stands still for a moment, watching me like she’s taking inventory.
“You did what you had to,” she says.
I swallow another mouthful of broth. “He’s dead.”
“Yes.”
No celebration. No relief in her voice. Just fact.
I look down at my hands. They’re steadier now. “I said I’m staying,” I whisper, more to myself than her.
“I heard,” she replies.
I glance up. “Did you?”
Her eyes don’t soften, but something in them shifts anyway. Approval, maybe, or understanding. “You can stay and still leave,” she says. “Staying isn’t chains if you chose it.”
I stare at her.
She’s not saying it like a comfort line. She’s saying it like a rule she learned the hard way. My throat burns again. “I don’t want to run anymore.”
“Good,” she says. “Running teaches men you can be chased.”
A beat of silence.
Then she adds, “He’ll come up when you ask.”
I set the bowl down carefully. “I don’t know how to ask him for anything. Not without it feeling like a bargain.”
Mikhail’s mother looks almost amused. “Then don’t bargain.”
“How?”
“Tell him what you want,” she says. “He respects clarity.”
She turns toward the door.
I stop her with my voice. “Thank you.”
She pauses but doesn’t look back. “You don’t thank family,” she says. Then she leaves anyway.
The door clicks shut.
I sit there, staring at the spot where she stood, trying to understand what she just did.
By afternoon, my body is less stubborn, and I take that as an indicator that I can stand up.
When I do, it’s like I’ve got a hundred pins being poked into the soles of my feet, but I walk anyway.
Sofia is loitering in the corridor just outside my bedroom, pretending she’s just “hanging out”, which is a lie so bad it almost makes me smile.
“You don’t have to guard my door,” I tell her.
Sofia keeps her eyes on the corridor. “I’m not guarding. I’m existing aggressively.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is for me,” she says.
I walk slowly, bare feet on wood, and peek down the stairs. Men move in the lower hall. These are the guards Mikhail uses when he wants something done and he doesn’t want it traced.
Enzo is in the foyer, talking to someone on the phone. His voice is suppressed. His face is blank. He sees me on the stairs and his eyes narrow slightly.
Then he points at the phone like, one second.
I don’t go down further. I know what’s happening.