Chapter 10 Aleksander #3
The impact is ugly and fast. Metal screams. Their car ricochets off the barrier, fishtails across two lanes, slices in front of a delivery truck that has nowhere to go.
The truck slams into their rear quarter, shoving them sideways.
The sedan spins—once, twice—and then slams nose-first into the guardrail.
I don’t watch what happens after that. I don’t need to. The sound tells me enough.
Nikolai yanks us into the far lane, using the chaos behind as cover. Sirens will be called. Phones are already in hands. But we’re just one more car in a suddenly panicked stream.
Lily is sobbing into Bella’s shirt. Bella’s eyes are wide, skin paper-white, one hand fisted in Lily’s curls, the other braced on the seat.
“It’s over,” I say, more for them than for myself. “They’re done.”
“Over?” Bella chokes. “Someone just—someone—”
“I know.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “I know.”
My hand is still wrapped around the gun. I force my fingers to unclench, slide it back into the hidden pocket in the door. My body is humming with adrenaline. My ears ring. There’s glass in my hair and my arm stings from where a shard kissed skin.
“Keep your heads down another minute,” Nikolai calls back. “Then act normal. We’re just commuters on a shitty morning.”
I look at Bella. Her mouth is pressed tight, like she’s holding everything in by force. Lily hiccups against her chest.
We get off the highway as soon as it’s safe. Nikolai takes an exit that looks like nothing—a scrubby strip of road under an old overpass, graffiti on the pillars, no cameras in sight. We’ve used places like this before. Easy to miss. Easier to leave.
Under the bridge, a second car is already waiting—dark gray sedan, mid-range, clean but not flashy. Rental plates. The kind of car no one remembers seeing.
“How…?” Bella starts.
“I called it in when we switched highways,” I say. “One of my people dropped it here and left.”
The first car rolls to a stop beside it. There’s no one around now; whoever delivered the replacement is gone, probably already picked up on the far side of town. The new car sits unlocked, keys in the cup holder, tank full. Disposable but solid.
“Out,” he says quietly.
I get out first, scan the road, the bridge, the gaps in the concrete. No one lingering. Just a guy on a bike in the distance and a dog tied to a railing, bored out of its mind.
I open the back door.
Bella’s still holding Lily like she’s afraid someone will reach in and pull her out. Her hair is full of glass dust and her eyes are too bright, too focused on not falling apart. Lily is hiccupping against her, exhausted from crying.
“We’re changing cars,” I say. “Safer this way.”
She doesn’t answer. She just nods once, stiff, and slides out with Lily on her hip. I see the way her legs shake when her feet hit the ground. She pretends I don’t.
I take their bags, transfer them to the new car. Every movement feels too loud in the echoing space under the bridge. The air smells like old rain and exhaust.
“Bella,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“No.” Clipped. Automatic.
“Sure?”
“I said no.”
She won’t look at me. She settles into the back seat of the new car, straps Lily in, checks the buckle twice. Her hands are shaking, but she still won’t let me help. By the time I slide in beside them, she’s turned her body toward the window, creating a small cocoon around her daughter.
Nikolai pulls us back onto the main road like nothing happened. The old car sits under the bridge, waiting to become someone else’s problem.
I try again, softer. “Bella.”
Nothing.
“I know that was—”
“Don’t.” Her voice is quiet, but it cuts clean. “Just…don’t.”
She keeps her eyes on Lily, stroking her hair, counting her breaths. I recognize the move. Focus on what you can control. Ignore what you can’t.
So I shut up. I sit there with glass itching my scalp and the phantom echo of gunfire still ringing in my bones, and I let the miles slide by. Every now and then I check the mirrors, the sky, the flow of traffic. Old habits. Necessary ones.
She doesn’t speak. Not for an hour. Not for two. The silence in the back seat gets thick, heavy, like a fourth person riding with us.
The landscape changes as we get closer to New York. Traffic thickens, billboards crowd the sky, the horizon clutters with metal and concrete. The GPS on the dash ticks down the time, indifferent to what’s sitting in the car.
Just before we hit the outer ring of the city, Bella finally says something.
“I’m hungry.”
Her voice is flat, almost surprised, like the feeling snuck up on her.
I look over. Lily’s asleep now, head lolling sideways in her car seat, mouth open, cheeks sticky from dried tears.
“I can call ahead,” I say. “There’s a place in the city—private room, staff I trust. We’ll be there in forty minutes. They’ll have something ready.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want private. I don’t want ‘staff you trust.’ I just want food.”
“There are better options than—”
“Aleksander.” She finally meets my eyes. There’s no heat in her tone, just worn-out resolve. “I’m hungry. I want to stop somewhere. Here. Now. Somewhere normal.”
“Normal isn’t safe,” I say automatically.
She lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You had us in a moving shooting gallery not hours ago. ‘Normal’ already left the building.”
Nikolai glances at me in the mirror, waiting.
I weigh it. Roadside places are unpredictable. Cameras, crowds, too many exits, too many hands I don’t control. But she’s pale, running on fumes, and Lily hasn’t had anything but crackers and adrenaline since Boston.
“Next decent place,” I tell Nikolai.
“Got it,” he says.
Ten minutes later we pull into the parking lot of a roadside diner—chrome trim, faded sign, trucks lined up along the far edge. Inside, I can already see a couple of guys in work boots at the counter, a waitress with tired hair and a pot of coffee.
It’s the kind of place I usually avoid. Too open. Too many variables. No vetting, no prep, just humanity in all its unfiltered mess.
Bella unbuckles, checks Lily, and looks at the diner like it’s a lifeline. “This is fine,” she says.
It’s everything I don’t like.
But she’s here, hand on the door, and for once I follow her instead of leading.
“Stay close to me,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t reply.
The place is one of those family-friendly places with too-bright lights and plastic plants in the corners. Kids’ menus, paper crowns, laminated tables that have seen things. It smells like fries, sugar, and disinfectant.
Bella orders like someone who’s been running on fumes—burger, fries, soda. Chicken nuggets for Lily, apple slices, juice. I get coffee and something that passes for food so I don’t unsettle Bella by just watching her eat.
We sit in a booth by the window. Lily is fascinated by the ketchup packets like they’re rare treasures. Bella actually takes a full bite of her burger and closes her eyes for a second, like this cheap, greasy food is the best thing she’s ever had.
I watch the door. The counter. The exits. Old habits.
We’re halfway through the meal when a shadow falls over the table.
“Excuse me,” a bright voice says. “You three look so cute, I just had to ask—do you want a picture for our wall? We do a ‘family of the week’ thing.”
She’s young, maybe early twenties, ponytail, name tag that says Maddie. She’s holding her phone and a little instant printer clipped to her apron.
Bella freezes, bite midair. I feel every muscle in my body go tight.
“No,” I say immediately.
Maddie blinks. “Oh! Totally fine, no pressure. We just—”
“We’re not really—” Bella starts, flustered. “I mean, we’re not—”
“Photogenic,” I cut in, trying to soften it.
Bella shoots me a look. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
Maddie smiles wider, oblivious. “You look pretty photogenic to me.” She leans in conspiratorially toward Bella. “Your husband’s kind of movie-villain handsome, you know?”
Bella chokes on her soda. I almost laugh.
“He’s not my husband,” she sputters. “We’re not—this isn’t—”
I can see Maddie recalibrating. Her eyes flick from Bella to Lily to me. “Oh! Sorry. My bad. Just thought you guys looked…coordinated.”
“We’re not coordinated either,” Bella mutters.
Lily chooses this moment to look up, face covered in ketchup, and shout, “Papa!” because the universe hates me.
The waitress melts. “Okay, that was extremely cute,” she says. “Now I really want a picture. We can blur the kid’s face if you want. Or I just print it and give it to you. No wall, no social media, I swear.”
Her phone is already half-raised. Every alarm in my head goes off at once.
“No photos,” I say, sharper than I intend.
Maddie’s smile falters. “Uh. Sure. Okay. Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”
Bella sighs, wiping Lily’s face. “It’s not you,” she says. “We’ve just had…a morning.”
“That so?” Maddie asks, softening again.
“You have no idea,” Bella says.
Maddie hesitates, then brightens. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m here. We’ve got stickers. Kids love stickers.” She pulls one from her apron and slides it toward Lily—a cartoon burger with a smile. “No cameras. Promise.”
Lily grabs it like it’s gold. “Buggah!”
Maddie laughs. “Exactly.” She moves to leave, then glances back at Bella. “For what it’s worth, you do look like a family. In a good way.”
Bella’s cheeks flush. “We’re not,” she says quickly.
“Sure,” Maddie replies, unconvinced, then drifts away.
Bella turns on me the second she’s gone. “You didn’t have to bark at her.”
“Phones are risks,” I say. “Pictures are data. Data spreads.”
“This is a burger place, not a spy movie,” she snaps.
“Danger doesn’t care where we’re sitting,” I reply.
She glares. “She just thought we looked nice.”
“That’s the problem,” I mutter.
Bella huffs and goes back to her burger, indignant, tearing off a too-big bite. Lily carefully sticks the smiling burger on my sleeve and giggles.