Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Igor
The sound of water from the bathroom seeped through the crack in the door. I sat on the living room carpet and watched the little girl in front of me.
Stella was utterly absorbed in her blocks. She tried to balance a red piece on top of a blue one, and it toppled. She scrunched her nose—the exact expression Elena made—and my chest tightened.
"Need some help?" I asked.
She looked up with those blue eyes, hesitated, then nodded. I reached over and steadied the base. She set the red block on top and clapped. "We did it!"
"Good job," my voice came out softer than usual.
Honestly, I had never pictured myself sitting on the floor, playing with a five-year-old. In the Bratva, my time was usually spent on negotiations, interrogations, cleaning up traitors. But watching Stella concentrate, it didn't feel bad.
"Igor," she asked suddenly, "why are you always frowning?"
I blinked. "Am I?"
"Yes." She said it with certainty. "Like this." She puckered her tiny brow into a ridiculous little scowl, copying me.
I couldn't help laughing. "That's because I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About… how to make the tower higher."
"That's easy." She said seriously. "You put the big ones on the bottom and the little ones on top so it won't fall."
"You're clever."
"Mom says so too!" She puffed up with pride and handed me a green block. "You put this one."
I took it and carefully placed it where she indicated. We built, block by block—she directed, I did the steadying.
"Igor," she breathed, excitement in her voice, "we're almost done!"
I looked at our nearly finished, colorful castle and, without thinking, leaned in a little to close the space between us. "Nice work. We're almost there."
"When the blocks are all done, we'll be friends. Right?" she tilted her head.
Friends. A five-year-old saying that made my throat tighten.
"We could be friends," I said honestly, meeting her eyes.
"Then, Igor," she smiled, eyes bright, "can you get the yellow block for me? I need it."
I handed it over and watched her place it with solemn care. A strange feeling rose in me—protectiveness, responsibility. I couldn't name it; only that if anyone ever hurt this child, I would make them wish they had never lived. Even if she wasn't mine.
Fuck Marco.
"Igor, look!" Stella pointed at the tower. "We built a castle!"
I examined the riot of colors and nodded. "It's beautiful."
"I'll show Mom when she comes out!"
At that moment, the bathroom door opened. Elena stepped out, hair damp and loose over her shoulders, wearing that champagne-colored nightgown. She looked surprised to see us on the carpet.
"Mom! Mom!" Stella jumped up and grabbed Elena's hand. "Look at the castle my friend and I built!"
"Friend?" Elena glanced at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
"We're already friends," I explained.
Elena crouched and looked at the block tower, smiling. "Amazing, baby. But it's bath time, then bed—tomorrow you have preschool."
"But I'm not sleepy," Stella pouted.
"After your bath, Mommy will read you a bedtime story. A princess story." Elena's voice was soft and patient.
"I'll read her the story. You worked too hard today," I offered, even though I knew I was terrible at it.
Elena lifted her eyes to me—skeptical, surprised. "You sure?"
The nightgown fell open a little at the throat, revealing the curve of her collarbone. I forced my gaze away.
"Of course," I said. "I'll give it a try."
All the stories I'd ever known were about betrayal, revenge, and blood. But seeing Stella's expectant face, I didn't want to disappoint her.
"Great!" Stella clapped. "I want to hear Sleeping Beauty!"
Elena scooped her up and went to her room; I followed. The scene felt alien—a warm apartment, a woman fresh from the shower, a child waiting for a bedtime story. It wasn't my world, but I wanted it to be.
Stella's room was small: drawings plastered the walls, a few stuffed animals propped at the headboard, a little bookshelf filled with fairy tales. Elena set her down and handed me a pink book.
"You read first—get a feel for it," she said, then took Stella's pajamas and led her toward the bathroom.
I opened the book. The first page was Sleeping Beauty—princess, prince, true love's kiss.
I frowned. Those things belonged to another life.
My world had no fairy tales, only deals and debts.
Still, I sat on the bed and tried to learn the story.
The princess was cursed, slept for a hundred years, and a prince's kiss woke her.
I pictured Stella listening, her eyes shining.
Time slipped while I read. The door opened again, and Elena came in with Stella in pink pajamas. The hot water had flushed the girl's cheeks a rosy red. Elena tucked her in and smoothed the covers.
"Igor will tell the story, but you must lie still and not cause a fuss," Elena said, planting a kiss on Stella's forehead.
"I'll be good!" Stella promised.
Elena gave me a look—soft, complicated—and left the room.
"Igor," Stella said with those eager eyes. "Start, please!"
"Okay." I cleared my throat and opened to the first page. "Once upon a time, there was a princess. She was very beautiful."
"How beautiful?" she asked.
"The book says she was very beautiful."
"More beautiful than Mom?"
I stopped. "No one is more beautiful than your mom."
Stella giggled. I kept reading. "The princess lived in a castle."
"Was the castle big?" she asked.
"Very big."
"Bigger than the one we built?"
"Much bigger."
She was endlessly curious. Every sentence brought another question—what did the princess eat? Did she have pets? Could she build blocks? Answering softened me. It loosened something I'd kept tight for years.
When I reached the part where the prince found the princess, Stella began to yawn.
"Time to sleep, little one," I murmured. "You have to get up early tomorrow."
"But you haven't finished—" she protested.
"We'll finish tomorrow."
"You have to promise you'll be here."
"I promise."
She hugged her teddy and closed her eyes. Soon her breathing evened out. I stood and switched off the bedside lamp, padding out. Elena had been standing in the hall for who knew how long.
"You did well," she said quietly.
"I just read the words," I replied.
"But she liked you. I could tell," Elena said.
"I liked her too. She's a sweet kid."
We held each other's gaze in the hallway, and then fell silent. Elena's soft goodnight finally broke the quiet as she walked into the bedroom.
I showered and then slept hard on the couch.
I woke before dawn and moved as quietly as possible. I'd planned to make a proper breakfast—to prove I wasn't completely useless in the kitchen.
Eggs, bread, milk. Simple: boiled eggs and toast. I filled a pot, dropped in the eggs, turned the stove on, and slid the bread into the oven. Perfect.
Ten minutes later, I smelled smoke.
"Shit." I opened the oven. The edges of the toast were black. I pulled them out and tried to scrape off the char with a knife, which only made it worse.
The eggs? I turned off the heat and tried to peel one. The whites were rubbery, and the yolk had that ugly gray-green ring.
"Fuck," I muttered.
"Igor?" Stella stood in the kitchen doorway, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a mess.
"Morning," I said, trying to hide the disaster.
"You were making breakfast?" She tiptoed over and peered at the stove. "Wow, so smoky!"
"I… was trying."
She looked at the burnt toast and laughed. "Igor, your black bread looks like the charcoal Mom uses to draw!"
I laughed too. "Pretty close."
"Let me help!" she insisted, grabbing my hand. "I know how—Mom taught me."
"You're five."
"But I'm clever!" she declared. "You can't leave toast too long. Eggs can't boil too much either."
Elena's voice came from the living room. "Stella, why are you up so early?"
"Igor was making breakfast!" Stella called back. "But he messed it up!"
I heard Elena laugh, then she appeared in the kitchen. She took in the mess and shook her head.
"Move aside, you two," she said, rolling up her sleeves. "I'll take care of it."
"But—" I started to protest.
"Igor," she cut in with a smile, "you can be confident about many things, but cooking isn't one of them. Face it."
"You were smiling at me," I said, staring at her.
"No," she denied at once, turning away to clean up and start over.
Stella handed her things like a little helper. The two of them moved with easy rhythm, and the kitchen filled with a warm, ordinary smell. I, who could move pieces of the Bratva across continents, stood and did small things.
Strangely, I didn't mind. I kept replaying the tilt of Elena's smile.
Twenty minutes later, we sat at the table. Elena's breakfast was simple and perfect: soft-boiled eggs, golden toast, warm milk.
"Mom made it best!" Stella said, stuffing bread into her mouth.
"She did," I admitted. "I've got to learn."
"You'll have to learn for a very, very long time," Stella declared gravely. "Maybe a hundred years!"
"Not that long," Elena laughed and looked at me. "But it will take time."
"I have time," I said, watching her.
Something in the air had changed. Elena's cheeks were faintly flushed; she looked down into her milk.
After breakfast, I drove Stella to preschool. Elena and Stella sat in the back; Stella hummed off-key. I watched her in the rearview and felt a calm I'd never known.
"Igor," Stella said suddenly.
"Yeah?"
"Will you always live with us?"
My grip tightened on the wheel. I glanced at Elena in the mirror; she met my eyes, tense, waiting.
"If you both agree," I said. I surprised myself by saying it. Even if Elena hadn't agreed, I would have stayed.
"I agree!" Stella shouted. "You're tall—you can lift me up really high!"
"Stella," Elena said softly, amusement in her voice, "you can't decide that."
"Why not?" the little girl asked, confused. "I live here too."
"Because… it's complicated, baby."
"Adults always say 'complicated,'" Stella grumbled. "But I don't think it's complicated. Igor is good to us. We like Igor. So he should live here."
I smiled. "Your logic is pretty sound."
"Will you stay then?" she pressed.
I looked at Elena. She bit her lip, unsure.
"I will," I said finally. "I'll make it so both you and your mother want me to stay. Especially your mother—whatever she asks, I'll do."
"I want that!" Stella blurted.
I turned to Elena and waited.
She took a slow breath and then said quietly, "I don't object."
Those words hit me. I knew then that Elena's heart had begun to move.