Chapter 29 – Poppy
The phone call with my aunt and uncle that evening went about as well as I could expect.
They expressed their concern. Their attempt at reasoning with me fell flat.
I only saved myself by muttering about how Penelope would like me to be closer, given everything.
That opened a can of worms, and while I didn’t say she was expecting, the implication was clear. Aunt Rosa hung up after that.
Any minute now my cousin would call and chew me out.
Shaking my head, I hurried back into the house. I shoved a hand through my hair, nails scoring the scalp. I tugged open the bedroom door on the other side of the hall, mentally checking my own frustration to prevent my little guy from noticing.
Only to find the room empty.
Panic bloomed in my chest. Another sweeping glance told me Brady wasn’t here, wasn’t hiding under the covers, or sneaking a book into the closet. I checked those places and more. My teeth bit into my lip to keep from screaming his name.
A giggle stopped me in my tracks.
Slowly, I turned to the open door, glaring down the hall.
Another giggle, this time with words murmured too low to hear, found me. I padded quickly after the sweet sound, raking my hair back and twisting it into a knot at the back of my head.
They weren’t in the living room.
Ivan’s door was cracked. I peered into the six-inch gap just before launching myself into the space. The sight froze me in place.
There was my little man, curled up against the piled pillows and under the large, muscled wing. Winnie the Pooh was clutched in his chubby fists, and Brady’s face glowed with laughter.
“‘Love is take-ning a few stepps b-a-ck-w-a-rds,’” Ivan read, words broken and accent thick. “‘Maybe ee-ven mow to give way to the hap—happ-i-nesss of the perr-sun you lu-uv.’”
“‘Love is taking a few steps backward,’” Brady corrected. “‘Maybe even more to give way to the happiness of the person you love.’”
Ivan’s gaze pierced the page, jaw tightening as he started to read the next sentence. The fact that Brady had the darn book memorized came as no surprise compared to the revelation that his father struggled over the simplest of words.
He can’t read English.
I knew he texted, but phones had translation apps. It…it all made sense now. I gripped the doorframe to steady myself. Here was the big bad of the underworld, trying and failing to read to his son. A crack formed in my armor. I couldn’t help it. The picture was too beautiful for words.
Ivan struggled through the next sentence and then let out a short sigh. Brady snuggled in closer, helping to turn the page. He pointed at the picture—I knew the one! It was the bear and the balloon.
“Why can’t I float?” he asked.
Like he asked me every time we read this book.
My heart stuttered. I wanted to reach inside, to pluck my baby, and rock him tight.
“Well, I guess because you’re not made of the fluff,” Ivan said, tone serious.
I silently blessed him for not mocking the child’s innocent question.
“Nnooo, silly tatko!” Brady giggled. “Because I would float away from you!”
My hand slid over my mouth to cover the soft gasp. It was my response, the one I used before covering him in kisses.
Ivan smoothed a hand over Brady’s unruly mop. “If you floated away, I would grow wings and catch you.”
Brady’s gaze grew somber. He angled his head up to look at his father. “You would.”
“I would.”
The promise solidified, the pair took another moment before continuing the story. I backed away, one careful step after another. The underworld politics, the dangers of the mob, they paled to this moment.
Heading to the bathroom, I let out the long breath.
I scrubbed my face, letting the icy water ground me. It was madness, thinking this—
That this—
That this felt right.
But there was no denying it. Ivan and Brady had a bond. It was something that transcended common sense. Something that I had from nurture, but something Ivan had through nature. Leaving him would only break that bond.
“It’s already too late,” I hissed at my reflection.
Beads of water dripped down my face. They mingled with the rush of the faucet into the drain. I slammed the handle and stopped the onslaught.
Leaving would break my son’s heart. I knew that. That was why I was so desperate in the beginning to leave. But now their bond was forged.
And there was another, forming rapidly from the broken pieces I kept locked up tight.
I rubbed my chest. Leaving Ivan would hurt. Standing here, waiting to go to bed, I knew I couldn’t hide from the truth any longer.
“It’s not safe for him here,” I protested. There was an ugly purple mark on my baby’s cheek. He couldn’t even go out for ice cream, for heaven’s sake!
But the dripping wet reflection argued. I grew up in the mob, didn’t I? That woman, staring back at me, she’d survived.
“My father kept me away, in a gilded prison,” I hissed.
Yet it had broken my heart to leave him.
And now it was too late. There was no way to call him up, to have a little chat, let alone sit in the comfort of the living room with the TV in the background, eating popped corn and sipping sodas.
My childhood ended abruptly. The distance I created for my own wellbeing caused a rift, only to have death seal that door forever.
I can’t separate them.
“So….” I glared at the reflection. “We’re staying?”
The wet-faced woman nodded. We are.
A little while later, snuggled into the blanket, I stared at the same page, eyes not reading the words. The door banged open, a hiss echoing the crack of wood against wall.
“She’s not sleeping, see!” Brady protested, tugging at his father’s hand as he tried to rush into the room. “She never sleeps before saying prayers.”
Ivan’s gaze met mine. “He’s brushed teeth. Jammies. Ready for bed.”
I nodded and tried to ignore the buzz in my veins. That accent, those clipped words…they freaking did things to me. “Thank you.”
Ivan dipped his chin before releasing his son’s hand.
“Wait, um—” I started but felt the color rise to my cheeks.
“Yes?” Ivan’s deep bass filled the space. It did things to me, sending little shivers down my legs straight to the tips of my toes.
“Want to help me tuck him in?” I offered.
“Prayers first, mama.” Brady stuck out his chin.
“Go on, son, say your prayers.” Ivan lingered at the door, not coming forward, but not leaving.
“Nooo!” Brady rolled his eyes and grabbed at his father’s heavy paw. “Not like that. Like this!”
Reluctantly, Ivan budged. Brady dropped to his knees before the bed, arm held high to keep his hold on his father.
I knelt on the other side of the little boy, folding my hands and bowing my head to the mattress. I didn’t watch, but I heard the mass of violence fold himself onto the floor. He didn’t need to feel my questioning gaze. This was our son’s moment.
Our son—the one I thanked the heavens for each and every night.
If we stayed, that meant sharing him.
I’m prepared for that.
Ivan had proven himself.
Once Brady was satisfied, he began. “God, thank you for this day. It was beautiful. Thank you for mama and tatko, thank you for the bread and meat at supper, but thank you so much for the ice cream! Chocolate is my favorite! Please keep everyone safe. Bring rain for the crops, and good grass for the cows. Amen.”
“Amen,” I repeated.
After a moment, a soft amen whispered from the other side.
Brady jumped onto the mattress and burrowed under the comforter. “You can go read on the couch, mama. I’m a big boy.”
A big boy who would come out three or four times before sleep.
Stooping to pick up Pooh from where he’d fallen on the floor, I rubbed my chest, trying to dispel the ache. “I’ll be back later, okay, buddy?”
“S’okay,” he yawned.
Maybe we wouldn’t have that game tonight after all.
Ivan was already out the door. His long steps ate up the distance. I closed the bedroom door tight before rushing after him.
“Ivan! Wait,” I called.
He stopped, dipping his head to turn slightly without looking back at me.
“My answer is yes.” Something glowed inside my chest. It was a feeling of hope and maybe a little joy. I was giving the beast what he wanted. Maybe…maybe I was giving it to myself.
“Alright.”
The answer was a flash of ice.
It deflated the shimmering feeling inside me.
I cleared my throat. “I meant, yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Call a wedding planner or whatever you want tomorrow.” With that, he opened the back door.
“Wait, what?” I shook myself. Rushing into the night, I wrapped my arms around myself. “That’s it?”
“What do you want from me, Poppy?” Ivan didn’t look up.
“Um, it’s your wedding too,” I shot back.
“Good. I’ll see you at church, and I’ll have the license ready to sign.”
If the wooden banister on the porch step wasn’t holding me up, I might have fallen.
Ivan didn’t pause. His hurried steps felt like they were running.
There was no victory here. No triumph. Those kisses and moments of passion were just that.
Nothing underlying the carnal acts with romance.
The kingpin was busy. The item was checked off his list, and now he had other work to attend to.
Stupid, stupid girl!
There was no fairytale here. What had I been hoping for? That he would gather me up in his arms and kiss me?
“Yes,” I breathed. That was exactly what I’d been wanting. My very own happily-ever-after.