Chapter 6 Roman
ROMAN
Perhaps I should have opened with something less abrupt than “I know the twins are mine.” But I’ve wasted enough time.
Mina looks bewildered, wide-eyed. But she steps aside to let me in and does not retreat.
I step in first. Tanner holds the landing, and Marcus waits by the stairs to cover me and give us privacy. Not sure we’ll get much of that here.
The apartment is small and relatively clean.
The orderly chaos of babies decorates the floor, with toys here and there.
A plastic mat by the door, a double-deep stroller folded against the wall, a bowl of keys and coupons, a green light on a baby monitor.
Soap scent in the air. Thin door, thinner chain.
The kind of wood a strong breeze could break.
I don’t say that out loud, but it’s dismaying.
Mina stands with her chin high. The thin scar along her jaw catches the light and vanishes when she turns. She is more striking than she was that night at Rope. The bright lights of the miniscule apartment afford me a better look at her than the club’s colored lights ever did.
She’s thicker now, and the weight of carrying twins suits her.
Her long hair isn’t auburn like I thought, but brown with red undertones.
Devious blue eyes that sparkle, or they would, if she weren’t trying to size me up.
Simple jeans and a tee shirt and somehow prettier than the night she came to me in a little black dress and fuck-me heels.
I am angry she didn’t tell me about my boys. I’m also drawn to her. The fates have a wicked since of humor. I’m not sure why they enjoy laughing at me, but I’ll silence them soon enough.
Mina clears her throat. “Roman, this is my mother, Jennifer.”
“Good evening,” I say as the older woman steps from the living room.
Fifties, I think, with wiry, tired eyes that miss nothing.
Truly, it’s hard to know her age—taking care of twins in midlife sounds daunting enough for me, and I have the money to hire help.
I imagine the twins have added to the grays in her ash-brown hair.
She wipes her hands on a dish towel and nods instead of offering a hand.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Her tone says otherwise. “We were just feeding the boys.” She measures me in one pass and sets the measure aside in favor of immediate work.
The boys are awake, making small, satisfied sounds. A playpen sits under the window. Two bouncy seats, folded blankets, bottles drying on a rack. Two faces turn toward me as I draw closer.
I stop at the rail. Up close, one has my eyes and both have Mina’s mouth. The one on the left is heavier through the shoulders. The one on the right has a crease at the chin that will become a dimple. I count fingers. Healthy. Seemingly happy.
Mine.
Mina stands beside me. “This is Alexander,” she says, touching the larger boy’s foot. “We call him Xander. And this is Yuri.”
“Russian names,” I say.
“It felt fitting.” She meets my eyes.
I leave the words where anger wants to spill. I am angry at time lost. I’m angrier at myself for not finding her sooner. None of that helps a child, so I put it away. There are bigger concerns at hand.
Jennifer gestures to the table. “Tea?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Jennifer moves in the small kitchen with practiced economy. Kettle, cups, tea tin, sugar. The apartment is meager. It is cared for, but small and falling apart at the seams.
Mina’s place is clean the way a ship is clean before a storm. Surfaces scrubbed to a shine. Corners swept until the broom bristles splay. Lemon and bleach haunt the air.
The cleanliness does not hide the age. It only proves her effort.
The baseboards tell the truth. Paint is nicked to the wood where a vacuum chewed too close.
In one stretch the molding has a crack that runs like a river on a map.
The ceiling carries water stains in two rings above the kitchen light.
They look like continents. The landlord chose a coat of cheap white and a promise. The stain pushed through both.
The floor is scuffed in a path from the door to the little table and back. They keep a folded postcard under one leg to stop the wobble. The cabinet hinges squeak when Jennifer opens them for tea. The refrigerator hums too loudly, and every few minutes, there’s a rattle.
Everything she owns is neat. The couch is worn, but unstained. The curtains are sun-faded, washed, and ironed. It is a modest room held together by care and stubbornness.
I hate that my sons are being raised in a place with a door I could break, windows that should have been replaced twenty years ago, a chair that wobbles, and chipping—possibly lead—paint.
But I do not voice it. They have done the best they can with what they have, and I don’t fault them for that. I take the chair and make it steady by shifting a leg onto the rug.
From the hall I hear the soft step of one of my men as he trades places with the other.
They do it without speaking. Good. The building carries sound.
Neighbors laugh and it echoes through a wall.
I count the seconds between elevator dings.
The fire escape is an entry point. The lock on the window is bent.
I add it to the list in my head: lock, bar, light, chain replaced, door re-hung in a steel frame.
“Three months,” I say, eyes still on the boys. “How do they sleep?”
“Badly together,” Jennifer answers, amused. “Better apart. We rotate. White noise helps.”
“We bought a fan,” Mina adds. “Cheaper than the fancy machines and louder.”
“Good. Loud is better.”
Mina takes the other chair. She waits for me to explain why I’m here.
Fair enough. “I have men outside. They will be in the hall and downstairs. Quiet. Respectful. They will not enter without your say or mine.”
“During this unannounced visit, you mean, right?” she asks, arching a brow.
“During your residence here.”
She blinks. “My neighbors will notice.”
“Good. Let them tell everyone you are protected. It’s better that way.”
Her mouth tilts and flattens. She doesn’t smile for me. Good. “How long have you known about the boys?”
“I found out last night. I should have been here sooner, but I needed to make some arrangements before I came.”
Jennifer sets a cup in front of me. “What do you intend to do?” No ceremony. A direct line to the point.
“Provide. Protect. Acknowledge. Decide next steps with Mina.”
“Words,” she says. Not unkind. A test.
“Deeds,” I answer, and put a card on the table. “This number is always answered. There is a car and driver close by. Two men on the building starting now. A doctor on call. Money for what you need.”
Mina touches the card and leaves it on the table. “No strings?”
“There will be obligations. They will be clear. They will be about the boys and about keeping you safe from Vitaly.”
“I don’t know about this—”
“Vitaly planted a land mine in a road and took shots at me. He has gone off the rails, Mina. My son…he has always been unstable—”
She huffs a laugh at that, but says nothing. The laugh is empty. More shock than amusement.
“But he’s never made a full attempt on my life before. If he’s willing to do that for revenge, he will do worse to you. To them. I am here to ensure that does not happen.”
Jennifer’s mouth tightens. She knows enough to be afraid and not enough to waste words. She drinks her tea and watches me.
Mina nods once. “He followed me today. Outside a deli. He stood across the street and watched. I don’t know how he knew I’d be there. It’s not my office’s usual order or anything like that. But there he was.”
Everything in me narrows. “Did he speak?”
“No. He wanted me to see him. He also wanted to be gone if I moved toward him.”
“That is his pattern. He will escalate. He thinks fear will make you sloppy.”
“He’s good at that,” she says. Flat.
Jennifer lowers her cup. “Roman, you say protection. Describe it without turning this place into a prison.”
“You keep as much of your routine as you can,” I say.
“But you don’t walk alone. You vary routes in ways that look ordinary.
You text when you leave and when you arrive.
You don’t open the door unless you’re expecting someone.
We add a real lock to this door by morning and a camera that looks like a light.
The men outside will behave like neighbors. ”
“Like saints,” Jennifer says dryly.
“Yes.”
Mina watches my face. “Are you angry with me? For not calling.”
“Does it matter?
“It matters to me.”
Fine. “I’m angry I wasn’t there when my sons were born.
Angry that you found a pediatrician alone, and I carried none of the weight.
Angry that I couldn’t help you through the pregnancy.
Angry at my son for scaring you. Angrier at myself for not knowing sooner.
But I’m not here to scold you. I’m here to fix what can be fixed. ”
“I didn’t know how to find you without finding him,” she says. “And I didn’t know what you or he would do with the news.”
“I would have been there for you.” I blow out a breath, trying to diffuse my anger. “But you didn’t know that.”
Jennifer watches how I say it. She gives a small nod. “What about tonight? If he comes here?”
“If he comes, he meets two men who will tell him to leave and make him leave if he doesn’t. You will not open the door. You will not talk through it.”
“The door wouldn’t stop him,” Mina says.
“I know. That’s what my men are for.”
Somewhere above us a neighbor drags a chair. A siren lifts and fades. One of the boys sighs in his sleep. I see my life split into two lines: the one where I look at this room and leave, and the one where I refuse to leave them here another night. Only one of those lines exists after this minute.
“You look different,” I say before the thought can stop. “Stronger.”
“I’m tired,” she says. “Maybe that reads as strength.”
“It does.”
Mina glances at the door again. “Do you always travel with guards?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean you bring trouble with you or keep it out?”
“Both.”
She nods like she expected that and would have distrusted a softer answer. Her eyes flick to mine. The room changes. Not warmer. More exact. Mina’s hand flexes once on the table. She isn’t a woman who cries in front of a man she doesn’t trust. “What you’re asking is a lot, Roman.”
“I’m not asking, Mina. These are my sons. They will be protected.”
“You will put your name on their papers,” Jennifer says. Not a question. A condition. “We left the father’s name on the birth certificates blank.”
“Yes. I want them legally tied to my family.”
Mina studies me. “What else do you want?”
It’s the question that snaps everything into place.
This apartment will not keep Vitaly out.
My men are good, but useless if he comes through the fire escape when they’re in the hall.
Or worse, if he pulls the same maneuver he did in Prague and gases the entire building at night.
There, no one woke up in the morning. I cannot allow that to happen here.
Vitaly isn’t one to repeat his methodology, but maybe using a different gas would satisfy his creative urge.
Regardless, my sons are not safe here. Neither are their mother and grandmother.
“I want you to pack a bag. Both of you. All four of you are leaving with me tonight. You will live with me.” I pause, because I need another breath to say the words. “We will be married.”