Chapter 9
ANNA
I can’t stop seeing the blood.
It’s been three days since the warehouse, and every time I close my eyes, I see it spreading across that table.
Dark red, almost black under the industrial lights.
The way Mikhailov’s head hit the metal with a wet sound.
The casual way Luca holstered his gun afterward, like he’d just signed a contract instead of ending a life.
I’m in the twins’ playroom now, watching them build a tower with blocks. Mila hums while she works. Alexei is silent, focused, placing each block with careful precision. They have no idea what I saw. No idea what kind of man lives in this house with them.
I need to keep it that way.
My hands won’t stop shaking. I press them against my thighs, trying to force them still. It doesn’t work. Nothing works. I’ve tried breathing exercises, hot showers, and avoiding anything that reminds me of that warehouse. But the image is burned into my brain.
The worst part is how calm Luca was. No hesitation. No emotion. Just cold calculation and a trigger pull.
That’s who I married. That’s who my children are living with.
“Mama, look!” Mila points to her section of the tower. “I made it taller than Alexei’s!”
“That’s beautiful, baby.” My voice sounds wrong. Too tight.
She doesn’t notice. Goes back to building.
I need to get the twins out of here. Need to find a way to leave, to take them somewhere safe.
But there’s nowhere to go. My parents’ house isn’t an option.
Luca controls everything now. Their debt, their company, their entire lives.
If I run, he’ll find me. And after what I saw in that warehouse, I know exactly what he’s capable of doing to people who cross him.
I’m trapped. We’re all trapped.
The door opens. I jerk my head up, heart racing.
It’s just Elena. She’s carrying a tray with juice boxes and cut fruit.
“I thought the children might want a snack,” she says, setting the tray on the small table near the window.
“Thank you.”
She nods and leaves. My pulse is still racing. I’m jumping at every sound now. Every footstep in the hallway could be him. Every door opening could mean he’s coming to check on us.
I’m losing my mind.
Three days of replaying that gunshot. Three days of watching Luca move through the house as if nothing happened. He hasn’t mentioned the warehouse. Hasn’t asked if I’m okay. Just continues his routine like he didn’t execute a man in front of me.
Maybe this is routine for him. Maybe killing people is so ordinary that he doesn’t think twice about it.
The thought makes my stomach turn.
“Mama, I’m hungry,” Alexei announces.
I gesture to the tray Elena brought. “There’s fruit and juice.”
Both twins abandon their tower and run to the table. I watch them eat, but my mind is still stuck in that warehouse.
I need to pull myself together. The twins are starting to notice something’s wrong. Mila keeps asking why I’m so quiet. Alexei watches me with those green eyes that look too much like his father’s.
I can’t fall apart. Not here. Not where Luca can see it.
The days blur together after that.
I keep the twins close. We stay in their rooms or the garden, always away from the main parts of the house where Luca might be.
I’m hyperaware of his presence now. I can hear his voice through the walls when he’s on phone calls.
I track his movements through the house based on footsteps and door sounds.
He’s killed people before. Probably dozens. Maybe hundreds. And he’ll kill again without hesitation if someone crosses him the wrong way.
That’s the man my children are living with.
On the fourth day, I find a package outside Mila’s door. Pink wrapping paper with a white bow. No card.
I know who it’s from.
I pick it up and step into Mila’s room. She’s having quiet time on her bed, looking at a picture book. She sees the package and her eyes light up. “Is that for me?”
“No.” I turn slightly, holding it behind my back. “It’s a mistake.”
“But it’s pink. Pink is my favorite.”
“I know, baby. But it’s not for you.”
Her face falls. “Oh.”
I leave the room with the package and take it to my bedroom. I unwrap it there, alone. Inside is a porcelain doll with a hand-painted face, real hair, and a dress that looks like it cost more than my entire wardrobe. It’s beautiful. Exactly the kind of thing Mila would love.
I rewrap it and put it in the back of my closet.
Two days later, there’s another package outside Alexei’s door. Blue wrapping paper.
A remote-control car. Top-of-the-line, detailed like a real race car, probably cost hundreds of dollars.
I put it in the closet with the doll.
Luca doesn’t mention the gifts. Doesn’t ask if the twins received them. Just keeps sending more.
A stuffed rabbit for Mila. A set of building blocks for Alexei. Art supplies. Books. Toys that are thoughtful and age-appropriate and clearly chosen by someone who’s been paying attention to what the twins like.
I confiscate all of them.
But I start noticing changes anyway.
Mila mentions seeing “the tall man” in the hallway. Says he smiled at her. Alexei talks about how “Mr. Luca” asked what his favorite color was when they passed each other near the library. They’re not as scared of him anymore.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
On the seventh day after the warehouse, I’m looking for Mila’s jacket when I pass the playroom. The door is partially open. I can hear the twins inside, talking and laughing.
I push the door open wider.
They’re both on the floor, completely absorbed in playing.
Mila has a three-story dollhouse in front of her, complete with furniture and tiny dolls.
She’s moving the figures from room to room, creating elaborate stories.
Alexei is running a train on a wooden track that loops around half the playroom.
The train set is massive, detailed, with bridges and tunnels, and multiple cars.
I’ve never seen either of these toys before.
“Where did you get those?” I ask.
Both twins look up, startled.
“They were in here this morning,” Mila says. “When we came to play.”
“Who put them here?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. But they’re so pretty, Mama. Look at all the rooms!”
I step into the playroom and crouch down beside the dollhouse. It’s handcrafted and expensive. The kind of toy that belongs in a museum, not a playroom. The train set is the same. Real wood, hand-painted details, quality that will last decades.
Luca did this. Had these delivered while I was occupied elsewhere. While I thought I was watching everything.
“We can’t keep these,” I say.
Mila’s face crumples immediately. “Why not?”
“Because they’re not ours.”
“But they were in our playroom,” Alexei argues. “That means they’re for us.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“That’s not fair!” Mila’s eyes fill with tears. “I really like the dollhouse!”
“I know, baby. But we can’t keep it.”
“Why not?” Alexei stands up, fists clenched. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”
“I didn’t say you did anything wrong. But these toys aren’t appropriate.”
“What does that mean?”
How do I explain this without explaining everything? How do I tell them that the man who gave them these gifts is the same man who put a gun to someone’s head and pulled the trigger? That I can’t let them get attached to him because he’s dangerous?
“It just means we can’t keep them,” I say. “I’ll get you different toys.”
“I don’t want different toys!” Mila is crying now. “I want the dollhouse!”
“Mila, please—”
“You’re being mean!” She grabs one of the tiny dolls and clutches it to her chest. “It’s mine!”
Alexei’s jaw sets in that stubborn way that reminds me so much of Luca, it makes my chest hurt. “We didn’t ask for them, but they’re here. We should be allowed to keep them.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Then how does it work?” he challenges.
I don’t have an answer for that. Not one that makes sense to a four-year-old.
I stand up and start dismantling the train track. Alexei makes a sound of protest, but doesn’t try to stop me. I pack the train cars carefully into their box, then collapse the wooden bridges and tunnels.
“Mama, please,” Mila whispers. She’s still holding the tiny doll. “Please let me keep just one thing.”
My heart breaks looking at her tear-streaked face. But I can’t give in on this. If I let them keep these gifts, I’m letting Luca in. I’m letting him build a relationship with them that I can’t control or monitor.
“I’m sorry, baby. No.”
I take the doll from her hand gently. She starts sobbing. Full, body-shaking sobs that make me want to cry too.
I finish packing up the train set, then carefully lift the dollhouse. It’s heavier than I expected. I carry it to the door while both twins cry behind me.
“I hate you!” Mila shouts.
The words cut through me like glass.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry.”
I carry the dollhouse down the hallway to my room. Come back for the train set. Make two more trips for all the accessories and pieces. By the time I’m done, both twins have locked themselves in Mila’s room. I can hear them crying through the door.
I stack everything in the corner of my bedroom and stare at it.
Beautiful, thoughtful gifts. Exactly what the twins would love. Exactly what would make them happy. From a man who kills people without hesitation.
I sit on the edge of my bed and put my head in my hands.
This is a losing battle. Luca has infinite resources. He can keep sending gifts. He can keep appearing in hallways and smiling at my children and slowly make himself less frightening to them. And I can’t stop him because this is his house and they’re living under his roof.
The twins are warming to him. I can see it happening. The fear is fading. The curiosity is growing.
And I witnessed what he’s capable of. I saw the violence firsthand. I know exactly what kind of monster he is. But my children don’t. They just see a man who gives them presents and asks about their favorite colors.
I’m losing control of the one thing I swore I’d protect. The one boundary I promised I’d maintain.
And I don’t know how to stop it.