Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Anna
"Sofia, sweetheart, breakfast is ready!"
I set the scrambled eggs and toast on the table, glancing at the clock. Seven o'clock. I needed to be at the office by eight-thirty.
"Sofia?" I called again, but there was no response.
Strange. Usually she'd come running at the first whiff of food.
I walked to her room and pushed open the door—empty.
The bed was neatly made, her favorite bunny still perched on the pillow.
"Sofia?" A note of panic crept into my voice.
Bathroom? Empty.
Living room? Nothing.
My heart began to race. Where could she be?
That's when I heard voices drifting in from the yard.
A child's voice, and... a man's deep baritone.
My blood turned to ice.
Nearly stumbling over myself, I rushed to the back door and threw it open—
The sight that greeted me shattered my entire world.
Sofia stood by the fence, chatting with the man next door.
He crouched before her, dark hair catching the morning light, tall frame unmistakable, and that face—even in profile, it stopped my heart cold.
Alexander Volkov.
No.
No, no, no.
This couldn't be happening.
"Sofia!"
My voice came out so shrill I barely recognized it.
Both of them turned toward me.
Sofia blinked with those innocent, wide eyes. "Mommy!"
And Alexander—
He looked up, those brown eyes locking directly onto mine.
Time froze.
Five years.
Five years, and he looked exactly the same. Still devastatingly handsome, still dangerous, still... making my pulse spiral out of control.
But now his eyes held shock, disbelief, and something else I didn't dare name.
"What are you doing outside?" My voice trembled. "Didn't I tell you to stay in the house?"
I had to get her away from him. Now. This instant.
Before he put the pieces together.
"My ball rolled over the fence," Sofia held up her pink ball, completely oblivious to my terror. "This nice man helped me get it back. He's really kind! Mommy, his name is Alexander, and he lives right—"
"We're going inside." I cut her off, practically lunging forward to sweep her into my arms.
"But Mommy—"
"Now."
Sofia flinched at my sudden severity, her little mouth quivering.
I clutched her against me, turning to flee.
"Anna."
His voice—low, rough, carrying that achingly familiar timbre.
My feet refused to move.
Don't turn around. Don't look at him.
But my body betrayed me, and I slowly pivoted back.
He had risen to his full height, his imposing silhouette casting long shadows in the morning sun. Those brown eyes bore into mine as if they could strip away every secret I'd buried.
"It is you," he said, his voice thick with certainty, wonder, and something carefully restrained. "It's really you."
My throat constricted. Not a single word would come.
We stared at each other across the divide of five years, and suddenly it all came rushing back.
That night—his kiss, his touch, the way he'd made me feel alive.
The panic of the next morning, that pathetic note I'd left behind, the way I'd fled like a thief in the night.
And now here we were, face to face under the worst possible circumstances.
"Mommy?" Sofia squirmed in my arms. "What's wrong? Why aren't you saying anything?"
Her voice jolted me back to the present.
"I'm sorry," I managed, my voice sounding hollow and distant. "She didn't mean to bother you. We'll leave you alone."
"Wait—" he began.
But I had already spun around, rushing back into the house with Sofia, slamming the door behind us.
I collapsed against the door, my legs threatening to give out entirely.
Heart hammering, lungs burning, the sound of my own blood roaring in my ears.
He'd seen me. He'd recognized me. Worse still—he'd seen Sofia.
"Mommy, what's happening?" Sofia peered up at me, those brown eyes swimming with concern. "Your hands are burning up, and you look so pale. Are you feeling sick?"
Those eyes.
Exactly like his.
"I'm fine, baby." I forced what I hoped resembled a smile, setting her gently on her feet. "Mommy's just... a little overwhelmed."
"But you seem frightened," she said, tilting her head with that perceptive way children have. "Is it because of that man? Is he dangerous?"
"No!" The word exploded out of me, making Sofia jump back. "I mean... he's not dangerous. Mommy just doesn't want you to talk to strangers."
"But he was so nice," Sofia protested, confusion clouding her features. "He helped me with my ball, and he said he'd be happy to help us anytime. He lives all by himself—he seemed lonely. I thought maybe I could visit him sometimes and we could play—"
"Absolutely not." I dropped to my knees, gripping her small shoulders, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Sofia, listen very carefully. You cannot go see that man again. Do you understand me?"
"Why not?" Tears began pooling in her eyes. "What did I do wrong?"
"You didn't do anything wrong," I said, taking a shaky breath. "It's just... Mommy doesn't feel comfortable with you spending time with strangers. It's not safe."
"But you always said neighbors are just people who live nearby, and that we can be friends with them—"
"This is different." I cut her off more harshly than intended. "You are not to go near him again. Is that clear?"
Sofia's tears spilled over. "I don't understand! How is this different?"
Watching her cry felt like someone was tearing my heart in half.
But I couldn't relent.
I couldn't let her anywhere near him.
If he discovered the truth...
"Please, Sofia." I pulled her into my arms. "Mommy is only trying to protect you."
She sobbed against my shoulder, her tiny body shaking.
I squeezed my eyes shut, battling my own tears.
I'm sorry, sweetheart.
I'm so, so sorry.
The entire morning passed in a haze.
Getting Sofia dressed, feeding her breakfast, dropping her at daycare—I went through the motions like an automaton.
My mind was in complete chaos.
He was living next door.
Alexander Volkov was my next-door neighbor.
What kind of cosmic joke was this?
In all of New York City, among millions of apartments and houses, Yekaterina had somehow chosen the one right next to his?
I wanted to call her immediately, tell her we had to move. But she'd demand an explanation. What could I possibly say? That my daughter's biological father—a man I'd been hiding from for five years—happened to be our neighbor? A man who controlled half the city's underworld?
And besides, she'd gone to such lengths to find us this place, even arranged for Sofia to attend the excellent school nearby... How could I throw that back in her face?
But if we stayed, living next to Alexander day after day, it was only a matter of time before—
"Mommy!" Sofia's voice pierced through my spiraling thoughts.
I blinked, realizing I'd been sitting in the car outside the daycare, completely lost in my panic.
"Sorry, sweetheart." I fumbled with my seatbelt and helped her out of the car.
As I walked her to the entrance, she was still withdrawn and sullen.
"Sofia," I knelt down to meet her eyes. "I know you're upset with me. But I need you to trust Mommy, okay? Everything I do is to keep you safe."
She gave a reluctant nod.
I kissed her forehead and watched her disappear through the daycare doors.
Back in the car, I slumped forward against the steering wheel.
What the hell was I going to do?
The Morning Post building rose from the heart of Manhattan, its glass facade reflecting the midday sun like a beacon.
Before entering, I took several deep breaths and smoothed down my blazer, trying to project an air of competence and control.
The HR receptionist, a polished blonde, scanned my resume before escorting me to the editorial floor.
"Anna Parker," the editor-in-chief said without looking up from his computer.
He was a stern-looking man in his fifties, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
"I've reviewed your portfolio. Solid work.
Your focus has been on smaller stories these past few years, but your fundamentals are strong. "
"Thank you," I replied.
"Your primary responsibilities will be content editing and fact-checking," he continued, finally meeting my gaze. "Occasionally we'll need you to cover local stories. Given your situation with a child, we won't burden you with too much field work."
"I appreciate the consideration."
"Tell me," he said, leaning back in his chair, "you worked in this city before?"
My chest tightened. "Yes, about five years ago."
"Then you understand how small the journalism community really is here," he said, studying me carefully. "Most major stories inevitably involve certain... powerful interests."
I knew exactly what he was alluding to.
"I'll be very careful," I said.
He nodded approvingly and handed me a thick folder. "Here are some recent pieces for you to review. Get familiar with our style. You'll start tomorrow."
I reached for the documents, ready to make my escape.
"Oh, one more thing," he called after me. "There's an article in there you might find particularly enlightening. It's about the Volkov family."
My fingers convulsed around the folder, nearly crushing the papers.
"The Volkov family?" I struggled to keep my voice level.
"Indeed," he said, settling back comfortably. "Alexander Volkov has built quite an empire these past five years. His influence extends far beyond the streets now—he's become a major player in legitimate business circles. One of the most powerful men in New York, some would say."
My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vise.
"Plenty of journalists would love to dig into his background, but nobody has the nerve," he continued conversationally. "Cross the Volkov family, and you'll find it very difficult to live in this city again."
"I understand," I whispered.
"So that particular piece focuses solely on his public charitable work," he said with a dismissive wave. "Just a fluff piece, really. Give it a read, but don't get any ideas about investigating further."
I managed a nod and fled his office.