21. Lila
21
LILA
I button Lev’s coat for him at the door, fingers moving quickly down the line. He kicks his foot against the marble and leans in close like he has a secret.
“There’s a book in the library with a sword that glows. Not the whole sword—just the edge. And it can cut through anything. Even bone. But they don’t let you check it out unless you finish your reading chart, so I need the green sticker today. You can’t forget.”
“I won’t forget,” I say, smoothing his hair. “What’s the sword called?”
“I don’t know. Something with an X. Xelos. Or Xerax. It’s got fire too.” He widens his eyes for emphasis. “Real fire.”
I nod, kiss his forehead, and adjust the collar when he shrugs it up against his neck. It’s one of those rare mornings when the world feels still. The air is cold but clean. The sky is pale. We’re not late, no one’s fighting, and for once there’s no fear about my mother or Marcella, no foreboding feeling that life isn't anything but normal and calm.
The house is quiet behind us as we step out and shut the door. Rafe's already at the car, one hand on the passenger door, the other tapping something into his phone. He doesn’t look up as we approach, but he pulls the door open and steps back.
“Hey, Rafe!” Lev waves. “Did you see my chart? It’s almost full.” He holds his paper up proudly and grins.
Rafe lifts his chin in acknowledgment but doesn’t respond. His attention stays fixed on the grounds. Besides, he's not the child's father, so why would he care about a five-year-old's reading sticker sheet? I smile and nod at him, but he doesn't acknowledge that either.
I take Lev’s hand and walk with him down the stone path. It’s still damp from the sprinklers, and I remind him to slow down even though he’s barely running. His hand is warm inside mine.
“Do you think Mateo knows about the sword?” Lev asks. “He’d probably want one. Or maybe his sword lights on fire. Do you think it lights on fire?"
“We can ask him later,” I say.
“But if he does, maybe he keeps it under the bed. Or in that drawer he never lets anyone touch.” Lev is jabbering too much, something Anton would've hated. Something Mateo would tolerate with more patience than a man like him typically displays.
“I’m sure he keeps it somewhere very safe.”
I say something about dinner, about what he wants tonight, but I don’t remember what I say because that’s the moment the air around us breaks open.
The sound is sharp, metallic—like a hammer striking a bell underwater.
Then the ground lifts.
The side gate—northwest corner—detonates in a burst of glass and metal and stone. A wall of dirt erupts outward like a wave breaking, and I don’t have time to think. I throw myself over Lev, one arm around his shoulders, the other cradling his head. My body hits the ground first. The breath bursts out of me, and I taste gravel in the back of my throat, and I roll, covering him with my body.
Lev screams. It’s a sharp, panicked sound, high-pitched and real, but I can’t tell if he’s hurt or just scared.
“Mama!” he cries. “What was that? What was that?”
I curl around him tighter, shielding him with every inch I have. The air is filled with smoke and ringing and the thud of boots coming from all directions. The ground is covered in debris, and my entire body trembles like an earthquake.
Rafe’s shouting, but the words don’t make sense through the sound in my head. Dust coats my skin, my hair, my lips. I push up on one arm and drag Lev with me. He’s crying now, clutching at my waist, eyes wide and wild. I feel liquid on my cheek, but it's not tears. I'm bleeding.
“Are they shooting? Are we going to die?”
“There’s no shooting,” I say, voice broken. “You’re okay. Just keep your head down.”
There’s blood on my sleeve, but I can’t tell if it’s his or mine. I just know I don't feel pain yet, which is good. It motivates me to get up and move so I don't feel pain ever.
Then I hear Mateo.
He’s yelling commands—sharp, clipped. No hesitation. His voice cuts through the chaos like a megaphone. I don’t see where he comes from, but he’s there. His hand grabs my arm and pulls us both upright in one motion. His other hand is still holding a gun.
I stumble. He keeps us moving.
His guards swarm past us, rifles up, faces hard. Rafe grabs one of them and points toward the outer wall. Someone else yells about the breached perimeter. I don’t turn to look. Mateo’s hand is still on me, his grip like iron, and Lev’s feet barely touch the ground as we’re pulled toward the front steps.
The door is open before we reach it. The entryway is dark and I slump against a wall, holding Lev to my chest while I tremble and sob. I'm in shock, or I'm wounded. I can't tell. Nothing makes sense right now. I'm too afraid.
"Are you hurt?" Mateo barks.
I slowly meet his eyes as the sound of Lev crying registers. He crawls deeper into my lap and buries his face against my chest. I cradle the back of his head with one hand, the other trembling against the wall. I don’t speak. I can’t. My lungs are too tight and the pressure behind my eyes is too much.
He doesn’t wait for my answer. He turns to the nearest guard and gives three clipped commands, too fast for me to follow. The man disappears down the hall, and two others move past us, speaking low into their comms.
Lev is still sobbing, but quieter now. His little hands are clenched into the front of my coat. I stroke his hair without thinking, fingers shaking as they pass through the strands. Mateo paces two steps away, gun still drawn. He hasn’t looked at me again.
“Get them upstairs,” he says to Rafe.
Rafe nods and holds out his hand, waiting. Not for Lev, for me, but I don’t move.
“I can walk,” I say.
“I didn’t ask,” Mateo snaps, his eyes flicking back to me. “Get him out of the entryway. I want eyes on that perimeter from every angle. And find the breach—someone gave a signal.”
Rafe doesn’t argue. He crouches down, speaks to Lev in a low, even tone, and lifts him gently out of my arms. Lev’s still crying, but he lets Rafe carry him. I push myself off the wall and follow. My legs feel like water. Every step is too loud in my ears, even though no one is talking anymore.
We reach the second floor, and Rafe brings Lev into one of the guest rooms off the hallway. It’s smaller, easier to secure. He sets Lev down on the bed and pulls the blackout curtains tight before checking the locks on the windows.
I sit on the edge of the mattress and reach for Lev. His face is blotchy, tear-streaked. He curls up against me without a word. Rafe kneels in front of us, checking both our faces. His eyes settle on the blood on my cheek.
“Head wound,” he says. “Surface only. You’ll be fine.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“I’ll post outside. Don’t leave this room," he says, then he’s gone, and we’re alone.
I hold Lev for a long time. The adrenaline drains slower than I expect. I think I should cry again, but I don’t. I just sit there and feel the weight of him in my arms. His breaths slow, his fingers relax their grip. He drifts off eventually, exhausted from fear.
I lay him down gently and watch him sleep. Only then do I go into the adjoining bathroom and rinse the blood from my face. It’s mine, like Rafe said. A gash across the cheekbone. It burns under the water, but I don’t flinch. I just keep cleaning until the cloth comes away clean. The bleeding’s stopped, but it’ll bruise by morning. The skin around it is tight, swollen. I rinse the cloth, wring it out, and leave it folded on the counter like it matters. Like anything about this feels manageable now.
When I step back into the room, Mateo’s already there. He doesn’t speak until the door clicks shut behind him. His eyes land on me like crosshairs—flat, unreadable, too steady for how fast his chest is rising. He walks farther into the room. I move toward the bed and curl one hand around Lev’s shoulder as he sleeps. His breathing is soft now. Deep. I won’t risk waking him.
Mateo stops two feet away. The gun is gone. His jacket’s missing. His sleeves are still rolled to the elbows, but the blood is washed off his hands. His voice, when it comes, is low and surgical.
“Where was your detail?”
The question cuts clean. No build-up, no preamble—just a blade to the throat.
“I had Rafe,” I say. “He was at the car.” I'm cowering inside, terrified of him again.
“Where was the second?” His glare scares me. It makes him look evil.
“There wasn’t one.” My voice is low, almost apologetic, but I won’t apologize. “No one told me I needed two for school drop-off.”
He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. The disbelief isn’t even masked. It rises off him in waves that ripple through the air between us. Then he lets out a laugh—just one. It’s short, dry, humorless. The sound lands like an open-handed slap across the face.
“You always need two.” His voice stays low, like he knows waking Lev during this bickering match wouldn't be good. After what we just went through…
“I didn’t know.” My fear is starting to show. I hate being scared in front of him. It's worse than it was with Anton because Mateo has seen me vulnerable in ways I never let Anton see me.
“You always need two,” he says again. This time, there’s no space between the words. No breath. Just pressure. “Do you think they care if it’s morning or night? Do you think the enemy gives a fuck what time it is?”
His voice doesn’t rise, but it fills every inch of the room. Lev stirs slightly, a small whimper slipping from his lips before he quiets again. I stroke his back, try to calm him without drawing more attention to the tremor in my fingers. I should be used to this by now but I'm not.
“I’m not going to raise my son in a bunker,” I say quietly.
“You’re not going to raise him at all if you keep pretending this is optional.”
That sentence lands with more impact than the blast outside. My breath hitches, and I feel something in my chest fold in on itself. He isn’t wrong, and that’s what burns most. I press my palm to the bed, anchoring myself there, trying to calm the roar in my head long enough to think. I want Lev out of here—away from here. My mother is right. Marcella is right. Lev isn't safe here.
“I was doing what I thought was right,” I say, not even sure who I’m trying to convince. It was just a school run. This is our home. It's supposed to be safe.
“That’s your problem. You think.”
The room goes still. Not quiet. Still. My shoulders tense, and I realize I’ve been clenching my jaw hard enough to make my teeth ache. That hurt more than it should have. He isn't correcting me. He's being cruel.
I stand, not to challenge him, just to move. Just to keep from feeling like I’ve already lost something I haven’t named yet. Mateo doesn’t give me the chance to pass. He steps into my path, his frame blocking the exit completely.
“You want to go?” he asks, too calm now in that flat, deadened tone that never means anything good. “Fine.” He looks at Lev, asleep in the bed I laid him in, protected behind doors I didn't think we needed locked. “But he stays.”
I stop like I’ve been punched. My stomach drops so fast I feel nauseated. “You can’t mean that.” I'm cold suddenly, hugging myself, shivering.
“He’s not leaving this house.” His eyes are inky and hard like steel.
“You think I'd take him out there after what just happened?” My voice rises before I can stop it, ragged with disbelief. “You think I’m that reckless?”
“I think you’re emotional,” he says, “and emotional people make bad decisions.”
The implication stings. Worse, it feels like he’s right again. My hand grips the edge of the dresser near the bed, anchoring me to something solid. I hate that he’s always a step ahead of me, always making the decisions before I can even think of the question.
I move toward the door, needing to put space between us, but before I can cross the threshold, his hand closes around my wrist. It’s not a violent grip, but it stops me cold.
“You want to run?” he says quietly. “Be my guest. But you don’t take the kid.”
“You don’t get to make that call.” My protest is weak. I know he will get his way.
He releases me slowly, as if to prove he doesn’t have to hold on to keep control. His voice doesn’t change, doesn’t crack. “I already did.”
There’s nothing left to say. If I argue now, it’ll be for pride, not purpose. I take a breath that doesn’t help and step around him. My back stays straight, my eyes dry. The burn behind them will come later.
I make it to the hallway before the trembling in my hands starts again. I press one against the wall and close the door behind me. Inside, Lev sleeps like a child who believes he’s safe.
I’m not sure that belief will hold very much longer.