16. Alexei
ALEXEI
Ivy knocks again, louder this time, as if the door separating us might personally be responsible for Winston’s latest crime. Maggie laughs while pulling on her robe, and the sound moves through the bedroom with the kind of warmth I haven’t known in years.
“Papa?” Ivy calls. “Are you coming? Agatha said Winston can’t have any more bacon because he already had enough for a grown man.”
Maggie ties her robe and glances back at me. “That dog weighs six pounds.”
“He lacks discipline,” I say, reaching for my shirt.
“Funny. He acts just like somebody else I know.”
I pause with the shirt in my hands and look at her. “Are you accusing me of stealing bacon?”
Her smile gets wider as she moves toward the door. “No, honey. I’m accusin’ you of lookin’ like a man who would deny it with a straight face.”
She opens the door before I can answer, and Ivy nearly falls into the room with Winston tucked under one arm like evidence.
My daughter wears her dance leggings, one sock, and the sparkly headband she has decided must be worn several hours before rehearsal.
Winston’s fur sticks up on one side, and he looks entirely pleased with himself.
Ivy points at him. “He has no regrets.”
Maggie crouches and scratches beneath Winston’s chin. “Most hardened criminals don’t.”
Ivy nods, taking this seriously. “Agatha said pancakes are ready.”
“Then we shouldn’t keep Agatha waitin’,” I tell her.
Maggie pauses in the doorway and sends me one last teasing smile before disappearing into the hall.
It is a small thing, but I memorize it anyway.
Everything about this morning should feel ordinary.
A child demanding breakfast. A dog stealing food.
A woman laughing in my bedroom. Instead, mornings like this have become rare enough that I want to hold on to them.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand. The sound echoes in the room.
I reach for the phone and read Luka’s name on the screen. “What is it?” I answer.
Luka doesn’t waste words. “Roman is waiting in the guest house.”
I look toward the window, where the east lawn stretches beneath the morning sun. The guest house sits beyond the garden path, half-hidden by oaks and armed men that most guests never realize are there.
“Why?”
“Enzo DeLuca decided to cooperate.”
For one measured breath, I say nothing. Enzo is arrogant, greedy, and controlled by self-preservation. A man like him cooperates only when silence becomes more dangerous than betrayal.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I end the call and dress quickly, choosing dark slacks and a navy shirt. Years of training have reduced preparation to routine. I button the cuffs, fasten my belt, secure my watch and weapon, and think about Luka's words.
Enzo DeLuca decided to cooperate.
I don’t trust sudden cooperation. I trust fear. I trust pressure. I trust a man realizing the people he has served are now more likely to kill him than I am. If Enzo is speaking, something’s changed.
Downstairs, the kitchen is warm with the smell of pancakes, coffee, bacon, and syrup. Mrs. Bennett stands at the stove, one hand on her hip, while Winston sits beside the island pretending innocence. Daisy watches from beneath the breakfast table, unimpressed by all of us.
“There he is,” Mrs. Bennett says without turning around. “The man who owns every security system known to mankind and still can’t stop a dog from stealing breakfast.”
Maggie laughs into her coffee. “I was just thinkin’ that.”
I take my place at the island beside Ivy. “Winston is unpredictable.”
“He’s six pounds,” Maggie says.
“Still unpredictable.”
Ivy pushes a fork through her pancakes. “He’s sneaky.”
Mrs. Bennett points the spatula toward the dog. “He’s shameless.”
Winston thumps his tail against the floor.
For a little while, I let the room exist around me.
Ivy tells Maggie about the rehearsal schedule for the third time.
Maggie listens as though she hasn’t already heard every detail, asking questions about Sophie, sparkles, turns, and whether Miss Hannah will be disappointed if someone forgets where to stand.
I should leave. Roman is waiting, and Enzo DeLuca is sitting in the guest house with answers I’ve spent weeks chasing.
Yet I remain where I am. Once I leave this kitchen, questions begin, and I’m not prepared to answer them.
Maggie notices too much. If I rush out now, she’ll know something is wrong, and I have no intention of telling her Enzo is on my property until I know exactly what he has to say.
For now, I allow myself this. Breakfast. Laughter. Family.
Mrs. Bennett places toast in front of Maggie and watches until she takes a bite. Maggie notices and gives her a look.
“Agatha.”
“You’re eating for two,” Mrs. Bennett says.
Maggie’s cheeks color. “I'm eatin’ for one and a very tiny passenger with strong opinions about chicken.”
Mrs. Bennett doesn’t appear moved. “Then toast should be acceptable.”
I wisely keep my opinion to myself. Maggie notices anyway and points her fork at me.
“Don’t look smug.”
“I said nothing,” I point out.
“You said it with your face,” she accuses.
Ivy giggles, and the sound loosens some of the tension in my shoulders. Since Clara's death, there are days when Ivy's laughter feels hard won. Yet she’s laughing now. Maggie gave her that this morning. She gives it to her more often than she realizes.
Maggie glances at the clock above the pantry door. “I need to stop by the shelter before rehearsal. Jules said the construction crews are comin’ early, and I promised I’d check the temporary intake room before we leave.”
“No physical work,” I tell her.
Her head turns slowly. “Good mornin’ to you too.”
Ivy looks between us with interest.
I lower my voice. “The doctor gave instructions.”
“The doctor told me to avoid stress and heavy lifting. She didn’t tell me I can’t point at things and tell Jules he’s wrong.”
Mrs. Bennett hides a smile by turning back toward the stove.
I consider arguing, then decide against it because Maggie has already chosen her position, and Ivy is enjoying the match too much.
“Sam goes with you,” I say.
“That was never in doubt.”
“And two additional men,” I add.
Her mouth opens.
“Three,” I correct.
Her mouth closes.
Ivy grins at her pancakes. Maggie leans closer to me, lowering her voice enough that Ivy can’t hear every word.
“You’re enjoyin’ this way too much.”
“Your accusation is unfounded,” I reply.
“You absolutely are.”
I stand when my phone vibrates again. Luka is likely waiting outside, wondering what’s taking me so long.
Maggie notices. Her amusement fades, replaced by the concern she has been trying not to show lately.
“You’re leavin’ now?”
“Yes.” I step closer and lower my voice. “Roman needs me.”
“Everything okay?”
I should tell her the truth. Not the details, because I don’t have them yet, but enough that she understands today may not be simple. I should tell her Enzo is talking, that Roman is waiting, and that this may finally lead us to the person who’s been circling my family.
Instead, I look at Ivy, who is carefully feeding Winston a piece of pancake beneath the table while Mrs. Bennett pretends not to see it.
“Business,” I say.
Maggie’s face tells me she doesn’t believe me. It also tells me she knows why I’m not saying more in front of Ivy.
“That word is doin’ a lot of work lately,” she murmurs.
“I’ll meet you at the shelter before we leave for rehearsal.”
“You better.” She tries for teasing, but the worry remains beneath it. “I don’t know how to attend a six-year-old dance rehearsal without Russian security commentary.”
“You’ll manage.”
“I always do.”
I touch her cheek, unable to stop myself. Her skin is warm and soft, and for one second, her eyes close. When she opens them again, something passes between us that belongs to neither fear nor desire. Trust. Fragile, stubborn, and undeserved in ways she doesn’t understand.
I bend and kiss her. Not long enough to alarm Ivy. Not lightly enough to make it meaningless.
When I pull back, Maggie’s fingers rest against my wrist.
“Be careful,” she says.
I almost smile. “That’s my line.”
“Then I’m borrowin’ it.”
I kiss Ivy’s forehead next. “No terrorizing Mrs. Bennett.”
Ivy points toward Winston. “He started it.”
“Then supervise him.”
She straightens proudly. “I can do that.”
Mrs. Bennett mutters from the stove, “Heaven help us all.”
I leave the kitchen before the warmth of it can make me hesitate.
Luka waits in the foyer dressed in dark trousers and a black polo, his posture relaxed enough to fool anyone who’s never seen him work.
I see the tension beneath it. He’s already checked the hallway, the front entrance, and the approach outside.
We step through the front doors into the morning heat.
The estate looks peaceful beneath the sun, all manicured lawns, white stone, blooming hedges, and oaks dripping moss along the drive.
Men occupy positions that would seem casual to anyone not trained to understand a defensive perimeter.
One near the fountain. Two by the far hedge. Another at the edge of the garden path.
Roman’s black SUV waits near the guest house.
Viktor stands by the porch, both arms finally free of slings and bandages. His face gives nothing away, but seeing him whole again is reassuring. His presence also tells me that Roman didn’t want this meeting to be delayed.
“What did Enzo offer?” I ask Luka as we walk.
“He says he has proof.”
“Of what?”
Luka’s jaw works once. “He wouldn’t say until you and Roman were both present.”
That earns a hard look from me. “Convenient.”
“Yes.”
The guest house sits beneath a canopy of old oaks, separated from the main house by enough distance to keep certain conversations contained. Today, armed men stand near the porch and along the rear path. No one speaks as Luka opens the door.
Inside, the air smells of coffee, leather, and fear.