Chapter Thirty-Nine Andrea
The next afternoon, I’m back at the house, curled up on the sofa in the playroom with a mug of peppermint tea warming my hands and the weight of my belly heavy in my lap.
I should feel safe. I should feel steady.
But my mind won’t stop replaying bits and pieces of what Dad hinted at yesterday.
The power, the reach, the unspoken threats behind polite words.
It’s comforting in one breath—terrifying in the next.
Because this is my family.
And when they circle the wagons, it’s beautiful and terrifying all at once.
The playroom is enormous—Remy had the walls painted in soft colors for Callie, and I’ve gone overboard with bins of toys, a bookshelf, and a little craft table that’s permanently glitter-stained.
Today, it’s alive with laughter.
Callie is thrilled to have her cousins over, giggling as she chases after them in a game of tag but with tiaras or tinsel, a thing only a three-year-old could invent.
Her tiny Christmas tree, covered in every sparkly ornament she could get her sticky little fingers on, glitters in the corner like it’s competing with the grand one in the living room.
Leanna stands in the doorway for a long moment, admiring both trees.
“She did all of that herself? It’s honestly perfect.”
“She insisted,” I murmur, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the tight knot in my chest.
Clementine lowers herself beside me, both hands cupping her own bump like it’s the most precious secret in the world. She gives me a knowing look.
“We’re going to be waddling together soon.”
I rub my belly instinctively, her words tugging a laugh out of me.
“God help our husbands.”
“God help our backs,” she counters, and we both chuckle, leaning into the moment.
Lucy—my beautiful cousin who got her body back unfairly quick after delivering her little one, the lucky brat—suddenly claps her hands together, eyes sparkling like she’s five years old herself.
“We need cookies! Right now. It’s practically mandatory with this many kids and this much glitter in the air.”
Before I can answer, the room erupts into chaos.
A dozen little voices squeal their agreement, and suddenly we’re migrating en masse toward the kitchen.
Toddlers in socks sliding across polished wood floors, little hands reaching for mine, Callie clinging to my leg until I scoop her up.
And then it’s a delightful mess of sugar and butter and too much flour in the air. Lucy takes charge, barking out instructions like a drill sergeant.
Leanna manages to keep Callie from sneaking too much raw dough into her mouth.
Clementine and I are stuck at the counter, trading off mixing duties because our bellies keep bumping the edge.
Michaela shows up midway through and immediately starts a flour fight. She’s the oldest of us and is a phenomenal baker, so I don’t mind knowing she’ll be leaving me with at least two dozen anisette cookies before the day is through.
I laugh.
Real, full-bodied laughter that shakes something loose inside me.
For a moment, my fears—the gnawing dread about Julio, about the courts, about the storm that’s circling us—fade.
Because looking around at this noisy, glitter-dusted, cookie-covered circus of family?
I know one thing with absolute certainty.
No one is going to break this family up.
No one.
Clementine bumps her hip against mine as we roll dough into uneven balls.
“You know, you don’t have to hold all of this on your own, Andy. We’ve got you.”
“Exactly,” Michaela chimes in, dusting flour from her cheek. “One Volkov cousin in trouble is basically a siren call to the rest of us. We’ll show up whether you like it or not.”
“Damn right,” Lucy says with a grin, stealing a piece of chocolate chip cookie dough and popping it in her mouth before anyone can stop her.
“And don’t try to fight me on it. I fight dirty.”
I laugh, shaking my head, and Leanna leans against the counter with a soft smile. “It’s true. You’ve got an army behind you, Andy. And honestly? Remy too. He’s completely gone for you. You must know that.”
I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, the back door bursts open and Julia strolls in, waving a bakery bag.
“I come bearing gluten-free cookies because SOME of us can’t handle flour bombs without regretting it later.”
Clementine snorts. “Leave it to Julia to bring store-bought to a homemade cookie day.”
“Don’t knock it, Clemmy. These are amazing.” Julia plunks the bag down and looks at me, more serious now. “But seriously, Andrea, you’re not alone. You’ve got us. And you’ve got me. Even if I annoy you half the time.”
I feel my throat tighten. Their words warm me, like a quilt stitched together from love and laughter and stubborn loyalty.
“Thank you,” I whisper, blinking fast but smiling anyway. “Really. I—I don’t know what I’d do without all of you.”
For a second, I let myself bask in it—sisters and cousins, sugar and flour, Callie giggling in the next room with a pile of sprinkles.
And then the doorbell rings.
The sound jolts through the kitchen.
We all go still.
“I’ll get it,” I say automatically, wiping my hands on a towel and forcing my smile to stay in place.
But when I pull the heavy door open, everything inside me freezes.
On the doorstep sit two packages.
One small box with my name printed on the label. Another, even smaller, with Callie’s.
My stomach drops to the floor.
No one should’ve gotten this close.
Not past the guards. Not without alarms.
Behind me, Lucy’s voice floats from the kitchen, light and teasing. “What is it, Andy? Santa come early?”
But I can’t answer.
Because the air has gone cold, and all I can hear is the thunder of my own heartbeat.