Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
December
DOMHNALL
It’s been radio silence from Anna or Mads for a month.
I suppose not complete silence. A few texts have trickled through like water torture—just enough to keep me from losing my mind entirely, but nowhere near enough to quench this burning need to know she’s safe.
Only one message came through after whatever the hell had happened at that mountain fortress deep in Russia.
I scoured every satellite feed for days afterward, burned through favors with contacts I’d spent years cultivating, and even reached out to connections I’d sworn I’d never use again.
Still, there wasn’t a single glimpse of her.
I have no idea how she got in or out. The woman moves like smoke when she wants to. A skill that once made her valuable to dangerous people and is now turned toward some mission she won’t explain.
I all but tore my hair out by the roots that day, pacing this fortress of a house like a caged beast. Every room echoes with her absence. The kitchen where we fought. The dungeon where we played. The bedroom where we loved.
I waited, checking our encrypted channels obsessively, for something—anything—from her, only to receive a simple message through our dark web system: Mission accomplished, love. Still won’t be home for a while. There’s been another complication.
Infuriating woman.
Another complication. As if my heart hadn’t already been ripped from my chest and left bleeding on the floor when she walked out eight months ago. As if I haven’t been slowly dying inside, one agonizing day at a time, wondering if each text will be the last.
I thought the hold I have on Anna—that sweet, vulnerable part of her—meant she’d keep calling just to hear my voice.
That she’d need the connection the way I do, like a drowning man needs air.
But no. These clinical, emotionless texts are all I’ve had to sustain me. Scraps when I’m starving for a feast.
“Would you sit the fuck down? You’re making me dizzy.”
Moira’s voice cuts through my brooding. I hadn’t even heard them arrive—her and Bane, Isaak and Kira with their baby. They’ve been doing this more frequently, these interventions disguised as social visits. As if their presence could fill the gaping wound in my chest.
“I’ll sit down when I feel like sitting down,” I retort, pausing mid-pace before resuming.
“So... never, then?” Moira flops onto my couch with her characteristic lack of grace. “You gonna just wear a trench in your fancy floor by the time MadAnna gets back?”
Bane settles beside her with more dignity, his hand automatically finding her knee. The casual intimacy of it makes something twist in my gut. They found their way back to each other. Why can’t Anna—Mads—find her way back to me?
Isaak watches me with those calculating eyes, bouncing baby Lily on his knee.
The giant of a man handles his daughter with surprising gentleness, supporting her head with one massive palm while she gums at her fist. Three months old and already ruling her father’s world with an iron fist covered in drool.
“The new security protocols are holding up well,” Isaak says, his way of making conversation while assessing my mental state. “No breach attempts this week.”
“Good.” I force myself to sit and appear normal. Christ, when did normal become such a performance? I mean, there was a time when it always was. But then Anna returned after a decade away and brought me back to life. I don’t know how to go back to being the zombie I was before.
Kira glides over with a glass of water I didn’t ask for but probably need. She’s got that maternal energy now, taking care of everyone whether they want it or not. “You look tired, Domhnall.”
“I’m fine.”
“When’s the last time you ate?” she presses. “A real meal, not just coffee and whatever’s in reach.”
I wave her off. Food tastes like ash anyway. Everything does without—
“She’s coming back,” Moira says, softer this time. “She loves you.”
“You don’t know that,” I bite, my worst fears flying out of my mouth.
“I do, actually,” my sister says stubbornly.
She’ll come back. She always comes back. But the endless self-assurances don’t ring as true as they once did. Every day she’s gone, it feels more and more like the string holding us together is closer to snapping.
I zone out as everyone plays with the baby and makes small talk. Fine with me. As much as I resentfully appreciate their company, I can’t be anything more than the brooding statue in the corner. Half here, half gone.
I interact when they ask things of me, but barely remember it the next second. My life now doesn’t seem real.
I try to make an effort for Moira’s sake since I know I was such a shit to her all year.
“You look... good, Moira.”
She blinks like she’s surprised. “Uh, thanks?”
“I mean it. You seem...” I struggle to find the right word. “Steadier.”
“Meds will do that to a girl,” she quips.
Bane steps closer and takes her hand. I don’t miss how he supports her.
“You’re good for her,” I say to him.
Moira rolls her eyes, but Bane’s voice is quiet but firm, “She’s good for me, too.”
Bane pierces me with his gaze. I know I’m not his favorite person. Moira might let me off the hook for my shit behavior, but he doesn’t. I hold his gaze and nod. I’m not afraid to take accountability for my bullshit.
“Jesus Christ,” Moira exclaims, “just hug it out already so we can order pizza.”
I snort and get up to grab my phone to order the food when the doorbell rings.
We all freeze.
No one rings my doorbell. Ever. The security system should have alerted me to any approach, but when I check the panel, the feed shows nothing but static. My blood turns to ice. This kind of technical failure doesn’t happen by accident. Not with my systems.
Isaak’s already on his feet, Lily passed smoothly to Kira as his hand moves to the weapon at his hip. Good man. She grabs Lily’s car carrier in one hand, Lily pressed to her chest with her other, and scoots down the back hallway out of sight.
“Stay back,” I order, already moving toward the door. “My security feed must be glitching.”
“Like hell,” Moira mutters, but Bane’s arm around her waist keeps her on the couch.
I approach the door carefully, every sense on high alert. It could be enemies from the past finally catching up. Or Feds. Or even another message from her delivered in some cryptic way. It could be—
I yank the door open, ready for anything.
Except this.
A basket sits on my doorstep like something out of a goddamn fairytale. Wicker and innocent-looking, covered with a soft blue blanket that shifts slightly in the evening breeze.
No. Not the breeze.
My knees hit the concrete before conscious thought catches up.
The impact jars through me, but I barely feel it.
My hands shake—actually fucking shake—as I reach for the blanket.
Some part of me already knows. Some primitive part recognizes what’s under that soft blue fabric before my eyes confirm it.
A baby.
Tiny. Perfect. A shock of black hair dark as mine. And when those eyes blink open? Christ, they’re the exact shade of blue I see in the mirror every morning. My mother’s eyes. My eyes.
The world tilts. Sounds fade. There’s just this: a baby on my doorstep with my eyes and a note pinned to the blanket.
My fingers fumble with the paper, clumsy as a child’s. The words blur, and I have to blink hard to focus.
Donny,
Meet your son, Connor. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring him myself, but there are still things I need to finish to keep you both safe. I’ll be home soon. I promise.
All my love, Anna
Connor. She named him Connor.
Something inside me breaks. The carefully constructed walls, the armor of anger and hurt, the cold control I’ve wrapped around myself like a shroud—it all crumbles.
My son makes a small sound, not quite a cry, more like he’s testing his voice in this big new world, and I gather him into my arms with hands that have done terrible things but now cradle this miracle like spun glass.
“Domhn?” Moira’s voice comes from somewhere far away.
I can’t speak. Can’t form words around the earthquake happening in my chest. I just turn slightly, enough for them to see.
“Holy shit,” Moira breathes.
“Language,” Bane murmurs automatically, but his eyes are wide with shock.
Kira must not have gone very far, because she’s back, baby Lily stowed in her seat in the living room. “Bring him inside,” she orders. “Now. It’s too cold out here for a newborn.”
Newborn. My son. The words feel foreign and familiar all at once.
I stand carefully, Connor’s weight negligible in my arms but somehow grounding me to the Earth. Inside. Yes. Get my son somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. Somewhere I can process this impossible gift without the eyes of the world on us.
“There’s another basket,” Isaak reports from the doorway, already cataloging potential threats and necessities with that tactical mind of his. “Supplies. Formula, diapers, clothes.” He lifts it easily. “Everything’s labeled and organized. Military precision.”
Of course. That’s her way. Even in this—especially in this—she’s thorough. Making sure our son has everything he needs.
Our son.
I sink into my leather chair, the one Anna used to curl up in. Connor stays in my arms. I can’t let go. Won’t let go. He’s so small, so fragile. How is something this small even possible? How do lungs that tiny work? That heart beating against my chest—how does it know what to do?
“How old, do you think?” I ask Kira, my voice rough.
She moves closer, assessing with experienced eyes. “May I?”
I don’t want to let him go, but Kira’s got experience with babies I don’t. I let her examine him while he stays in my arms, watching as she checks his umbilical cord site, his color, and his reflexes.
“Two weeks, maybe three,” she says. “He’s healthy. Good weight, good color. She took excellent care of him.”