Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
January
ANNA
Mads kept trying to take over this morning, her presence pressing against the edges of my consciousness like a caged animal testing its bars. But I was determined to show her I can be the brave one, for once.
I can take care of us, too.
“Fine,” she finally agreed, her voice a reluctant whisper in my mind. “But I’m right here if you need me.”
I can feel her there, coiled and ready to spring into action if the plan—if anything—goes wrong.
Neither of us has sensed Red’s presence since we gave birth.
Sometimes I wonder if the act of bringing Connor into the world.
.. satisfied her? Or somehow fulfilled whatever primal need for protection that called her into being?
Even Mads has had a different respect for me ever since I took on that particular task.
The memory of the quick, terrifying labor in that bunker still makes me shudder—the pain and the panic that I wasn’t strong enough to push out the baby on my own.
But I’d stayed present for every second of it.
No switching. No running away into the safety of my mind.
I think Mads was even a little intimidated, actually.
Especially after those first few weeks with baby Connor, when I barely slept, when my nipples were cracked and bleeding from nursing, when I walked the floors at three a.m. with a screaming infant who wouldn’t be soothed.
Mads was present, but off in the corner of my mind, watching anxiously as I took the helm.
“You’re actually doing it,” she’d whispered one night, wonder coloring her mental voice as I changed Connor’s diaper for the third time in an hour. “You’re being a mom.”
At last, I think I’ve finally proven to her that I’m no longer that terrified little girl who needed her to survive.
I’ve finally grown up. I’m a mother now, after all.
God, I miss Connor. This last month away from him has felt like I’m missing a limb.
I keep touching my stomach, but he’s not there anymore.
And he’s not in my arms. But I know somewhere in my head that he’s with his father and he’s safe.
They’re both safe at Domhnall’s secure compound outside Dallas, surrounded by Isaak’s best men.
But knowing isn’t the same as holding him or breathing in his sweet baby scent or feeling his tiny fingers wrap around mine.
Which is why I’m determined to bring this to an end.
Today.
I stand at the edge of Klyde Warren Park in downtown Dallas, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the food trucks and families enjoying the unseasonably mild weather.
It’s the perfect location—public enough that no one would dare attempt anything too dramatic but with enough open space that we can see threats coming from any direction.
Domhnall is already here.
I can see him sitting on a bench near the children’s area, and my heart clenches at the sight of him pushing the stroller back and forth with one hand.
To anyone watching, he looks like a father giving his baby some fresh air.
Only I know the stroller is empty, our precious Connor safe at home with armed guards.
“This plan is insane,” Mads hisses in my mind. “There are too many variables.”
But I’ve run down every lead and checked every corner of the dark web I can find. There’s no record of Kozlov ever having a son, and all of his lieutenants have been wiped off the board. I haven’t sensed any activity anywhere. And frankly, I’m tired of running.
I might not deserve this life with Domhnall and our sweet, innocent son, but I’m still going to fucking take it.
Domhn and I have arranged this reunion as carefully as anyone could. Isaak’s men are stationed throughout the park—some dressed as joggers, others as food truck workers, a couple pretending to be a young couple on a picnic.
The perimeter is secure. Every entrance and exit is monitored.
Snipers are positioned on the surrounding buildings, though far enough away that return fire would be impossible.
And the baby stroller Domhnall pushes? It’s weighted to feel realistic, but it also contains a state-of-the-art tracking system and emergency beacon.
If someone tries to grab it, thinking Connor is inside, they’ll trigger a dozen different alarms.
I take a deep breath and step into the park. The air smells of dried winter grasses and food truck tacos, such a normal scent that it makes my chest ache.
This is what I want—normal. Boring but beautiful normal.
Domhnall’s head turns as if he can sense me, even from fifty yards away. When our eyes meet, the world seems to stop.
Nine months. It’s been nine months since I’ve seen him, since I’ve touched him. And we parted on such angry, hateful words.
He doesn’t get up. We’ve planned this too carefully. He stays seated, continuing to push the stroller, playing his role as the oblivious father. But I can see the tension in his shoulders and the way his free hand clenches and unclenches on his thigh.
I force myself to walk slowly, scanning the park as I move. There are families with actual children here. Young professionals on their lunch breaks. A group of elderly women doing tai chi. Everything looks normal.
“Too normal,” Madison warns. “Where is he? If Kozlov had a son who’s coming for revenge, this is his chance.”
No. He wouldn’t dare risk anything so public. Would he? I start to feel nervous. Public violence isn’t uncommon these days. What if I’ve miscalculated everything?
Twenty yards from Domhnall now. I can see the new lines around his eyes, the way his jaw is clenched so tight that a muscle jumps in his cheek.
He didn’t want this. He hated the idea of using me as bait. But it was the only way I would agree to come home.
We have to know if the threat is real. We have to end this, one way or another.
Ten yards. Close enough that I somehow get a waft of Domhn’s cologne over the park’s chaotic scents.
Five yards…
And… nothing.
No attack, no dramatic appearance.
See? Kozlov was lying. Maybe—
“Matilda.”
The voice comes from behind me, young and male and terrifyingly familiar even though I’ve never heard it before.
Matilda. My original name.
I freeze, every muscle in my body locking up.
“MOVE!” Mads screams in my mind, already trying to surge forward and take control.
But I turn slowly instead, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The young man standing behind me is wearing a jogger’s outfit, with the earpiece that marks him as one of the men from Isaak’s security company. He’s tall, early twenties, with dark hair and eyes that—
Oh god. Those eyes. I know those eyes.
They’re the same hazel as mine. The same shape. The same—
“You murdered my father,” he says, and his hand moves to his hip where I know a weapon waits.
Time slows. I see Domhnall rising from the bench, see him recognizing the threat, see his hand moving to his own concealed weapon. I see Isaak’s other men starting to converge, their covers blown as they rush toward us.
The young man’s hand closes on his gun as he starts to draw it.
“No!” The word tears from my throat as Domhnall appears beside me, his own weapon already out and aimed at the young man’s head.
“Don’t!” I scream, leaping between them. “It’s my brother!”
Everything stops. The security team freezes mid-stride. Domhnall’s finger hovers over the trigger, already moved so his body is a wall between me and the threat.
“Your what?” Domhn’s voice is deadly calm, but I can hear the confusion underneath.
The young man—my brother—laughs, though there’s no humor in it. “She didn’t tell you about me? I’m not surprised. I was barely three when our mother took me away.”
Memories I’ve buried for twenty years come flooding back. A toddler with bright hazel eyes like mine, clinging to our mother’s skirts. The night she left, taking him but leaving me behind. I thought they were dead. Father had told me they were dead.
“And Mama?” I whisper, the word feeling foreign on my tongue.
“Died of cancer when I was five,” he says flatly. “But not before Kozlov took us in. He raised me as his own after that piece of shit father of ours abandoned us.”
The pieces click into place with sickening clarity. Kozlov’s mysterious son. The child our mother saved by leaving, even as she condemned me to stay.
“He saved us,” my brother continues, his hand still on his weapon. “When everyone else threw us away like garbage, he gave us a home. And you—” His voice cracks with rage. “You killed him. You’re exactly like your piece of shit father.”
“Kozlov was a monster, too,” I say, finding my voice. “He trafficked women. He—”
“He was the only father I ever knew!” The gun clears its holster, and suddenly everyone is moving at once.
Domhnall shoves me all the way behind him. The security team rushes forward. My brother raises his weapon.
And Mads, finally breaking free of my control, surges forward, steps in front of Domhnall, and screams, “Ethan! Ethan, stop!”
Everyone freezes again. My brother—Ethan—stares at me with wide eyes.
“How do you know that name?” he demands. “I haven’t used that name since—”
“Since you were three,” Mads says through my mouth. “Since the night Mama wrapped you in the blue blanket with the stars on it and carried you out of that house. You were crying. You didn’t want to leave your ‘Mati.’ You didn’t understand why I couldn’t come too.”
The gun wavers in his hand. “You remember?”
“I remember everything,” Mads says through me, and I can feel her grief, rage, and desperate love for the little brother she thought was lost forever.
“I remember singing you to sleep. I remember teaching you your first words. I remember begging Mama to take me too. But she wouldn’t.
Our awful father made her choose. She chose you. ”
“She said you were daddy’s favorite,” Ethan says, his voice small and broken. “Said he’d never let you go. Said she’d come back for you.”
“She lied.” The words are bitter on my tongue. “But maybe that lie saved your life.”
The gun drops an inch. Another. Behind me, I can feel Domhnall vibrating with tension, ready to move the second he gets an opening.
“I left him when I turned eighteen,” Ethan says suddenly.
“Kozlov. I couldn’t stomach what he did.
The trafficking. The women. But I owed him for saving me, for raising me when no one else would.
It was the one thing he made me vow to him.
To bring honor to his name if he were ever murdered.
So when he died, when I found out who killed him, I had to—”
“You infiltrated Isaak’s security company,” Domhnall says, speaking for the first time since this confrontation began. “You’ve been planning this for months.”
Ethan nods, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “I’m very good at what I do. Kozlov made sure of that.”
“So what now?” I ask, gently pushing past Domhnall’s protective stance. “You kill me? Kill your own sister? Would that make you feel better?”
“I don’t know!” The words explode from him, young and lost and achingly familiar. “I don’t know anything anymore. You’re supposed to be dead. My whole family is supposed to be dead. But you’re here, and you remember my name, and you—” His voice breaks completely. “You look just like her. Like Mom.”
The gun falls to his side, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
“I’m tired,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking tired of being angry.”
I take one step forward, then another. Domhnall makes a sound of protest, but I ignore him. This is my brother. My baby brother I thought was dead and who I mourned for twenty years.
“I’m tired too,” I tell him, tears streaming down my face. “I’m tired of running. Of fighting. Of losing everyone I love.” I’m close enough to touch him now, close enough to see the tears in his own eyes. “But we don’t have to lose each other. Not again.”
His hand opens, and the gun falls to the ground with a clatter that sounds like the end of something. Or maybe the beginning.
“Anna,” he says, and then he’s crying, really crying, and I’m pulling him into my arms like he’s three years old again and scared of the dark. We were both so scared of the dark.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, holding him tight as Isaak’s men move in to secure the weapon, as Domhnall finally lowers his own gun. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
“We’ve got him,” Madison corrects softly in my mind. “We’ve got our brother back.”
And standing there in the middle of Klyde Warren Park, surrounded by security and gawking bystanders, holding my brother for the first time in twenty years, I finally understand what it means to be whole.
Not perfect. Not undamaged.
But complete, with all my broken pieces and fractured selves and lost family members finally, finally coming home.
Domhnall’s hand finds my shoulder, warm and steady and real.
“Let’s go home,” he says quietly. “All of us. Connor’s waiting.”
And we do. We go home. Together.