Chapter 6 Leonid
Leonid
The call comes at six in the morning.
Lily is still asleep, curled against my chest, her breath warm and even against my skin. I extract myself carefully, grab my phone from the nightstand, and slip into the hallway.
"What."
"We have a problem." Dimitri's voice is calm, but I've known him long enough to hear the edge beneath it. "Walsh's people are asking questions."
Walsh. The senator I put a bullet in four weeks ago. I'd almost forgotten about him—too consumed with Lily, with building this new life, with the softness I'm still learning how to accept.
"What kind of questions?"
"The kind that involve his last known location. The kind that involve your building."
I close my eyes. Breathe. "What do you need?"
"A meeting. Ten o'clock. We need to get ahead of this before it becomes a problem."
"I'll be there."
I hang up. Stand in the hallway for a moment, letting the old coldness settle back into my bones. I've been soft lately. Distracted. Spending my days thinking about a nineteen-year-old girl with green eyes and a smile that makes me forget who I am.
Who I really am.
I push open the bedroom door. Lily is sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes, my shirt rumpled and falling off one shoulder.
"Everything okay?" Her voice is thick with sleep.
"Work." I cross to the bed, lean down, kiss her forehead. "I have to go in early. Meeting."
"Bratva stuff?"
"Yes."
She doesn't push. Never does. Just nods and reaches for my hand, squeezes it once.
"Be careful."
"I'm always careful."
"Liar." She smiles, soft and sleepy, and something in my chest cracks open. "Come home to me."
"Always."
The meeting is tense.
Dimitri sits at the head of the table, flanked by Viktor and two of his captains. I take my usual seat at his right hand—the Sovietnik's chair, the adviser's position. I've sat here for twenty years. Today it feels heavier than usual.
"Walsh's chief of staff has been making calls," Dimitri says. "Discreet inquiries about his last movements. Someone talked to the driver."
"The driver is dead," Viktor says.
"Someone else, then. A doorman. A security guard." Dimitri's eyes find mine. "Someone who saw Walsh enter your building and never leave."
The room is silent. Waiting.
"I'll handle it," I say.
"How?"
"The way I always handle things." I meet his gaze without flinching. "Quietly. Permanently."
Dimitri studies me for a long moment. Then nods.
"Do it. And Leonid—" He pauses. "The girl. If she becomes a liability—"
"She won't."
"If she does—"
"She. Won't." My voice is harder than I intend. The room feels it—Viktor shifts in his seat, the captains exchange glances. "Lily knows nothing. She saw nothing. She's not involved."
"She saw you kill a senator."
"She saw me protect her from a man who was going to use her as a bargaining chip." I lean forward. "She's not a liability, Dimitri. She's mine. And I protect what's mine."
The silence stretches. Then Dimitri laughs—a short, sharp sound.
"Fifty years," he says. "Fifty years you've been alone. Refused every woman I offered. Told me attachments were weakness." He shakes his head. "And now you're sitting here defending a nineteen-year-old orphan like she's the crown jewels."
"She's worth more than crown jewels."
"I believe you think so." He waves a hand. "Go. Handle the Walsh situation. But Leonid—" His eyes are serious now, all humor gone. "Don't let her make you stupid. You're too valuable to lose."
I stand. "I'll be in touch."
I handle it.
I don't need to explain what that means. The doorman who saw too much has a sudden accident—nothing dramatic, nothing traceable. A fall on wet stairs. A broken neck. Tragic, but these things happen.
By three o'clock, the problem is contained. The trail goes cold. Walsh's people have nothing.
But the coldness stays with me. The old Leonid—the one who kills without blinking, who handles problems quietly and permanently, who spent fifty years alone because he knew better than to want anything—he's awake now. Watching.
Reminding me who I really am.
I sit in my car outside the penthouse for ten minutes before going up. Trying to shake it off. Trying to remember how to be the man Lily sees when she looks at me.
The man who makes her feel safe.
The man who loves her.
But all I can see is my father's face. The gun in his hand. The blood on the walls.
If you love nothing, nothing can destroy you.
I go upstairs.
She knows something's wrong the moment I walk in.
I can see it in her face—the way her smile falters, the way her eyes search mine. She's at the stove, stirring something that smells like garlic and tomatoes, wearing my shirt and nothing else.
"Hey." She sets down the spoon, crosses to me. "You're home early."
"Meeting ended sooner than expected."
"Good news?"
"Handled." I pull her into my arms, bury my face in her hair. She smells like soap and herbs and home. "It's handled."
She holds me for a long moment. Doesn't ask questions. Just lets me breathe her in.
"Leonid." Her voice is gentle. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Don't lie to me." She pulls back, cups my face in her hands. "You're shaking."
I am. I hadn't noticed.
"Come sit down," she says. "Dinner can wait."
She leads me to the couch. Pulls me down beside her. Curls into my side like she belongs there—which she does, she always does—and waits.
Patient. Gentle. Everything I don't deserve.
"The senator," I say finally. "Walsh. His people were asking questions."
"About what happened?"
"About where he went. About my building." I stare at the wall, unable to look at her. "It's handled now. It won't come back on you."
"I wasn't worried about me."
"You should be." My voice is harsher than I intend. "I killed a man in front of you. I've killed hundreds of men. Today I—" I stop. Breathe. "Today I killed someone else. To protect this. To protect you."
She's quiet for a moment. Then: "Who?"
"No one important. A doorman who saw too much." I laugh, and it sounds wrong. Hollow. "That's what I do, Lily. I solve problems. Quietly. Permanently."
"I know who you are."
"Do you?" I finally look at her. She's watching me with those green eyes, calm and steady, no fear in them. "Do you know who you're lying next to every night? The things I've done? The things I'm capable of?"
"Yes."
"I don't think you do." I pull away from her, stand, pace to the window. The harbor stretches out below, gray and endless. "You see the man who cooks you breakfast and holds you through your nightmares. You don't see the monster."
"You're not a monster."
"I am." I press my palm against the cold glass. "I've been a monster since I was twelve years old."
Silence.
I shouldn't say more. Should lock this down, bury it, keep the walls intact. But she's broken something in me. Cracked me open in ways I don't know how to fix.
And part of me doesn't want to fix it.
"What happened when you were twelve?" she asks softly.
I close my eyes.
"My parents."
The words come slowly. Dragged up from a place I've kept locked for thirty-eight years.
"My father was Bratva. Low-level, but connected. He fell in love with my mother when he was twenty—she was a schoolteacher, gentle, kind, everything he wasn't. They had me a year later."
I can feel her watching me. Don't turn around.
"He was obsessed with her. Possessive. Couldn't stand the thought of anyone else even looking at her." My hand curls into a fist against the glass. "And she loved him. That was the worst part. She loved him completely, even when he was cruel. Even when he hurt her."
"Leonid..."
"One night, when I was twelve, he came home convinced she was cheating on him. She wasn't—she never would have—but he'd worked himself into a rage. I heard them arguing from my bedroom. Heard her crying. Heard him accusing her of things that weren't true."
My voice is flat. Detached. The only way I can say this.
"Then I heard the gunshot."
Lily makes a small sound. I keep going.
"I ran to their room. My mother was on the floor. There was blood—" I stop. Breathe. "So much blood. My father was standing over her with the gun in his hand. He looked at me. Said, This is what love does. Remember that, Leonid. Love destroys everything it touches."
"Oh god."
"Then he put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger."
Silence. Long and heavy.
"I stood there for hours," I say quietly. "Couldn't move. Couldn't scream. Just stood there, looking at them, covered in their blood."
I hear her stand. Cross the room. Then her arms are around me from behind, her face pressed between my shoulder blades, and she's crying. I can feel her tears soaking through my shirt.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry."
"I made a decision that night." I turn in her arms, look down at her tear-streaked face. "I decided I would never love anyone. Never let anyone close enough to destroy me the way my mother destroyed my father. The way he destroyed her."
"Leonid—"
"For thirty-eight years, I kept that promise.
Built walls so high no one could climb them.
Told myself I didn't need anyone. Didn't want anyone.
" I cup her face, brush the tears from her cheeks.
"And then you walked into my life, covered in blood, asking for a family.
And every wall I ever built came crashing down. "
"I love you," she says fiercely. "I love you. You're not your father. You're not—"
"I know." I kiss her forehead. "I know that now. Because of you."
She clings to me, and I hold her, and for the first time in thirty-eight years, I don't feel alone.
We stay like that for a long time.
Eventually, she pulls back. Wipes her face. Looks up at me with something vulnerable in her expression.
"I need to tell you something."
My chest tightens. "What?"
"I don't know if it's—I mean, I haven't taken a test yet, but—" She bites her lip. "My period is almost a week late."
The world stops.
"What?"
"I didn't want to say anything until I was sure. I didn't want to get your hopes up if it was nothing. But after what you just told me—" Her voice breaks. "I don't want there to be secrets between us. Not anymore."
A week late. Her period is a week late.
"We need a test." I'm already moving toward my phone. "I'll have someone bring one."
"Leonid, it's fine, I can just go to the store—"
"I'll have someone bring ten." I'm typing, sending messages. "Twenty. However many they can carry."
She laughs—watery and overwhelmed. "You're insane."
"I'm thorough." I pull her back into my arms. "When did you notice?"
"A few days ago. I kept telling myself it was stress, or my cycle being weird, but..." She looks up at me. "I'm never late. Ever."
My hand finds her stomach. Presses flat against it. There could be a baby in there. My baby. Growing inside her right now.
"I want this," I say roughly. "Whatever the test says—I want this. I want you. I want a family with you."
"I want that too."
"Then marry me."
She blinks. "What?"
"Marry me." I take her face in my hands. "I was going to wait. Buy a ring. Do it properly. But I just told you the worst thing that ever happened to me, and you're still here. You're still looking at me like I'm worth loving. So fuck waiting."
"Leonid—"
"I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to put babies in you and watch you grow round with them and build the family you've always dreamed of." I press my forehead to hers. "Marry me, Lily. Please."
She's crying again. Laughing and crying at the same time.
"Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes, I'll marry you." She throws her arms around my neck. "Yes. Yes. Yes."
I kiss her. Deep and desperate and tasting like tears and forever.
The tests arrive twenty minutes later.
Twelve of them. Lily looks at the bag and laughs until she can barely breathe.
"You're absolutely insane," she says, taking them into the bathroom. "You know that, right?"
"I prefer thorough."
"Insane."
She closes the door. I pace the hallway like a caged animal, running my hands through my hair, trying to remember how to breathe.
Please, I think. Please let it be real.
Three minutes pass. The longest three minutes of my life.
The door opens.
Lily is standing there, holding a test in each hand. Her face is wet with tears, but she's smiling. Smiling so wide it looks like it might break her.
"Positive," she whispers. "They're all positive."
I'm on my knees before I know I'm moving.
My arms wrap around her waist, my face pressing against her stomach—against my child—and I'm crying. I, Leonid Morozov, who hasn't cried since I was twelve years old, am sobbing like a baby against the woman I love.
"Spasibo," I choke out. "Spasibo, solnyshko. Thank you. Thank you."
She sinks down to the floor with me. Wraps her arms around my neck. Holds me while I fall apart.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you too." I pull back, look at her face, memorize every detail of this moment. "Both of you. I love you both so much."
She takes my hand. Presses it to her stomach.
"Hi, baby," she whispers. "It's your mama. And your papa is here too. And he's already completely obsessed with you."
I laugh. I’m happier than I've ever been.
"I'm going to give you everything," I tell her stomach. Tell the tiny life growing inside her. "Both of you. Everything you've ever wanted. Everything I never knew I needed."
Lily pulls me close. Kisses me softly.
"You already have," she says.
We stay on the bathroom floor, holding each other, crying and laughing and planning a future neither of us ever dared to dream about.
For thirty-eight years, I believed love was destruction.
I was wrong.
Love is this. Love is her.
And I'm never letting go.