Chapter Twenty-Six - Lukin
She’s still asleep when I wake.
Zoe lies curled on her side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, her face soft in the early light spilling through the curtains. Her breathing is slow, even. Peaceful. It’s a rare thing, and I find myself just staring, trying to etch the moment into memory.
My hand drifts down to her belly, warm and round beneath the sheets. I lower my head and kiss it—soft, careful not to wake her. My child. My wife. The two things I never thought I’d have again now lying in one bed with me.
The house is quiet. The kind of quiet that follows violence.
The Italians are finished. What’s left of their faction won’t be raising their heads again. We swept through their base like a storm—no warning, no mercy. I saw fear in their eyes before we pulled the triggers. That fear… it bought us peace.
But peace doesn’t settle me.
Even after last night—after Zoe finally came back to me, after her hands gripped me like she never wanted to let go—I’m still restless. Like there’s something missing.
I slip out of bed, careful not to stir her. The water from the shower is hot, but it doesn’t burn enough to shake the edge off.
By midmorning, I’m in my office, but I’m not working.
The files on the table blur together, unread.
I try to force myself into focus—on the money, the routes, the new shipment from the ports—but my mind won’t stop drifting back to her.
Her laugh, once soft and unguarded. Her sketchbook filled with cute dresses and nursery designs.
Her voice when she told me the baby kicked.
I want that again.
I want her happy. Safe. Mine without fear in her eyes.
By noon, I give up pretending to work. I push the chair back and walk to the window. Pull the curtain aside.
The garden stretches out below, sun-drenched and blooming. Like a mirage, Zoe appears. I press closer to the glass as I spot her, and my heart softens with an emotion I dare not name. She’s barefoot, one hand trailing across the tops of the hedges, the other resting protectively over her stomach.
She doesn’t see me watching.
The breeze plays with the hem of her dress, and the sunlight catches in her hair. There’s something softer about her now. Something quieter, more present. And it gnaws at the armor I’ve spent my whole damn life forging.
I’ve had women. Too many to count. But never this.
Never someone who doesn’t have to say a single word to wreck me.
She moves slowly, lost in thought, and all I can do is stand here like a fool behind the glass, watching her as if she might vanish. Something tugs deep in my chest—familiar, but unwanted. I look away before she can turn around and see the crack forming in my composure.
But instead of returning to work, I grab my secure phone and call my daughter. Maria.
Maria is the reason why Zoe hasn’t let her guard down. Maria is the reason Zoe’s smile isn’t full. Yet. I just have to talk to her. To make her understand that we didn’t plan for this, but it’s happened, and there’s no going back. I’m not letting Zoe go.
Maria is doing really well in France, according to the weekly pictures and updates she sends me. I miss her, but honestly, I’m grateful she’s absent during this time. It would have been a lot harder for Zoe if she was here.
Maria answers on the third ring. “Daddy!” she squeals. “Look who finally remembers I exist,” she teases. “Calling because you miss me?”
“I do miss you,” I answer coolly. “And we talk every day.”
“Texting isn’t the same as calling. It’s nice to hear your voice.”
I sigh. “Are you okay? Is anyone bothering you?”
“Dad,” she groans. “Ugh, I’m fine. Everything is perfect. I’m happier now that I don’t have bodyguards following my every move.”
I swallow a smile. Of course, I have guards in France protecting her from the shadows. She doesn’t know that and she won’t unless there’s a problem and they have to show themselves. Until then…
“What about you?” she asks, suddenly serious and sharp. “Is there something I should know?”
He hesitates. Then, finally says, “Yeah. But I’ll tell you when you get back.”
She scoffs. “Why not now? I’m not coming until next month. I can’t wait.”
“You’ll have to. Got to go, sweetheart. Work is calling.”
“Okay. Love you, Dad.”
“I love you too.” I hang up the call and lean against the desk, grasping the edge until my knuckles turn white. Only a few more weeks left to tell Maria the whole truth. Maybe we can all move forward from there. I hope so.
I didn’t return to my bedroom that night.
Sleep doesn’t come either. Instead, I stay at my desk, leaning back in the chair, one hand folded behind my head as I stare at the ceiling, like it’ll give me answers I have destroyed everything to find.
Zoe’s voice drifts through my thoughts—quiet, hesitant, grateful.
“I feel very sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a monster. And… thank you. For protecting me. And the baby.”
I know she’s still scared of me. Because when she called me a monster, she meant it.
I didn’t blame her. Not really. I know what she saw.
I know what it must’ve felt like—to have her world turned inside out again, blood on her skin, a body at her feet, a man she barely understands firing a bullet to protect her.
It was the second time she’d watched someone die right in front of her. The first time, it was her parents.
I should’ve seen it coming.
It’s why I hunted the Italians like rabid dogs. Why I didn’t stop until their blood soaked the floors and their base burned. I wanted to erase every piece of them that ever touched her world.
But that fear in her eyes… that’s what stayed with me. That flicker, that flinch—that is what I hate.
And I’m not sure what’s worse. That she’s still afraid of me. Or that I don’t want her to be.
I don’t want her to run. I don’t want her to lock doors or shrink away or sleep on the far side of the house. I want her here. Beside me. Looking at me without fear. Staying.
That realization sits in my chest like a weight. Sharp. Dangerous. Because I’ve never needed anyone to stay before. But with her? I’m starting to think I do.
Near dawn, I finally leave my chair and pour myself a drink—something strong enough to burn—and step out onto the balcony. The sky’s beginning to change, dark giving way to a pale, reluctant blue. The glass is cold in my hand, but my chest is hotter than it should be.
I’m losing control, and the only person who’s ever made me feel like that… was my wife. Twenty years ago. And I lost her. Just like that.
Now Zoe—she’s nothing like her. But somehow, it’s worse. Because Zoe got under my skin when I wasn’t looking. Because I didn’t mean to care, didn’t plan to… and now I don’t know what to do with the fact that I do.
I don’t say it aloud. Don’t even breathe it. But the truth is there, pressing against my ribs like a knife.
I don’t want to lose her.
Suddenly, I hear a soft cough behind me and turn, simultaneously reaching for my knife. But it’s Zoe, barefoot, hair slightly messy, wearing one of those soft sleep shirts she stole from my closet. She looks like she just stepped out of a dream. My breath catches, but I keep still. Keep calm.
She tilts her head. “Are you avoiding me?”
I swallow. “No.”
We stare at each other, the silence stretching between us like a live wire. Then, without a word, she walks closer and holds out her hand.
Not a demand. Just an offering.
I take it. Her fingers curl around mine. She smiles—small, tired, real—and tugs gently until I follow her back into the bedroom. She climbs into bed and pulls the covers up, then turns to me. Without hesitation, I climb in beside her, drawing the sheets up to our chin.
“I can’t sleep when you’re not here,” she says and curls into my side, tucking her head beneath my chin like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She immediately falls asleep, as if she’s always belonged there. I pull her closer, burying my nose in her hair and letting my body relax.
This is what life is all about, and no one will take it away from me. Not even Zoe.