Chapter 15
SAMUIL
When she comes back into the kitchen, I realize something in her has shifted. It’s not dramatic. She isn’t avoiding me or trembling or watching me as if she expects me to snap. It’s quieter than that. It’s more like a part of her has shut down and is no longer reachable.
Her eyes don’t linger as long when she serves me a bowl of soup. We barely talk during lunch, and when we do, she stays quiet and detached. Her voice stays soft even when she’s clearly irritated by something I’ve said.
I even find myself saying something just to annoy her, but she doesn’t take the bait. She keeps her hands busy with anything she can find. Picking at her sleeves, her hair tie, the hem of her shirt. It’s all subtle, but I feel every bit of it.
She’s pulling away from me.
Maybe I deserve it. Maybe learning that the father of your child runs a criminal empire does something to a person. But that doesn’t make it any easier to watch.
Especially now, when the last thing I want or need is distance between us.
There’s a war brewing. Lebedev didn’t steal from me by accident.
He’s testing me, trying to see if I’ve softened, if I’ve gotten distracted.
My home should be the one place I don’t have to think strategically, but that luxury disappeared the second Molly started shrinking away from me without saying a word.
I want to go to her. I want to take her face in my hands and tell her she doesn’t have to be scared of my life. I want to tell her I’m still the same man who held her while she cried, who kissed her slowly, who woke up next to her feeling like everything in my life finally made sense.
But I also don’t want to push her, so I stay quiet and give her space I don’t want to give. It takes everything in me not to beg her to stay.
The next morning, I’m pacing the office, waiting for Davyd to show up. We’re supposed to go over the routes for the next shipment and figure out how Lebedev rerouted the last one under my men’s noses. My patience is already paper-thin when my phone buzzes.
Nanny called out sick. I’m stuck at home with Anya. What do you want me to do?
I stare at the message for a second, irritation and concern crawling up my spine. He needs to be here. Tonight’s meeting matters. But his daughter comes first, as she should.
I rub a hand across my jaw. I can hear Molly moving around in the kitchen, her quiet footsteps, a cabinet opening, the faint scrape of something on the counter. She’s been restless all day, pacing around the apartment more than she ever has. She hasn’t even asked me to go out in days.
An idea forms in my head, and I realize it could help both of them. I’m not sure whether she’ll agree to it, but I can’t see how she’d refuse. I know how desperately she misses teaching.
I walk out of the office and find her sitting on the couch, eating a bowl of cereal, the tiny knitted baby hat resting carefully on her lap.
She hasn’t let it out of her sight since our talk about the Bratva a few days ago.
It’s become a talisman to her. Her hand rests near it, fingers twitching like she wants to pick it up but doesn’t want to let herself soften.
“Molly,” I say from the doorway.
She looks up quickly. Her eyes flick over me once and then settle on something near my shoulder instead of meeting my gaze directly. That twist in my chest tightens again.
“Yes?”
“I need a favor,” I tell her. “Davyd’s nanny called out sick today, and I really need him to come to a meeting tonight.”
She straightens immediately at my words. She seems all at once curious, afraid, and hopeful. I don’t really understand her reaction, but I remind myself not to push.
“How can I help?” she asks, confused.
“Davyd needs someone to take care of his daughter. I was thinking maybe you could watch her.”
Her face softens in a way I haven’t seen in days. “How old is she?”
“Four.”
There’s no hesitation in her answer.
“I’d be happy to watch her.”
Relief washes through me, and I nod.
“I’ll tell Davyd to bring her over. They’ll be here soon. Thank you.”
She gives me a small smile. Not the kind of warm, unguarded smile she gave me before she learned about who I really am. This one is more careful. Still, a smile is a smile, and I’ll take what I can get.
“I’m happy to help,” she murmurs, and I know she means it.
I watch her get up and start collecting things from around the house. She even asks if she can use my credit card to order a few toys for Anya. Of course, I’m happy to oblige. I’m thrilled to see her look alive again.
It’s the first time in days I feel my spine loosen even a fraction.
Half an hour later, Davyd walks in holding his daughter’s hand. Little Anya looks even smaller today, like she’s folded in on herself. She keeps her face tucked behind her father’s leg, and, per usual, doesn’t say anything.
I realize I probably should have prepared Molly for this. Anya hasn’t spoken since she saw her mother brutally murdered. Still, I’m confident that Molly will find a way to communicate with Anya. Her love for children is so evident.
When she sees the girl, she kneels down to eye level with her right away, which seems to soften the little one a fraction.
“Hi,” she says gently. “I’m Molly.”
Anya peeks out at her with cautious, uncertain eyes.
Molly doesn’t rush her. She just offers her hand, close but not touching, so the girl can choose for herself.
“We can sit together in the living room,” she says softly. “We don’t have to talk. We can just draw for a while. I just bought the prettiest set of crayons.”
Something in her voice pulls the girl forward. Not much. Just enough that she lets go of her father’s leg.
I glance at Davyd. His eyes are a little misty, and he looks like a gentle wind might blow him over. I didn’t realize how bad it’s been with Anya, that even this small act of trust would so thoroughly undo him.
“Thank you,” he tells Molly, voice tight.
She smiles at him. “Go. We’ll be fine.”
And I believe her.
Davyd doesn’t say anything when we leave, but his silence speaks volumes. His posture is more relaxed than it’s been in a long time. He doesn’t seem to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for once.
“I like her,” he finally says. “Molly, I mean.”
I just nod. I like her, too.
The meeting runs long. Everyone has an opinion on how to solve our Lebedev problem, but no one offers any viable solutions.
By the end of the meeting, my patience is gone.
I’ve held this organization together for years, and now all of a sudden the vultures think they can circle me.
All of this and they don’t even know about the woman and unborn child under my roof. If they did, they’d attack even harder.
Let them come. I’ll remind them who I am when they get close enough.
By the time we’re done, I’m ready for a stiff drink. Davyd seems similarly exhausted. When we finally get back to the apartment, though, we both freeze.
Molly is sitting cross-legged on the rug with Anya leaning against her side. The girl is holding a stack of homemade cards, flipping one over. Molly claps softly.
“That’s it,” she says warmly. “You found the flower. Good job, sweetheart.”
Anya doesn’t speak, but she smiles up at Molly with a small, wobbly grin. Then she lets out a tiny laugh, quick and bright.
I am immediately bowled over by the sound. Beside me, Davyd lets out a strangled gasp. When I look at him, there are tears in his eyes.
“She hasn’t…” he starts, his voice broken. “She hasn’t laughed since…” He’s so overcome with emotion, he can’t finish the sentence.
He steps closer slowly, like he’s afraid to startle her. Anya looks up at him, blinks once, and then she giggles again.
Molly smiles at her, then at him. “She did really well. She’s very smart.”
I swallow hard, a thick knot working its way down my throat.
I didn’t expect to see something like this tonight. I didn’t expect to feel my chest clench at the sight of her with that little girl.
But watching her with a child, seeing how gently she handles someone else’s pain, hits me like a punch in the face.
She glances up at me then, just briefly. Her eyes flicker away too quickly. I hate that. I hate the distance she keeps putting between us. I hate that she’s scared of the world I brought her into. I hate that she feels the need to hold herself back from me now.
But watching her with this little girl who hasn’t laughed in months, makes something shift inside of me all the same.
I knew she’d be a good mother, but seeing it in action is different. It hits harder. God help me, I want her back in my bed tonight. I want her tucked against me where she felt safe before she started pulling away. I want her looking at me the way she used to. With trust instead of caution.
She needs space and time, though. I dumped a lot on her. For once in my life, I’m trying to give someone what they need instead of taking what I want.
So instead, I clear my throat and say quietly, “She’s likes you.”
Molly blinks, cheeks flushing faintly. “She’s a sweet kid.”
Davyd’s expression breaks completely. He crouches beside Anya, touching her hand softly.
“I don’t know how you did that,” he tells Molly, voice shaking.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Kids just need patience and a sense of security. Once they have that, they open up.”
There’s a beat of silence.
She doesn’t look at me when she says security. She doesn’t feel safe with me. Not anymore.
Molly helps Anya pack the cards away. Davyd thanks her again and again before taking his daughter home. When the door closes, it’s just the two of us standing in the living room. She crosses her arms over her chest like she’s cold. Or guarded.
“Goodnight,” she says softly.
She starts to turn toward the hallway, back to the guestroom. Away from me.
“Molly,” I say before I can stop myself.
She pauses. Looks back at me, just barely. “Yeah?”
I want to say a hundred things. I want her to know that she is safe with me, and I’d rather kill a million men than let her ever be afraid of me.
Maybe that would only scare her more, though.
Clearly, her problem is with what I do. It doesn’t matter that I’d burn the world down for her.
If anything, that’s probably what’s created this distance between us.
All I manage is, “Thank you. For helping her.”
She just gives me a small nod, then slips down the hallway.