Chapter 16
MOLLY
Working with Anya today was a welcome distraction from everything. She was the sweetest little girl, despite the challenge of not speaking. Even so, it didn’t stop us from having the best time together. It made me feel useful for the first time since I left teaching.
She found ways to communicate with me without ever uttering a single word.
If she liked an activity we were doing, her face would light up and she’d get very excited.
If she wasn’t particularly enthused, she would shut down and withdraw.
It was easy enough to pick up on her cues and let her lead the interactions.
The best part was that for a few hours I could put aside my fears about my own baby. For a while, I could forget about who Samuil really is and what his choices could mean for our child. Then Davyd picked Anya up, and the thoughts started to flood back in.
After they leave, I go lie down in the guestroom, once again overwhelmed by my own fears.
I fully intend to stay put and not come back out.
I need to breathe. I need to think. Unfortunately, the quiet isn’t as peaceful as I’d hoped it would be.
It feels heavy and suffocating and full of questions I don’t know how to answer.
I lie there for almost an hour, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to let my imagination spin out of control.
The words pakhan and Bratva do terrible gymnastics in my mind if I’m left alone too long.
And the more I think about it, the worse I feel.
It’s a deep sense of dread and anxiety I just can’t breathe my way out of.
At some point, my stomach growls loud enough to make me jump, and then I can’t help but laugh at myself.
I’m so keyed-up that even a sound as small as my stomach grumbling is getting to me.
I try to think about what I’ve eaten today, and I know that my baby doesn’t care that I don’t particularly want to leave my room. My body and my baby need food.
Staying in this room feels safer, even if that’s just an illusion. Staying hidden won’t fix anything, though, and pretending I’m not hungry isn’t going to help either. So I force myself up, wrap my arms around my middle, and pad quietly down the hall toward the kitchen.
I hope the apartment is dark. I hope Samuil has decided just to call it an early night. I’m not that lucky, of course. The small lamps in the living room are on, casting warm light across the expensive furniture, and when I reach the edge of the kitchen, I stop short.
Samuil is sitting at the counter with his head in his hands. He’s as still as a statue. He’s not on his phone or laptop, and he’s not even pretending that he’s busy. He looks like he’s been waiting for me so long he’s almost given up.
His eyes meet mine immediately. We both freeze for a moment, caught off guard and unsure how to act. Then he straightens slowly, his movements careful, as if he doesn’t want to scare me.
“Molly,” he says softly.
Something in me falters at the way he says my name. It’s so gentle and careful it sounds like it takes him a lot of effort. I doubt he’s ever had to be gentle or careful with anyone in his life.
“I thought you’d gone to bed,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
“I was hoping I’d have a chance to talk to you,” he says earnestly. “I figured you’d get hungry eventually.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” I lie.
His gaze drops briefly to my stomach before coming back to my face. He looks lost and unsure how to proceed.
“I know,” he answers with a small smile.
But his voice betrays him. He doesn’t believe me at all.
I step around him and go to the fridge, trying to find something to eat, but I’m too distracted by him to really see anything. My hands shake a little, so I curl my fingers tighter around the refrigerator door to steady them. I can feel him watching me. Waiting.
“You disappeared so fast after we got home,” he says quietly. “I didn’t have a chance to ask how it went with Anya.”
I pull out the first thing I can really see. It’s a container of leftover soup I made earlier. My throat feels too tight.
“It was good.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “She’s really sweet.”
“It seems like she liked you,” he says carefully. “Davyd was almost speechless.”
I shrug again, still facing the counter, still not ready to look at him.
“Kids usually do,” I tell him. “It’s the teacher effect, I think.”
“No,” he says, getting up and stepping closer to me. “She doesn’t respond to anyone. I don’t mean she doesn’t like people, I mean she’s usually completely shut down, from what Davyd tells me. You got through to her in a way no one has in a long time.”
I turn halfway toward him, realizing he’s closer than I thought.
“She’s a child, Samuil,” I say, moving to the microwave to get a little more space from him. “She just needed someone gentle today. Someone patient.”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “But I think you have a gift.”
The way he says it makes my breath catch. It’s like he sees me in a way that no one ever has. Like he sees the mother I’m going to be, and the person I’ve always wanted to become.
It physically hurts to finally be seen by someone, especially when I’m not sure he’s someone I want to see me so clearly.
“You’re going to be a good mother,” he continues, invading my space again.
My throat closes around a painful lump.
“Don’t do this,” I say quietly.
“Don’t do what?” he asks hoarsely.
“Don’t say things like that when…” I swallow hard. “When we’re like this.”
“Like what?”
I finally meet his eyes. “When I don’t feel safe with you. I’m not sure that I can trust you to keep our child safe without completely suffocating them.”
The words land like a blade. He flinches at them and takes a step back, inhaling sharply.
“Molly,” he says quietly, incredulous, “how can you think that?”
“How can I not?” I nearly scream. “You hurt people for a living. You make your money in blood. Don’t forget, Samuil, I saw you murder a man. You didn’t even flinch.”
“I would never hurt you,” he says, his voice breaking.
“I’m not worried about you hurting me,” I tell him honestly. “But how many people want you dead? How many people would kidnap our child or me without a second thought, just to get to you?”
His jaw flexes. Slowly. Controlled.
“I would never let that happen,” he says forcefully. “If you believe one thing about me, believe that I will always protect you.”
“You can’t protect me from everything.”
He huffs out a breath, his careful facade finally breaking. “And what?” he asks. “You think doing this alone will be safer?”
“Maybe I do,” I shoot back. “Maybe we’d be safer away from New York and away from you. I wouldn’t feel like every breath I take is numbered.”
“No.”
That single word cracks through the air like a gunshot. I flinch. He steps close enough to me that I feel the heat radiating off of him. He doesn’t touch me, but the way he looks at me keeps me rooted to the spot.
“You’re not running away from me,” he says, voice low and terrifyingly calm. “You’re not taking our child anywhere.”
“It’s not your choice.”
“The hell it’s not.”
My eyes snap up, and anger surges through me. “Samuil—”
“I’m the father,” he cuts me off, his calm facade breaking and revealing something much more terrifying. “That’s my blood. My family. You don’t get to decide that I don’t get to be part of my own child’s life because you’re scared.”
His tone isn’t cruel, but it’s absolute. He’s showing me that, once again, I have no say in the matter.
“I feel trapped!” I scream. “I feel like every decision I make is being controlled or monitored or threatened!”
He stares hard at me, searching. “You’re not trapped,” he says sharply. “You’re protected.”
“It feels the same to me,” I reply desperately, trying to make him see. “I’ve told you about my past, about what I’ve been through, and you’re doing the exact same thing. You’re keeping me caged in here like an animal!”
He exhales sharply, as if the words slice straight through him. We stand there staring at each other, tension crackling like a live wire between us. I try to step sideways. To move around him. To go anywhere else. But his hand carefully catches my wrist.
He doesn’t hold it hard enough to hurt me. Truthfully, he doesn’t even hold it so tightly that I couldn’t easily wriggle out of his grasp. It’s like he’s trying to show me that he could cage me in, but he’s giving me choices.
“Molly,” he says, voice rough, “please don’t walk away from me.”
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
“Yes, you can.”
And when I shake my head, he steps closer, crowding me back until my hips hit the counter.
“Samuil—”
“No,” he murmurs, leaning down, breath brushing my lips. “I’m not trying to cage you in. I never want you to compare me to the assholes who traumatized you in the past. I care about you.”
“I’m scared,” I whisper after a beat.
“I know.” His hands slide to my hips. “Let me fix it.”
“You can’t fix who you are.”
His fingers curl, gripping me harder as his forehead rests against mine. “No,” he murmurs. “But I can show you who I am with you.”
“Samuil…”
His mouth ghosts over mine. All at once, it’s a question, a plea, and maybe even a warning.
I should push him away. I should walk back to the guestroom, close the door, and give myself the space to think.
But the second his lips brush mine, everything inside me unravels. The fear, the anger, and the confusion all melt into heat fierce enough to steal my breath. I kiss him back forcefully, desperately.
His grip tightens instantly, dragging me against him. My legs part on instinct, my arms sliding up around his neck as he presses me deeper into the counter, his mouth devouring mine like he’s been starving for days.
“Jesus, Molly,” he groans against my lips, lifting me easily onto the countertop.
My legs wrap around his hips without thought. His hands slide beneath me, holding me up, pressing me exactly where I need him. The heat between us sparks so fast my head spins.
“This,” he growls softly, kissing down my throat. “This is who I am with you.”
I gasp, fingers fisting in his hair. “Samuil—”
“No more running.” His mouth claims mine again, deeper now, rougher. “You’re here. I’m here. And I’m going to take care of you.”
His hips roll into mine. My back arches and my breath breaks. The world narrows to him, to his body, his hands, his mouth, the heat igniting into something unstoppable. The last coherent thought I have before everything blurs is that I don’t stand a chance against him. Not when I want him so badly.