Chapter 19
MAKSIM
Ihave no reason to refuse her.
The threat is gone. Mikhail lies dead in a body bag far away from here, later to be buried wherever Katya and Roman care to dump him. Leo is safe. The war I’ve waged for years, the enemies I’ve fought across continents, has officially ended.
And yet when Ivy demands to be taken back to her family home, something in me falters. I could tell her no. I could insist she stay with me out of safety concerns, that Leo belongs under my protection now more than ever.
But the look in her eyes, wide and hollow as she rocks our baby in her arms, already holding too much grief for one lifetime, stops me.
Leo’s sobs shake his small frame until he hiccups against her shoulder out of exhaustion.
Ivy herself is trembling so hard, I can see the shivers in her entire frame.
She holds herself together for the sake of our child, and maybe me, refusing to let either of us see how badly she’s been broken by this too.
And for that, I can’t bring myself to deny her.
Reluctance weighs me down like lead, but I force myself to nod anyway.
Perhaps being with her family will ease the storm, if only for a moment.
Perhaps they can give her something I cannot.
It may simply be a temporary thing. A way for her to feel normalcy after being embroiled in a war she had no business being in the middle of.
“We can leave tonight if that’s what you wish,” I tell her quietly.
She nods. “Yes. Please.”
Around three hours later, I find myself in a car with them both.
The drive is suffocating.
Ivy doesn’t look at me once from where she’s curled in the backseat.
She’s cradling Leo in her lap, holding him like she’s terrified he’ll vanish if she lets go.
Her arms form a shield around him, her fingers carding gently through his hair as she murmurs to him in tones so soft I can’t make out the words.
The cadence of her voice is soothing, a lullaby only meant for him.
Leo drifts in and out of sleep, every small yawn followed by a pitiful little whimper that tears straight through me.
I grip the steering wheel hard.
The city blurs past in streaks of harsh neon lights from store fronts and long shadows from the buildings towering above us.
We cross into quieter streets, ones I remember from another lifetime.
The streetlamps just beginning to flicker on cast a golden wash over the driveways of the modest brick and Tudor style homes on either side of the street.
When we finally pull up outside the Bennett family home, my chest tightens.
Home for her and our child, but not for me.
Ivy doesn’t move at first. She just stays there, rocking Leo gently in her arms like she can’t bear to wake him. I kill the engine, watching as the porch light flicks on ahead. Seconds later, the front door opens.
Her parents stand framed in the soft glow of the foyer.
Her mother’s hand flies to her mouth as soon as she sees the car.
She races down the front steps and over to the car, not stopping until she reaches the side of the car Ivy’s on.
Her father stays inside the house, gripping the edge of the doorframe, his shoulders tense.
Her mother fumbles to get the back door open, and when she finally does, she breathes out, “My God… What happened?”
“Hi, Mom,” Ivy murmurs.
She slips carefully out of the backseat, adjusting her hold on Leo as she straightens her back and nudges the door shut with her hip. The small click of the latch feels deafening in the quiet that follows.
Her mother steps forward instinctively, arms outstretched—hovering in that suspended space between comfort and worry. She doesn’t quite touch her daughter, too afraid of hurting Leo who clings to Ivy like a lifeline.
I shift in my seat, popping my door open just enough for one boot to hit the pavement.
My hands remain clenched around the steering wheel.
I can feel their eyes on me. Ivy’s mother stares, her expression a wild mixture of suspicion and disbelief.
I know she wants to ask a thousand questions but can’t find the breath for even one.
The sound of footsteps draws my attention forward.
Her father, moving slowly down the front steps of the house, makes his way over to us. His face is harder to read, though not because it’s devoid of emotion, but because there are too many of them shifting behind his weathered eyes.
“Are you hurt?” her mother asks finally. Her gaze flicks between Ivy’s face and the bundle in her arms. “Is he…?”
Ivy shakes her head. “He’s okay. We’re okay.”
Leo stirs gently, letting out a small, sleepy sound before burrowing deeper into her shoulder. Ivy’s arms curl tighter around him, her face nuzzling the top of his hair.
Her father finally reaches them, opening his arms wide without hesitation. “Come inside.”
Her parents glance past her to me, torn.
I can see it in their faces, the battle between outrage and gratitude. Between wanting to rush their daughter inside and confront the man who brought this storm crashing into their lives in the first place.
Ivy doesn’t give them the chance to say anything. She walks toward the house and up the steps, crossing the threshold without another word. Her steps are slow but steady, her chin high even as her exhaustion weighs her down.
Her parents remain outside hovering next to the car, watching me like sentries waiting for a confession.
I exhale and step out fully. I don’t move toward them. I just stand there, the night pressing in around us like a thick fog. A single porch light glows above the doorway, casting yellow light across the lawn and catching the sharp edges of their stares.
“I’ll be back soon,” I tell them.
Her mother’s eyes narrow, all the warmth from earlier gone in an instant. “You’re leaving just like that? No apologies? No explanations? You take our daughter from us and disappear for weeks with no word? No call, no visit, not even a letter?”
Her father’s jaw tightens, his posture rigid beside her. He doesn’t speak, but his silence speaks enough for itself.
“You know what we were told?” her mother continues, voice rising slightly with every syllable. “Your men came by almost a month ago to tell us—”
“They weren’t mine,” I snap, harsher than I intended. The silence that follows is immediate and biting. Her mother stiffens like I’ve struck her.
My mouth opens, then shuts again. Guilt settles like acid in my stomach, burning slowly. I rake a hand through my hair, breathing out hard. I didn’t mean to lash out, not at them, at least. But anger and regret are poison mixed together, and I’m drowning in both.
“I’m sorry,” I say after a beat.
The words feel too hollow, but it’s all I have to offer. They deserve more… so much more that I can’t give to them.
It’s not their fault they don’t understand.
How could they? They don’t know about the weeks Ivy spent with a psychopath using her and under heavy surveillance.
They don’t know about Mikhail, or the Bratva, or the way their daughter’s world collapsed beneath her feet the moment she got dragged back into mine again.
Hell, I don’t even know the full extent of what she’s been through.
Whatever they were told—whatever lies Mikhail’s men spun when they came knocking on this very door to make sure none of Ivy’s family members went to the police—it doesn’t matter anymore. Because to them, I’m the villain who pulled Ivy and Leo out of their lives, and they’re not wrong to think it.
In some ways, I did.
I lift my chin, meeting their gaze. “I know you want answers. If Ivy decides to give them to you, that’s her choice. I won’t stop her. But I won’t force her to relive it either. If she wants to tell you what happened, she will on her own. I won’t tell her story for her.”
Her mother looks like she wants to protest again, but her father puts a hand on her shoulder, quietly silencing her.
They leave shortly after, disappearing inside the house and flicking the porch light off, bathing me in darkness. I stand outside for a long while, staring at the glow of the light from beyond inside, shadowed by the curtains drawn across the windows.
By the time I return to the restaurant, the adrenaline has long since drained from my system, leaving me hollowed out and numb.
The cleanup crew is already deep at work, gliding through the wreckage with a kind of mechanical efficiency that only comes from doing this kind of thing too many times before.
Black-gloved, practiced hands move with an impassiveness as they shove body parts into thick contractor-grade trash bags.
Bloodied cloth, drag marks, bullet casings, all of it disappearing as swiftly as it came.
One man sprays down the floor, bleach fumes already so strong they sting my nose from across the room.
The industrial mop squeaks as it moves over the tile in wide, controlled strokes, leaving faint streaks of diluted red water in its wake.
The trail lines catch faintly under the overhead lights before vanishing completely with another careful pass.
The tables that had been overturned during the chaos have been righted, their chairs neatly tucked in beneath them. The front windows are intact, already cleaned spotless of any fingerprints or smears.
As far as the outside world is concerned, this place looks just as orderly as another quiet corner of the city again.
Katya is the first one to spot me.
She’s perched on the edge of the bar counter, legs crossed at the knee, her back straight as her long hair cascades down her back.
A blade twirls between her fingers, catching the light with every flick of her wrist. Her eyes sharpen the moment they land on me, fingers snapping around the knife’s handle with muscle memory so fast it reminds me how easily she draws blood in less than a blink.
“How’d it go?” she asks.
Instead of answering her, my gaze drifts across the room again, to the place where Leo had stood pressed against Mikhail’s chest with a gun to his head. I can still hear the words. The ultimatum. The smug threat behind his voice.
I can still feel the terror.
The floor is clean now, scrubbed down to an artificial shine. No more blood pooling around a body crumpled like a ragdoll with a bullet lodged in his skull. Mikhail’s dead eyes and lifeless smirk have been erased from this world like chalk marks on a board.
I still see it.
Truthfully, I’ll always see it.
“Pakhan,” Katya tries again.
My eyes snap up to meet hers. “It went as… well as to be expected, I suppose.”
Roman is near the back of the space. I can see him moving behind his sister’s shoulder, speaking low to one of the men in charge of the back exit.
He gives nothing away while he supervises the crew taking things out to the back alley, but when he finally turns to find my attention focused on him, his posture grows a little rigid.
Not out of fear, but I know him well enough to see the way he’s cataloging my every move, watching for signs to be concerned about.
The truth is, I don’t know myself how I’m feeling.
I expected Ivy to be upset with what happened regarding our son, but never did I anticipate her completely shutting me out. Is it odd behavior? Not at all. Just… unexpected. And disappointing.
I don’t know where either of us goes from here. If at all.
Katya shifts off the counter with a fluid hop, landing lightly on her boots. She approaches me slowly, a cautious air to her. “You okay?”
The words aren’t soft. They could never be coming from Katya, but there’s a gentleness to the delivery I don’t expect.
I shouldn’t be surprised about my lieutenants caring.
While they are all fiercely brutal soldiers, they still have hearts.
We’ve bled for each other too many times to pretend we don't care about each other.
There’s a bond between us deeper than family.
I exhale. “Physically, yes.”
She narrows her eyes. “Mentally…?”
I rub the back of my neck, fingers catching briefly in my collar. There’s no use lying. We both already know the answer to that question. I feel like a house still standing after a fire, every timber scorched beneath the surface, structurally still there, but the insides hollowed out.
“I’m functioning,” I say eventually, which is not the same as fine, but it’s all I have for now.
Katya nods once.
“We’ll see what happens,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
What happens next, I don't know. All I know is that while this war with Mikhail may have ended, that doesn’t mean the problems have instantly vanished.
They may have just shifted into something else.