5. Alexia
5
Alexia
T he sound of the powerful engine seeps into my consciousness. My body stirs awake as Dave shifts the car into park, and I stir awake. My eyelids flutter as I fight to shake off the remnants of sleep, my mind sluggish as I try to orient myself. For a moment, everything feels too still, too calm.
“Alexia.” Dave’s voice is low, cutting through the haze of my thoughts.
Still dazed, I sit up and ask in a soft tone, “Where are we?”
“At the safe house,” he answers, shutting off the engine.
Reality crashes back in.
Rose.
My heart races as I turn my head to look through the windshield. The sun is already high in the sky, bathing the landscape in warm, golden light. I see the sprawling estate before us. The crisp white clapboard of the mansion gleams against the deep green of the manicured lawns, a striking contrast to the chaos we’ve left behind.
A sanctuary.
That’s what it should feel like. But tension creeps in with every breath I take. I can’t let my guard down. Not when I’m living on borrowed time, not with everything at stake.
“This isn’t over,” Dave’s baritone makes me whip my head around to focus on him again. He gestures, indicating he is talking about us. “We need to talk.”
I hold my tongue and nod. I don’t trust myself to say a word. There’s too much at stake and too many ways I can screw us over.
The door opens with a soft click as Dave steps out first, the gravel crunching under his boots. I watch through the window as he straightens, his sharp eyes sweeping the property like a sentinel. A small part of me appreciates his vigilance, even if I can’t bring myself to admit it out loud. He’s keeping us safe—keeping Rose safe—but at what cost?
Five men, heavily armed with military-grade rifles, spread in a semicircle around the front door. I can only guess they are a small part of the security team Dave has set up in the property.
He’s standing beside the car now, holding the door open for me. “Don’t worry. We’re safe here.”
I nod, pulling myself together, and step out into the balmy summer air. My shoes click against the stone path as I move, my gaze sweeping over the house and the grand entrance. The scent of freshly cut grass lingers in the air, but even that fragrant smell can’t dispel the unease gnawing at me.
Rose.
The thought of her makes my chest tighten again. The last time I saw her felt like a lifetime ago instead of two days. How has she been coping with everything that’s happening? But before I can fall too far into the rabbit hole, I hear rapid footsteps inside the house. Quick, eager, and unmistakably familiar.
“Mama!” Her small voice, pure and bright with excitement, cuts through the air.
That sound pierces the first crack in the armor I’ve wrapped tightly around myself since escaping Igor. My heart skips a beat. Before I can react, her tiny figure emerges at the top of the stone path. Her blonde curls bounce as her small Mary Janes kick up dirt, and she charges forward with her arms outstretched. Her face lights up with a smile that melts my worries away.
“Mama!”
My breath catches in my throat as I kneel, bracing for her impact. Rose barrels into me, her tiny body colliding with mine in a burst of warmth and love. I wrap my arms around her, clutching her tightly without squeezing too hard. For a moment, the rest of the world falls away—Igor, Dave, the deadly secrets I’m keeping. None of it matters because I have my daughter back.
“Rose,” I grunt, burying my face in her soft hair, blinking back the tears that prick my eyeballs. I inhale her scent, lavender and life. “Oh, moy zaychik , I missed you so much.” The term of endearment, which in Russian means my bunny , slips from my lips.
Her tiny arms wrap around my neck with all the force her four-year-old body can muster. She feels so small, so fragile against me. Her chubby fingers dig into my shoulders.
I cling to her, my fingers tangle in her soft curls. Relief, thick and overwhelming, floods me, washing away the icy dread that has haunted me.
“I missed you, too, Mama!” she squeals, her little voice muffled against my chest.
I press my lips into her hair. I rock her back and forth, unable to speak for a moment, too consumed by the flood of emotion. I’m holding her again. She’s safe. My heart swells.
Rose pulls back just enough to look up at me, her eyes wide with delight, reminding me of two sparkling emeralds. She offers me a smile so pure only a child can give—untouched by the horrors of the world. My heart aches at the sight of it, a bittersweet reminder of what I’m trying to protect. Everything I’ve endured, every lie I’ve told, has been to keep her out of Igor’s clutches. But as I hold her, I can’t help but wonder if the weight of my secrets will crush us both in the end.
“Mama, Nadya played with me all the time! And there’s a boy named Pete! We played pirates, and we ate all kinds of delicious stuff together! And Nadya read me stories last night!” She babbles, her words tumbling over one another in her excitement. “She’s really nice. And Pete is so funny! Can we stay here, Mama? Please? I like it here.”
With a heavy heart, I take in the purity of her joy, the innocence in her voice. She has no idea of the danger that still lurks in the shadows, no understanding of the darkness that threatens to pull us under. And for now, I need to keep it that way.
I force a smile, nodding as I brush her hair back from her face. “I’m glad you had fun, my love. Of course we can stay,” I murmur.
She grins, wrapping her arms tighter around my neck and kissing my cheek before wiggling out of my grasp. Her excitement is infectious, her laughter a balm to my wounded heart. Rose is with me, and for once, everything feels like it might turn out okay.
That moment shatters when I hear the low rumble of Dave’s baritone. “We should head inside.”
I glance up and find him standing a few feet away. His expression is unreadable, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches us. His blue eyes turn to Rose, softening for a brief moment before hardening as he focuses them on me again.
“Henry will take you and Rose to your rooms,” he says, his voice steady. His gaze lingers on me for a moment, like he wants to say more, but his jaw tightens. “Make sure they have everything they need.” His voice falters slightly, a crack in the ice. He turns away before I can respond, disappearing into the house. The silence between us grows thicker than ever, like a wall built from years of pain and resentment.
And just like that, my fragile bubble of happiness bursts. Reality slams into me with the force of a category-five hurricane. The brief reunion with Rose isn’t enough to chase away the darkness. Not when Dave is still keeping his distance, his coldness a reminder of the wall between us—a wall made of secrets, resentment, and years of betrayal.
I swallow hard, my nerves knot as I stand, lifting Rose into my arms. He’s not visibly angry, but his absence feels heavier than any outburst. He doesn’t want to see me, and I can’t blame him. He believes I betrayed him. If I were Dave, I wouldn’t want to face myself either.
Rose cups my face to force me to meet her eyes, her little brow furrowed. “That’s Mr. Dave? Nadya told me he was bringing you.” She presses her lips to my ear. But her whisper is so loud that everyone can hear, “Why’s he so grumpy?”
I force a smile. “He’s just busy, sweetheart.”
Henry steps forward, his professional demeanor unyielding. “If you’ll follow me, Mrs. Lenko,” he says, his voice polite but detached, as though he’s trying to keep a respectful distance from whatever mess Dave and I have created.
As Rose and I follow him into the house, I can’t shake the feeling of being trapped. The grand foyer of the house opens up before us, with a sweeping staircase on each side and crystal chandeliers that glimmer softly in the light streaming through the tall windows. The pale blue and cream walls and the high, curved ceiling make the space feel even larger. A large round table sits in the center of the room, adorned with a vase of fresh flowers.
Everything about this place screams wealth and power. Luxury emanates from the polished wood floors to the intricate molding along the walls. Yet, to me it feels cold, like another prison. A gilded cage. And as much as I want to believe Rose and I are safe here, the tension winding its way through my chest tells me otherwise.
Rose, however, is oblivious to my discomfort. She squirms in my arms, happily chattering about treasure hunts as she glances around in wide-eyed wonder. Her innocence makes for a painful contrast to the tension that simmers beneath the surface.
My arms begin to tremble from the effort of holding her,
so I let her slide along my right hip and leg until her small feet hit the marble floor. I hold her hand tightly when Henry gestures for us to follow him up the grand staircase that curves upward from the foyer, the dark wood banister gleaming in the light. As we ascend, the sound of each step I take bounces off the walls, adding to the sense of distance between Dave and me.
“Mrs. Lenko, this way,” Henry says politely at the top of the stairs, leading us down a long hallway lined with paintings and ornate sconces. The soft blue carpet beneath my feet is plush and silencing, but no amount of luxury can ease the tension in my chest.
I peer out the large windows that line the hallway, catching a glimpse of the vast backyard. Beyond the sloping green lawns and rows of Adirondack chairs, the harbor glistens in the distance, boats bobbing gently in the water. It’s peaceful, serene even.
“What’s this harbor called?”
“Wychmere, ma’am.”
We reach two adjoining rooms at the end of the hall, and Henry opens the door to one. “This will be your room,” he says with a bow. “Rose’s is next door.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze Rose’s hand as we walk inside.
“Lunch will be served in the informal dining room whenever you’re ready, Mrs. Lenko. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.” Henry’s formality is unsettling, a reminder that I’m a guest here, not part of Dave’s world.
I nod, watching him leave and noticing a large duffle bag on the floor by the foot of the bed. Before we left Boston, Moira stuffed it with designer clothes and shoes for summer, as well as high-end toiletries that she said Dave had bought for me. I’m sure he had his assistant go to the store in his place but I didn’t have the heart to correct the sweet woman.
I plop down onto the bed, watching as Rose skips through the connecting doorway to her room. Then, I take in my new room. It’s decorated in a pale shade of blue, soft and inviting, with a large bed draped in blue and white linens that looks like it belongs in a luxury hotel. French doors lead to a private balcony overlooking the harbor, with sunlight streaming in through the glass and casting a golden glow on the pastel walls and furniture. It’s beautiful. Everything is designed for comfort, yet the sense of unfamiliarity prickles at the edges of my awareness. The room is too large, too empty, too lonely. The weight of our situation constricts my chest once more. I’m here, in Dave’s house, but I still don’t feel safe.
“Mama! Come check this out!” Rose calls from the next room, her excitement echoing through the walls.
I follow her voice, stepping into the adjoining space. Rose’s room is just as beautiful—decorated in pale pinks and whites, with a bed covered in soft blankets and pillows. She’s already bouncing on the mattress as her giggles fill the air.
For her, this is another adventure, a new place to explore.
But for me, it’s a reminder of the invisible cage I’m still trapped in.
I lean against one of the four bedposts and watch Rose as she introduces me to each of her new dolls. Dave’s assistant probably bought those as well.
When my stomach rumbles, I stretch out my hand and call her, “Come, sweetheart. Mama is hungry. Aren’t you?”
“Starving!” She laces her fingers through mine and we head downstairs.
The informal dining room is a bright sanctuary with floor-to-ceiling windows, providing a panoramic view of the backyard and the harbor beyond. The blue and white stained glass in the upper window panes adds a touch of color to the space, while the soft light bathes the room in warmth. The view should calm me, but the weight of my thoughts presses too heavily to let me enjoy it. The table is set for two, and the scent of freshly prepared food fills the air.
“Where’s Mr. Dave?” Rose asks me as I settle her into a chair, her legs swinging beneath the table.
As I sit down, a cute brunette, who looks not a day older than twenty, comes in through a swinging door that must connect to the kitchen. She carries a tray with two steaming bowls.
I glance at her as she smiles politely and sets one bowl of soup in front of Rose. I ask, “Is Dave joining us for lunch?”
“Mr. Boyle is eating in his study,” she says, her tone respectful but detached.
Of course he is. He’s avoiding me. The realization twists in the pit of my stomach, making the food in front of me seem unappetizing. I force myself to take a few bites, but my mind is elsewhere. Dave’s absence only deepens the knot of guilt twisting inside me.
How long can I keep this charade up?
More importantly, will I ever be able to cross the chasm I’ve created between us?
A fter lunch, Moira’s daughter, Nadya, and her son, Pete, join Rose and me outside.
“So glad to finally meet you,” I shake the young woman’s hand and gesture for her to take the Adirondack to my right. “Thanks for taking care of Rose.”
Nadya accepts my offer and nods toward the kids, who are laughing as they run around the backyard. “My absolute pleasure. She’s delightful.” She holds my stare. Her blue eyes remind me of cloudless skies. “Sorry I didn’t go outside when you arrived. I figured you and Rose needed time to catch up.”
“Thank you. That was very sweet.” I smile. “Then again, you are your mother’s daughter.”
“That I am,” she laughs.
“Tell me about you and Pete.”
For the next hour, Nadya talks about adorable Pete. Her tone gets even dreamier when she switches to her amazing husband Ray Flanagan. I nod and smile politely. I don’t bring up the fact that Ray is also lethal, since he works as an enforcer for the Boyle family.
“Mama, can we go swimming?” Rose asks, running up to me, her cheeks flushed.
She beams, her excitement infectious. But her joy can’t chase away my thoughts. I glance back at the house, its grand facade standing tall and imposing. These walls might keep Igor out, but they can’t protect me from all the secrets I’ve been hiding.
The sun dips low, casting long shadows in the landscape, increasing the sense of doom.
“Maybe tomorrow, sweetheart,” I reply, forcing a smile. “It’s getting late. We should go back inside.” I stand up.
“Let me help.” Nadya unfolds from the chair as well.
“No need, thanks. I want to spend time with Rose tonight.”
“Of course.” She nods, gathering Pete and his pirate paraphernalia. “Goodnight.” She heads toward a small building to the right of the main house.
I lead Rose upstairs to her room. The soft nightlight casts a warm glow across her room, and the sound of the waves lapping at the shore drifts through the open window.
After giving her a quick, warm bath, I tuck her in and sit on the edge of her bed, brushing her hair out of her eyes, savoring every second of this small slice of normalcy.
Rose snuggles beneath the covers. “Mama, tell me a story,” she murmurs, her eyelids heavy.
“Once upon a time, there was a little bunny who lived in a cozy burrow beneath a tree…” My voice trails off as her eyelids close. “Goodnight, moy zaychik.”
“I like when you call me bunny,” she whispers, half-asleep. “Like Nanny Alina called you.”
The mention of my sweet Alina is like a knife to the chest, the pain sharp and unforgiving. She is gone, another casualty of Igor’s cruelty.
I press a kiss to Rose’s forehead, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill. I vow to keep my daughter from becoming his next victim.
I’ve escaped one prison only to step into another. And this time, the bars are made of my own lies.