11. Dave
11
Dave
I nod, trying to ignore the strange warmth that spreads in my chest at her excitement. “I’d be honored.”
She wriggles out of Alexia’s arms, dashing toward the coffee table, her little hands moving the cups and plates into position. Alexia rises, and we exchange a look—a brief moment of shared understanding—before we follow Rose to the table, seating ourselves on the floor beside her.
“Where’s Pete?” Alexia turns to Nadya. “He’s missing the party.”
“He and Rose quarreled over the table setting, and he stormed out. That triggered Rose. Apologies for Pete’s behavior.” Nadya’s cheeks flush bright red.
Alexia shakes her head. “No need. Kids fight. They’ll be fine in a minute. Go to him. He’s probably upset.”
“Thank you,” Nadya stands to her feet and dashes out of the room.
Rose pours us each a cup of imaginary tea, her small hands surprisingly steady as she takes her role as hostess seriously. “Mama likes her tea with honey,” she explains, sliding an empty cup toward Alexia. Then she looks at me, her brow furrowing in concentration. “How do you like your tea, Mr. Dave?”
“Strong,” I reply, playing along.
She beams, handing me a cup, and I hold it up as if I’m about to take a sip, fighting the smile that tugs at my lips.
Alexia chuckles softly, and I glance at her, catching a glimpse of the woman I once knew—the one who would laugh at my bad jokes, who would look at me like I was the only person in the world that mattered. For a second, it’s as if the years between us never happened, as if we’re back in those early days when everything was simple, when there were no scars, no secrets, no threats hanging over our heads.
But then Rose speaks up, pulling me back into the present. “Mama, you have to try the cake. It’s special.”
Alexia makes a show of taking a bite of the invisible cake, her eyes widening in mock surprise. “Oh, this is delicious! Did you make it yourself?”
Rose nods proudly, her eyes sparkling. “I did! With Nadya’s help. It’s Red Velvet cake.”
I find myself laughing, a low rumble that feels foreign in my throat. Rose turns to me, offering a slice of her imaginary cake, and I take it with all the seriousness I can muster. “Hmm, your mom’s favorite! This is the best cake I’ve ever had,” I say, my gaze flicking to Alexia, who’s watching me with a soft smile and a tender expression.
I feel something shift inside me—a loosening, maybe, like the armor I’ve worn for so long is slipping, piece by piece. I can almost pretend that this is normal. For now, I can pretend I’m just a man having tea with a woman and her daughter, that the darkness of our world isn’t lurking just beyond the edges of this sunlit room.
But even as I savor the lightness of the moment, a nagging unease tugs at the back of my mind each time my gaze focuses on Rose. It’s like a half-forgotten memory that I’ve buried deep, something I’ve tried to forget.
Alexia reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine as she takes her cup. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to send a spark shooting up my arm, a reminder of everything we’ve shared, and everything we still have left unsaid.
“You’re good with her,” she whispers, her eyes meeting mine over the rim of her cup.
I shrug, trying to play it off, though her words stir a vulnerability in me—a feeling I’d rather keep hidden. “It’s easy when she’s as sweet as she is.”
Alexia smiles, but I can see the shadows in her eyes. That darkness unsettles me. I can’t figure out if it’s the weight of everything she’s been through. Or if there’s more she’s not telling me.
“Rose doesn’t understand yet,” Alexia murmurs. “She doesn’t know what kind of world we live in. I wish... I wish she could stay like this forever.”
Her words hit me harder than I expect, stirring up memories I’ve tried to bury, images of a life I once dreamed of but never dared to pursue. I reach out, resting a hand on her knee, a gesture meant to comfort, though, I know it can’t erase the scars we both carry.
“You’re doing the best you can,” I say, my voice rough. “You’re giving her something that can’t be bought or stolen. She’s got you. That’s all she needs.”
I look at Alexia, seeing her through a new lens, one where she’s not just the woman I’ve loved and lost, but a mother, a protector, a force of nature in her own right. And it makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s a way out of this darkness for both of us.
W hen the tea party ends, Rose runs off with her toys, her laughter echoing faintly down the hall as Alexia follows her. I linger a moment, watching them disappear, before returning to my study and closing the door behind me. The quiet presses in, heavy and familiar. I stride over to the bar cart, grab the crystal decanter, and pour a healthy measure of whiskey into a glass. The amber liquid catches the light, swirling with each slow tilt of my hand, and I down it in one long gulp, savoring the burn as it courses through me, settling the raw edges of my nerves.
I collapse into the leather chair behind the desk, the soft creak of leather underlining the silence. My gaze drifts to the spot where I discovered Alexia’s scars. Those marks are etched into my memory now, a visceral reminder of the hell she’s endured. But along with the rage that roils beneath my skin, there’s something else—a weight that settles deep in my gut, a nagging doubt I can’t shake off.
I grab the phone and dial Tommy’s number. The familiar rings are a welcome distraction from the churning in my head.
He picks up on the second ring, his voice gruff and alert. “Dave.”
“Hey,” I say, leaning back in the chair. “We need to talk.”
“Did Alexia give you anything helpful?” He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t mince words.
After all, I left the Syndicate meeting earlier today promising to get answers from Alexia.
“She doesn’t know anything else about Igor’s operations.” I rub a hand over my face, exhaling a long breath.
He’s silent for a moment, and I can almost see him on the other end of the line, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed. “And you believe her?”
I hesitate, my fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the arm of the chair. “I do.”
I won’t tell Tommy about the scars. It’s too personal.
“How can you be so sure?” There’s a sharp edge to his tone. “People lie, Dave. What if she’s a decoy? What if Igor sent her your way because he knows she’s your Achilles’ heel.”
“Alexia wouldn’t do that.” I can hear the defensiveness in my own voice, but I don’t care. She’s been through enough without me revealing it to the world. I won’t let my brother or anyone else cast doubts on her without cause. “Believe me.”
Tommy sighs, a low, frustrated sound. “Look, I get that you have history. But that doesn’t mean she’s not capable of using that against you. You’re letting your guard down, and that’s dangerous. Especially now.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I snap, my grip tightening around the glass. “I know exactly how dangerous this is. But I also know her. She’s here because she’s desperate. Igor’s a monster who pushed her to the edge, and she had nowhere else to turn.”
Tommy lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re risking everything based on feelings you had for her years ago. People change, Dave. She could be manipulating you, playing on your emotions to get what she wants.”
I bite back a retort, feeling the tension coil tighter in my chest. He’s wrong—I know he’s wrong. But there’s a small, unwelcome voice in the back of my mind that whispers, what if there’s more she isn’t telling me? What if I’m putting my family, my entire operation, in jeopardy for a woman who’s been lying to me for years?
But then I remember the scars, the pain that flashed across her face when she described Igor’s cruelty. I remember the way she held Rose, the fierce protectiveness in every line of her body. That wasn’t a lie. That was real. It has to be.
“She’s not working with Igor,” I say, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “All I can tell you is that he’s put her through hell. She’d rather die than side with him.”
Tommy falls silent, and I can tell he’s mulling over my words, weighing them against his own instincts. “All right,” he says finally, though his tone is far from convinced. “If you’re sure about this, I’ll back you. But I’m telling you, Dave, keep your eyes open. Trust is a luxury we can’t afford in our world.”
“I know,” I reply, though the words feel heavy, like a lie I’m telling myself as much as him.
There’s a pause, the kind that stretches just a little too long, filling the space between us with unsaid things. Finally, Tommy speaks again, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “Are you sure this isn’t just... you wanting to believe her? Because it’s her?”
The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, I don’t know how to answer. He’s right, of course. Part of me wants to believe her because I need to, because the thought of her betraying me again is more than I can bear. But it’s more than that. It’s the way she looked at me, the way she trusted me with her secrets, her scars. That’s not something you fake.
“It’s not just that,” I finally say, keeping my voice low, measuring the words. “I trust her because I know her. Maybe not the way I once did, but enough to know she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t need me. If she wasn’t telling the truth.”
Tommy sighs again, but this time there’s a note of resignation in it, an acceptance of sorts. “Just... be careful, okay? I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces if this goes south.”
“Yeah. I will.” I hang up, the weight of his words settling over me like a shroud. I stare at the empty glass in my hand, the faint smell of whiskey still lingering in the air, mingling with the scent of leather and wood polish.
The unease creeps in again, that same nagging sense that there’s something I’m missing. It’s a feeling I’ve learned to trust over the years, one that’s saved my life more times than I can count. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s tangled up in things I don’t want to face, feelings I’ve buried deep.
I pour myself another drink. I want to believe I’m doing the right thing, that trusting Alexia isn’t a mistake. But I can’t shake the feeling that the truth is just out of reach, waiting for me to find it. I take a long sip, the warmth spreading through my chest, and I close my eyes, letting my mind drift back to the past, to the days before everything went to hell. Back when Alexia and I were just two people in love, before the world tore us apart. Before her betrayal that still lingers between us like a ghost.
But that’s the thing about ghosts—they never really go away. They haunt you, reminding you of everything you’ve lost, everything you’ve buried. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t escape them.
I open my eyes, the weight of the past pressing down on me, and I know that no matter how much I want to believe in her, no matter how much I want to trust her, there will always be that shadow of doubt. Because in this world, trust is a weapon as much as it is a gift. And I can’t afford to give it blindly.
Not again.
As I finish the drink, a single thought lingers, sharper than the burn of the whiskey: I need to find the missing piece of this puzzle, whatever it takes. Because until I do, I’ll never really know if I can trust her.
And that uncertainty—that’s the real danger. The one I can’t afford to ignore.