12. Rashid
RASHID
My mother drags her suitcase up the hallway, refusing to take help from me.
After six weeks in Moscow with my brother she's still just as irritable as ever, and now she's back to remind me what a disappointment I am.
"This place is cold. You know your brother keeps his home much warmer.
At least twenty-five in winter." If I had better sense I would just let her move in with Xavier in Moscow and stop this, but I don't think she would ever come back here to visit again.
I'd have to go there to see her in her old age, and I can't miss business for that long.
"I can turn the heat up if you want, Mother. Do you have to do this on your own? I mean, I'm right here. I could help." I reach for her heavy bag again and she scowls, but this time she lets me take the handle. I lift it with ease and walk beside her as she shuffles toward her room.
"Twenty-five is the perfect temperature indoors, Rashid.
I'm too old to fuss with sweaters and knit blankets all the time.
They weigh down my frail body." She tugs the sweater around her body tighter and scowls at me again.
"And you look sick. Do you even eat anymore? That horrible maid never feeds you."
Marta's cooking is perfect, though she's right; I don’t eat much. I have too much going on to worry about whether food suits me.
"The cooking is fine, Mother. Look here," I say, pushing her door open, "lie down and rest. You had a long trip and I have some work to finish up. At dinner you can tell me all about your visit with Xavier."
She stumbles into the room and over to her bed while I lay the suitcase on its side near her dresser.
My mind is distracted, though, thinking about the man I sent to tail Emory.
I need to know as soon as she left the child at the sitter's today.
I can't follow her to her house, but I can have them mark the sitter's apartment and tell me when Emory is off to her classes.
That is, if she makes it to class.
Those Gusev goons might have handled my wet work for me, and if so, I'm not sure how to follow the trail from Emory's father to his source.
It's a problem I might have to face, but I'm hoping not.
"When you leave, shut the door. I need quiet if I'm going to rest." Mother shrugs her sweater off and kicks off her shoes, then starts turning down the bed as I think through the problem of sound pollution in this home.
If I have my way and the boy is in this house later this afternoon as I hope, there will be no pleasing this woman. She hates anyone who disrupts her schedule, and a child would do that.
"Mother, there's something I need to ask you." I help her wrestle the thick comforter back as she climbs into bed still wearing her dress and stockings.
"Well be fast with it." Her grumpiness is getting to me now, but I bite my tongue.
I work the comforter up over her, gentling her into bed and try to decide how to put this. "I'll be having company for a while."
She rolls her eyes as she drops onto the pillow, looking exhausted. "One of your whores again?"
The accusation stings. I haven't had a lady caller in years, almost a decade. I stopped being foolish when I was in my late twenties.
"No, Mother, it's a small child. And I might need your help with him." She accepts my help with the comforter as some of the creases in her forehead relax.
The look on her face isn't exactly acceptance anymore, more like confusion, but she's not backbiting anymore at least. "You hate children. Why would you bring one into your home?"
She's not wrong about that. I've been known to abhor small children and their messes and noise.
I'm no different than she is, just varied in the things I dislike.
But if that boy is mine, I won't spend my life in resentment or bitterness, not training him to take over my empire.
If I have an heir, he'll be raised as an heir.
"Will you consider helping me with the child? He will need a feminine touch." I won't tell her who he is yet, or what my suspicions are, but she'll demand to know soon enough.
She glares at me and tosses her hair across the pillow, then closes her eyes. "If I tell you yes, will you get out of my room?" My mother has never been a kind woman, but in her old age she's become impossible to deal with.
I sigh hard and leave her to her sulking, slipping into the hall as I hear my phone start to chirp and my mother utter a few curse words at the noise invasion.
When I bring my phone to my ear, I speak quietly to avoid perturbing her more.
"Go," I say sharply, walking up the hallway as briskly as I can. This has to be news on Emory and if it is, it's time for me to move.
"Yeah, boss, it's me. She's gone.Kid's inside and we can move when you're ready." It's Daniil, and he sounds ready to move.
"You're positive you know which unit? We can't stomp into a stranger's home and hold them up.
The girl will know and we'll lose our shot.
" I'm already moving toward the door, grabbing my coat.
My driver has been on standby for an hour waiting for me to give him the signal.
When I walk out he rushes to the back door to open it for me.
"Yeah, we got it, boss. Three twelve is our target. Should we move?" he asks and I climb into the car.
"No. I'll be there in twenty minutes." I hang up as the door shuts and the driver rushes back to his seat, then we're off, racing across town to the apartment building where I plan to take that boy and make sure he's my son.
The apartment building isn’t far, but every second feels like torture.
We pull up to the squat brick building and the driver keeps the car idling as I climb out.
Daniil and two of my men fall in behind me as we take the stairs. I'm not doing this out of rage or revenge; this is necessity.
If the boy is mine, he belongs under my roof.
Today.
The sitter is Irina Morozova, married to an American called Remington who works at the port.
My men tell me they're decent people who genuinely care about the boy, which means they're going to resist me when I walk in there. I'm counting on it being brief.
I'm sure Daniil would prefer to bust this lady's door down, but I prefer to be civil for a change.
I knock on door 312 and wait, but Daniil and Igor pull their weapons as insurance.
When I hear movement inside I tell Mikhail, "You wait here and watch." Then I turn to the others. "You two come with me, but don't do anything unless I tell you to." I'm not here to harm anyone. I just want my son.
A woman opens the door; she has flour on her apron and a warm smile that drops off her face the second she gets a look at me. "Can I help you?"
"I'm here for the boy."
Her whole body tenses and she tries to push the door shut, but I put my hand against it and hold it open without much effort.
Behind her a man stands up from the couch who's easily six foot three with shoulders like a dock worker.
The boy is sitting on a playmat behind him chewing on a stuffed bear, completely oblivious.
"Who the hell are you?" the husband says, stepping forward.
"My name is Rashid Krasnov. I'm here for my child." The name does exactly what I expect it to do. The woman goes pale and grabs her husband's arm. He doesn't step back right away, but I can see him trying to decide if it's worth it to fight me.
He knows who I am.
Everyone in this part of the city knows who I am.
"You can't just take Lex," Irina says, planting herself between me and the living room, even though her voice is shaking. "Emory trusts us with him and he's safe here. Please..."
"And he'll be fine with me," I tell her as I sense Daniil and Igor stalk in behind me. Their guns do the trick. Both of the happy couple back away in fear.
"He doesn't know you. Please, just call Emory and talk to her first."
"I didn't come here to talk." I step past her, but the husband moves into my path.
I look him dead in the eye. "Don't be stupid.
I have six men outside and every one of them is armed.
If I were here to hurt someone, it would've already happened.
" Of course it's a lie. I don't need a single man with me.
I alone am enough to take them, but with Igor and Mikhail there's no way they even get a swing before I react.
He stares at me with his jaw working and his hands opening and closing at his sides. His wife grabs his arm tighter and whispers something against his shoulder.
"If anything happens to that boy—" he starts.
"Nothing will happen to him. Step aside." He holds my stare for one more second, but he moves like the smart man I know he is. They're good people, and I'm grateful that they have been taking care of my son, keeping him happy and safe. Now it's my job and I don't need their help anymore.
I go to the playmat and crouch down. Lex looks up at me with wide dark eyes and his bottom lip starts to tremble.
I pick him up with one hand under his back and the other behind his head.
He's heavier than I expected.
His body goes stiff against my chest and his fist grabs a handful of my shirt.
I turn to Irina and hand her a card from my breast pocket. "This is my address. Give it to Emory so she knows where her son is. But if either of you calls the police, you're both dead before nightfall, and so are Emory and her father." She takes the card with shaking hands and nods.
I walk out and head down the stairs with the boy rigid in my arms.
I can't remember a time I've ever been around a child this young, let alone held one.
I'm not sure if he eats food yet or if he still needs bottles, and how on earth will I change his diaper?
I'm not sure of anything except that I'll need my mother's help.
Outside, my driver opens the back door and I get in, holding Lex upright so he can look out the window.
I have no earthly idea if that helps but it's the only move I've got right now, and so far he's not crying.
No child seat, no diapers, no experience at all.
I've never found anything in my life that's made me feel this helpless.
The car pulls away and I get my first real look at him. He's got thick swaths of dark hair that curl at the ends like the baby photos my mother keeps in her bedroom.
My jawline is already forming on his small face.
And those eyes, nearly black, stare right back at me with curiosity.
There's no question in my mind anymore. This boy is mine, and I intend to prove it before the night is over.
"Dr. Volkov's house," I tell my driver. "Call ahead and tell him I need a DNA swab for the two of us tonight."
"Yes sir," he says, already touching his hands-free unit.
That's when Lex decides he's had enough.
He opens his mouth and wails.
His fists ball up; his face goes red, and his whole body shakes with the force of it.
I hold him out at arm's length and stare at him because I genuinely don't know what to do.
I've run an empire of four hundred men, sat across from killers and crime lords.
But this boy screaming on my lap has me more lost than any of them.
My driver glances at the mirror and I catch a smirk pulling at his mouth before he looks back at the road.
"Eyes forward," I tell him, and pull the boy back against my chest, because it's the only thing I can think to try.
I'm not going to give in, either. Emory kept this child from me for long enough.
If she wants him back she's going to beg, and I'm going to show her what happens to women who keep secrets from me.