6. Alexei
ALEXEI
The report from the previous night follows me into the morning.
By the time I shower, dress, and head downstairs, the black sedan is still bothering me.
A vehicle parked beyond the estate gates.
An unknown driver. An unknown passenger.
No plate number. No identification. No explanation for why they sat there watching before disappearing into the dark.
People don’t spend time watching my house by accident.
Outside the windows, dawn is beginning to creep across the horizon.
Security lights still burn around the estate while armed patrols move along the perimeter.
Cameras cover every entrance and exit. Luka doubled the number of men outside after the attack at the shelter, and Roman added several more without asking whether I wanted them.
The smell of coffee reaches me before I step into the kitchen. Mrs. Bennett is already at the stove while Daisy dozes beneath one of the chairs. Winston is nearby, undoubtedly looking for a way to steal part of someone's breakfast.
The moment the small dog notices me, he freezes. I narrow my eyes, and he immediately sits.
Guilty.
Mrs. Bennett points the spatula toward Winston without turning around. “He already stole a sausage.”
“Of course he did.”
She glances over her shoulder. “Half of it, anyway.”
I look down at Winston. “An amateur mistake.”
His tail beats happily against the floor, and Mrs. Bennett laughs. The sound is a welcome change from the heaviness that has hung over the house.
A few minutes later, Maggie walks into the kitchen.
My eyes go straight to her the moment she enters.
Her hair is still damp from a shower and falls loose around her shoulders.
She's wearing jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. There’s nothing remotely provocative about the sight of her.
That doesn't stop my body from responding anyway.
“Mornin’”.
The smile she sends me reaches her eyes. I return it before realizing I've done it.
“Morning.” The single word leaves me sounding more affected than I would prefer.
Her smile grows. Apparently, she enjoys that.
Mrs. Bennett hides her amusement by returning her attention to the stove, but not before I catch the look she sends in our direction. I choose to ignore it. Experience has taught me that acknowledging Mrs. Bennett's observations only encourages them.
Maggie pours herself coffee and leans against the island as the kitchen door opens. Ivy appears carrying her stuffed bunny tucked under one arm.
“Mornin’ sugar,” Maggie says.
Ivy answers with a yawn powerful enough to qualify as a public announcement. “Good morning.”
Daisy rises immediately and follows her toward the table. Mrs. Bennett places a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage in front of Ivy.
My daughter studies them with visible suspicion. “I don't think I'm hungry.”
“You said that yesterday,” Maggie replies.
“I wasn't,” Ivy insists.
“You ate two pancakes.”
Ivy considers that. “Maybe I was a little hungry.”
Mrs. Bennett laughs.
Across the table, Maggie reaches for a piece of toast while Winston positions himself beside Ivy's chair in anticipation of falling crumbs. I watch the interaction unfold and feel some of the pressure from last night ease for the first time since security called.
Ivy still looks tired, but she’s eating breakfast, talking, and smiling occasionally. It’s progress. Not enough, but progress.
The kitchen door opens again.
Viktor steps inside, his injured arm secured in a sling across his chest. The bandage beneath his shirt is hidden from view, though the stiffness in his movements makes it obvious the shoulder is still giving him trouble.
The bullet missed anything vital, a fact I remain grateful for seeing him upright.
“Viktor!” Ivy abandons her eggs and hurries across the kitchen before wrapping both arms around his waist. The stern look he usually wears gives way as he carefully lowers his good hand to the top of her head.
“Good morning.”
“You're okay.” Relief moves across her face so openly that I understand all over again how much the shooting took from her.
“I am.” Viktor gives her a small smile.
Ivy leans back, studying the sling. “Does it hurt?”
“Only when I do stupid things.”
“Papa says you do a lot of stupid things.”
Viktor looks at me. “Your father once tried to remove a wasp nest with a shovel.”
“I was successful,” I point out.
“You went to the hospital,” Viktor replies.
Maggie laughs into her coffee.
Ivy glances between us before her attention returns to Viktor. A skeptical look crosses her face.
“Wait.” She narrows her eyes. “You didn't come to take me to school, did you?”
The question wipes the amusement from the room.
I set my coffee down. “No.”
The worry leaves her so fast it almost hurts to see. “Good.”
Maggie reaches over and brushes a hand through Ivy's hair. “You don't miss school?”
Ivy immediately shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Not even a little?”
“Nope.”
“What about your friends?” Maggie asks.
Ivy considers that. “They can come here.”
She turns toward me, making certain there’s no misunderstanding. “I'm staying here.”
“You are,” I assure her.
One day she'll go back to school. She'll return to dance classes, afternoons with friends, and all the ordinary parts of childhood that should have remained ordinary. Today isn’t that day. The truth is, I’m not ready to let her out of my sight any more than she's ready to leave it.
Viktor glances toward the foyer before looking back at me. “Luka and I will be ready when you are.”
I nod once.
The meaning is understood without further explanation. Black Tide Logistics still requires my attention, and despite everything that happened at the shelter, the work waiting for me hasn’t disappeared. Luka and Viktor will escort me into the city.
Maggie's phone lights up on the counter. Her expression changes the instant she sees the screen.
Jules.
I already dislike the call.
“Hey,” she answers, sounding worried.
The response comes through loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Maggie, honey, I need you.”
Her posture stiffens. Concern replaces the smile she wore just a few minutes earlier. “What happened?”
Jules releases a long breath. “Everything happened.”
Maggie presses a hand against the counter. “Start from the beginnin’.”
“The donations started arrivin’ before sunrise,” Jules says. “People are droppin’ off food, blankets, supplies, checks, flowers, cards, dog beds, cat toys, and enough treats to keep Mr. Pickles satisfied for the next ten years.”
“Sweet mercy.” Maggie rubs her forehead.
“Reporters won't stop callin’. Volunteers are nervous. Half of them don't know if they should come in today, and the other half don't want to leave.”
The concern on Maggie's face deepens. Then Jules delivers the final blow.
“And a rescue transport just arrived.”
Maggie goes completely still. “What kind?”
“Ten dogs.”
She closes her eyes. “Please tell me you're jokin’.”
“I would never joke about ten dogs.”
“I hate you.”
“That's fair.”
I already know where this conversation is heading. I also know I'm not going to like it.
Maggie ends the call with Jules and keeps the phone in her hand, her fingers wrapped around it while she stares at the counter as if the answer might appear somewhere between the coffee mug and Mrs. Bennett’s stack of folded napkins.
I know that look. She’s already made up her mind, which means the conversation that follows won’t be simple.
“I’m going to the shelter,” she says.
I push away from the table and rise to my feet. “No.”
Her head lifts slowly. The color in her cheeks rises before she says a word, and from across the table, Ivy pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth. Maggie notices Ivy watching and lowers her voice, though every bit of her frustration remains in it.
“The shelter is overwhelmed, Alexei.”
“I heard.”
“Then you heard the part where ten dogs just arrived and Jules is tryin’ to manage reporters, donations, frightened volunteers, and a rescue intake all at once.”
“I heard that too.”
“Then you know why I have to go.”
“No, I know why you want to go.”
Her eyes narrow, and the kitchen feels too small for both of us. Mrs. Bennett busies herself at the stove, giving us space without truly leaving. Ivy looks between Maggie and me, her eyes wide.
Maggie follows my line of sight to Ivy and reins in her temper. She walks to my daughter’s chair and crouches next to her. “Sweetheart, I’m just talkin’ to your daddy.”
Ivy studies her face. “Are you leaving?”
The question steals the force from Maggie’s argument, and I see the exact moment guilt reaches her.
“Only for a little while,” Maggie says carefully. “Jules needs help at the shelter.”
Ivy’s fork drops against her plate. “I want to go too.”
“No,” I say at once.
Maggie’s eyes return to mine, but this time she doesn’t argue.
“You’ll stay here with Mrs. Bennett,” I tell her.
Ivy’s mouth trembles. “But Maggie’s going.”
“Maggie is going because animals need care,” I say, keeping my voice low. “You’re staying because I need you safe.”
Her eyes fill, though no tears fall yet. Winston rises onto his back legs and rests both paws against her knee, as if sensing the change in her. Ivy gathers him into her lap and buries one hand in his fur.
Maggie brushes a finger beneath Ivy's chin and tips her face up. “I’ll come back, baby.”
“When?”
“Before lunch if your papa’s security doesn’t make me move slower than molasses.”
Ivy glances at me. “Will they?”
“Yes,” Maggie and I answer together.
Ivy almost smiles.
Maggie notices and leans closer. “I promise I’ll be careful.”
“You promised you wouldn’t leave.”
Maggie’s face changes. Her throat moves as she swallows, and she looks down at Ivy’s hand buried in Winston’s fur. When she speaks again, her voice has the tenderness that has undone me more than once.
“I promised I wouldn’t disappear, and I won’t. I’m comin’ back, Ivy. You can call me as many times as you want while I’m gone.”
Ivy thinks about that. “Can I call every minute?”