18. Alexei #3
I cross the distance until I stand over her. Looking down at the woman who has spent months terrorizing my family, I feel nothing.
Hatred fills Isabella's face.
Roman stops beside me and nods once toward his men. “Take her.”
The men haul Isabella to her feet. She continues screaming Clara's name as they drag her toward the exit, her voice echoing through the cavernous warehouse long after she disappears from view.
I watch her go.
“Why didn't you kill her?” Maggie asks softly from behind me.
I turn toward her. “Because Roman never misses,” I say.
Roman's gaze meets mine. “A quick death is too good for her.”
A silent understanding passes between us.
Maggie throws herself into my arms, and I hold her with both hands, cradling the back of her head. Her entire body shakes against mine.
“You came for me,” she whispers against my chest.
I cup her face between my hands and brush tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. “There’s nowhere on this earth I wouldn’t go for you.”
Fresh tears spill down her face. “I was so scared.”
“I know,” I murmur, resting my forehead against hers.
“I thought...” Her voice breaks.
I kiss her before she can finish. When I finally pull back, she gives a watery laugh.
“That was very dramatic.”
“You were kidnapped,” I remind her.
She sniffles and nods. “Fair point.”
Three weeks later
I cry before we even pull into the parking lot.
I try not to. I really do. But the moment the rebuilt shelter comes into view through the windshield, tears sting my eyes so quickly that I have to turn toward the window and pretend I'm suddenly fascinated by Savannah traffic.
Beside me, Alexei notices immediately. Of course he does.
His large hand settles over mine, where it rests against my thigh. “Maggie,” he says quietly.
I scrub at my eyes with my free hand. “I'm fine,” I lie.
He studies me, his blue eyes far too perceptive for my peace of mind. “You’re crying.”
“I'm emotionally invested,” I mutter.
His thumb brushes across my knuckles. “I rebuilt a building. You are acting as though I cured cancer.”
A watery laugh escapes me. “You didn't just rebuild a building.”
No. He rebuilt hope.
The new sign comes into view.
SECOND CHANCE SAVANNAH
The words stretch proudly across a beautiful white entrance sign surrounded by flower beds bursting with bright yellow daisies and purple salvia.
Fresh paint gleams beneath the warm spring sunshine.
New fencing surrounds the play yards, and colorful banners announcing the grand reopening flutter in the breeze.
The shelter looks beautiful. Better than before.
Alexei financed far more of the reconstruction than he originally admitted.
I found that out when Jules accidentally mentioned the expanded medical wing, the upgraded kennel system, and the entirely new roof that had mysteriously appeared despite never having existed in our original plans.
Alexei still insists it was “necessary.” I call it outrageous.
He calls it efficient. Neither of us has changed our position.
“Papa!” Ivy calls from the back seat as Luka opens her door. “We're here!”
“We are,” Alexei agrees, a softness entering his voice that only appears for Ivy.
I turn around. Ivy sits in the middle seat wearing a blue dress covered in tiny embroidered flowers.
Winston occupies the seat beside her in his carrier because he needed to attend the grand reopening, too.
Daisy sprawls across the third row behind them, her head resting between the seats as though she might perish if separated from Ivy for more than five minutes.
“I'm gonna show Winston the new puppy room first,” Ivy announces, climbing carefully from the SUV. “Then the cats. Then Mr. Pickles.”
I smooth the front of her dress. “Sugar, Winston sees Mr. Pickles almost every day.”
Ivy gives me a patient look. “But this is the grand reopening. Everybody has to say hi again.”
Alexei adjusts the collar of Ivy's dress. “I’ve learned not to question the rules.”
“Smart man,” I tell him.
His mouth curves.
Three weeks ago, that tiny smile would've felt like a miracle. Now I see it every day. A lot has changed in three weeks.
I moved out of my apartment about a week after the kidnapping. Mama and Jules showed up with boxes, stubborn expressions, and absolutely no interest in hearing arguments. By the end of the day, every piece of my life had been packed, loaded, and relocated to the mansion.
I still drive by my old apartment sometimes.
Mr. Harrison, my seventy-two-year-old landlord, refuses to let me disappear completely from his life.
I stop in for sweet tea at least once a week, listen to neighborhood gossip, and promise him that yes, I'm eating enough and no, Alexei isn't secretly a mob boss.
At least not in those exact words.
The parking lot is packed. Volunteers move between tables stocked with refreshments and adoption information, while families wander through the newly landscaped grounds. Children chase one another across the grass. A local news station has set up cameras near the entrance.
The entire community showed up.
The moment I step from the SUV, Mama barrels toward me.
“Don't you dare overdo it today,” she scolds, wrapping me in a fierce hug. “Your doctor said stress isn't good for the baby.”
“Mama, I'm pregnant, not made of glass.”
“You were kidnapped three weeks ago.”
“Technically, yes.”
Mama pulls back and points a finger at me. “Don't get smart with me.”
I laugh and hug her again. “Yes, ma'am.”
Jules appears beside her and immediately rolls his eyes toward Alexei, who is standing close enough to intervene if a strong breeze looks at me wrong.
“Good Lord,” Jules says. “He's gotten worse.”
“I can hear you,” Alexei says dryly.