Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
He looks down for a moment, then back up at my face. “I’m just trying to protect you,” he says hopelessly. “From the first moment I met you, I’ve only been trying to protect you.”
“I know,” I say, my voice barely steady. “But I needed the truth. I needed to know what kind of world I was walking into. What kind of world my baby is being born into.”
He winces when I call it my baby. I see it. Then his face softens, eyes lowering to my stomach for the briefest second. He reaches toward me, then stops, letting his hand fall back to his side.
“I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you,” he says quietly. “Either of you.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. I think of all the restrictions he’s already put in place, all of the ways he’s already limited my comings and goings. Is this what my life is going to look like? Will our child grow up in a bubble, never able to experience the fullness of the world?
I feel surprisingly steady, almost detached, like someone who’s finally seeing the whole picture instead of the parts they want to see.
“I need some air,” I whisper.
“Molly—”
“I just need a minute.”
He exhales, long and slow, and nods once. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”
I scoop up the little hat on my way out of the kitchen and hold it tightly in my hand. It’s the only soft thing in this moment, the only thing that calms the sharp edge inside me.
When I reach the quiet of the hallway, I press the hat to my chest and whisper, steady and sure, “I’ll keep you safe. No matter what.”
It’s the first promise I make to my baby, and one I intend to uphold for the rest of my life. No matter what happens, I’ll put my child first.
If we need to cut and run, that’s what we’ll do.
15
SAMUIL
When she comes back into the kitchen, I realize something in her has shifted. It’s not dramatic. She isn’t avoiding me or trembling or watching me as if she expects me to snap. It’s quieter than that. It’s more like a part of her has shut down and is no longer reachable.
Her eyes don’t linger as long when she serves me a bowl of soup. We barely talk during lunch, and when we do, she stays quiet and detached. Her voice stays soft even when she’s clearly irritated by something I’ve said.
I even find myself saying something just to annoy her, but she doesn’t take the bait. She keeps her hands busy with anything she can find. Picking at her sleeves, her hair tie, the hem of her shirt. It’s all subtle, but I feel every bit of it.
She’s pulling away from me.
Maybe I deserve it. Maybe learning that the father of your child runs a criminal empire does something to a person. But that doesn’t make it any easier to watch.
Especially now, when the last thing I want or need is distance between us. There’s a war brewing. Lebedev didn’t steal from me by accident. He’s testing me, trying to see if I’ve softened, if I’ve gotten distracted. My home should be the one place I don’t have to think strategically, but that luxury disappeared the second Molly started shrinking away from me without saying a word.
I want to go to her. I want to take her face in my hands and tell her she doesn’t have to be scared of my life. I want to tell her I’m still the same man who held her while she cried, who kissed her slowly, who woke up next to her feeling like everything in my life finally made sense.
But I also don’t want to push her, so I stay quiet and give her space I don’t want to give. It takes everything in me not to beg her to stay.
The next morning, I’m pacing the office, waiting for Davýd to show up. We’re supposed to go over the routes for the next shipment and figure out how Lebedev rerouted the last one under my men’s noses. My patience is already paper-thin when my phone buzzes.
Nanny called out sick. I’m stuck at home with Anya. What do you want me to do?
I stare at the message for a second, irritation and concern crawling up my spine. He needs to be here. Tonight’s meeting matters. But his daughter comes first, as she should.
I rub a hand across my jaw. I can hear Molly moving around in the kitchen, her quiet footsteps, a cabinet opening, the faint scrape of something on the counter. She’s been restless all day, pacing around the apartment more than she ever has. She hasn’t even asked me to go out in days.
An idea forms in my head, and I realize it could help both of them. I’m not sure whether she’ll agree to it, but I can’t see how she’d refuse. I know how desperately she misses teaching.