Chapter 164

“So what now?” Arkady finally asks.

I dig my fingernails into my palms. I need the physical pain to drown out the emotional agony.

“Now, we wait.” I meet his eyes, letting him see the devastation there. “We stand down.”

“And if she still doesn’t come back?”

“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I can be the man she needs me to be. The man I promised I would be.” I run a hand through my hair, silverstreaked and unwashed. “Even if she never sees it. Even if I never hold my daughter again.”

Arkady nods. “That’s growth, Vin. That’s putting them first, for real this time.”

“It’s too late, though, isn’t it?” I laugh hollowly. “I spent so long trying to protect them from external threats that I never realized the greatest danger was right here.” I tap my chest, where my heart used to be, before Rowan took it with her. “It was me. It was always me.”

“For what it’s worth,” Arkady says quietly, “I think she loves you too much to stay away forever.”

I want to believe him. I want it with a desperation that borders on madness. But the truth pulsates between us, and it says otherwise.

“She loved me too much to keep letting me destroy her world.” I stand, decision made. “Send out the order. Operation canceled. Effective immediately.”

“And what should I tell the men?”

I move to the window, staring out at the compound that feels more like a mausoleum than a home now. “Tell them the truth. Vincent Akopov is standing down.”

47

ROWAN

Running away from Vince was like cutting off my own hand. Necessary to survive a deadly infection, but still excruciating.

I stand on the wraparound porch of this weathered beach house, watching waves crash against the shore like my heart smashes against my ribcage— relentless, furious, destructive.

Sofiya sleeps in her makeshift crib inside, blissfully unaware that her mother shattered her family to save it.

It’s been three days since I peeled away Vince’s tracking necklace and fled the life we built together. That means three days of waking up expecting his arms around me, only to find emptiness. Three days of phantom limb syndrome, but the missing limb is my husband’s entire fucking existence.

The beach house sits on a forgotten stretch of Rhode Island coastline, tucked between overgrown dunes and twisted pines that shield it from prying eyes. It’s a place Grigor mentioned in one of the letters to my mother, describing it as “off the books, off the grid, off the fucking radar.” Perfect for a woman hiding from the most dangerous man in New York.

Wind whips strands of hair across my face, stinging my eyes.

Or maybe those are tears. I can’t tell the difference anymore.

“You’re making the right choice,” I whisper to myself. “You’re protecting her. You’re protecting your father.”

But if I’m so right, why does every cell in my body scream that I’m wrong?

Inside, Sofiya stirs awake, cooing softly. Her voice draws me back to reality. I go to her, lifting her tiny body against my chest.

“Good morning, little troublemaker,” I murmur as I pepper her with kisses. “Did you sleep well?”

She gurgles in response, her blue eyes staring up at me with innocent trust that guts me completely.

“I wonder what your daddy is doing right now,” I say. “Probably tearing the world apart looking for us, if I know anything about him.”

My phone sits on the kitchen counter, dead and battery removed. The burner phone I bought lies beside it, used exactly once to contact Natalie after our escape. Even that feels like a risk too great. Vince’s network is vast, his resources limitless.

And his rage? Well, that’s infinite.

“We need groceries,” I tell Sofi as I strap her into the baby carrier against my chest. “A little normalcy wouldn’t kill us.”

The nearest grocery store is twenty minutes away, far enough to be inconspicuous. I drive there in the nondescript sedan I bought with cash, Sofiya babbling happily in her car seat behind me.

It almost feels normal for a second there.

“You know what I miss most about your daddy?” I ask her as we pull into the parking lot. I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “I miss the way he smelled. Like sandalwood and gunpowder and home. Nothing else smells quite like that, does it?”

Inside the store, I push a cart through fluorescent-lit aisles, tossing in essentials. Diapers. Formula. Coffee strong enough to keep me alert through the nightmares that plague me whenever I close my eyes.

Sofiya watches everything with wide-eyed fascination from her perch against my chest.

It’s in the produce section that the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

He’s good—I’ll give him that. But I spent too long living with predators not to recognize when I’m being hunted.

Six-foot-two. Athletic build beneath a casual jacket. The man’s eyes never quite focus on the apples he’s pretending to select. One hand rests slightly inside his jacket, ready to reach for what I’m certain is a weapon.

One of Vince’s men.

It was only a matter of time.

“Looks like Daddy found us after all,” I whisper to Sofiya, keeping my face neutral as I select an avocado, squeezing it like I’m interested in its ripeness rather than planning an escape. “Let’s see if we can’t lose Uncle Creepy over there, yeah?”

I abandon my cart and head toward the restrooms at the back of the store. I keep my pace deliberately unhurried. Inside, I check each stall—empty— then climb onto the toilet in the last one. A small window near the ceiling provides my way out.

“I’m sorry, baby girl,” I murmur to my daughter as I shimmy through the opening, careful not to bump her head. “Mommy promises no more bathroom gymnastics after this.”

We emerge relatively unscathed behind the store, near the dumpsters. I sprint to the car, strap Sofiya in with trembling hands, and peel out of the parking lot just as I spot Vince’s man rushing out the front entrance, phone pressed to his ear as he looks for me.

My heart thumps against Sofiya’s tiny back as I drive. I take random turns, doubling back, using every evasion technique Vince ever mentioned in my presence.

The weight of his absence crashes over me again—the irony that I’m using his lessons to hide from him.

Only when I’m certain we’re not followed do I pull over at a gas station with an ancient payphone. I fish quarters from my purse with shaking hands. The whole time, Sofiya fusses against me, sensing my distress.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” I soothe her. “Mommy’s just going to leave Daddy a message.”

The phone rings four times before his voicemail picks up. His voice hurts far worse than I expected it to, and I have to grip the metal booth to keep from collapsing.

“It’s me,” I say when the beep sounds. “I saw your man today. He’s good, but not good enough.” I pause, gathering myself. “I want you to understand something, Vince. This isn’t about punishing you. I wouldn’t— I can’t— Oh, fuck me. It doesn’t matter, okay?” Another pause. “Sofiya is safe. She misses you. And I —”

I cut myself off, biting back three words that would destroy my resolve.

Can’t say those anymore.

I hang up, my fingerprints smeared with tears I didn’t realize I was shedding.

Back at the beach house, I triple-check the locks, draw the blackout curtains, and set up the makeshift perimeter alarms—fishing line strung with bells around the property’s edge. Amateur hour compared to Vince’s security systems, but it’s all I have right now.

Eventually, night falls, bringing with it a symphony of ocean waves and crying seagulls. I feed Sofiya, bathe her, and rock her to sleep singing lullabies my mother used to sing to me. The mundane rituals of motherhood hurt so bad when they’re done alone like this.

“Your daddy would hate this place,” I tell her sleeping form. “Too exposed, he’d say. He’d flip a mattress over the window.”

I trace her perfect little features in the dim light—Vince’s eyes, my nose, cheeks that somehow belongs entirely to herself.