Chapter 166 167

Chapter 166 167
No. I won’t let that happen. Not today, not tomorrow, not for anything in the world. There’s only one way Bradley Baldwin is walking out of here with our son.

Over my dead fucking body.

“Brad.” I try to make my voice calmer, softer, like I did before. But the truth is, I’m all out of lies. “Look at me. You don’t want to do this.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you love him,” I say. “You do. That’s why you wanted custody in the first place, right? It wasn’t just to hurt me. It was because you missed him.”

“That’s bullshit,” Brad spits.

“Is it?” I take one bold step. Brad’s gun flinches, but he doesn’t move otherwise. “Because I remember how it was. Back at your place, last winter—you were really trying, weren’t you?” Tears well up into my eyes, but I don’t give up. “You wanted to make it work. You just didn’t know how.”

“Shut up.”

“Because your father never showed you.”

“Shut up.”

“Because all he taught you was violence, and when he died, you thought you had to become him to survive.”

“SHUT UP!” His gun starts shaking hard. “One more step, and I swear, I’ll fucking shoot him!”

I swallow a scream. Force myself to keep talking, to keep him sane. As long as I’m talking, Eli will keep breathing.

Unless that gun goes off by accident.

“I know why you’re really doing this.” My voice breaks, but I keep talking. “It’s because you weren’t ready to let go, right?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I understand.” I force a smile through the tears. “Because I’m not ready to let go, either. I love him too much.” I hook Brad’s gaze. “And so do you.”

I can see it then: a glimpse of hesitation. One last spark of the boy he used to be. Of the man he could have been, had he chosen differently.

But it isn’t too late to choose. For us, yes—but not for this.

“Please, Brad,” I whisper. “Please, let him go. If you ever loved him, let him go.”

Brad’s eyes are lucid. It’s an odd thing—seeing him show emotion. Something other than anger, lust, hatred.

“Dad, please,” Eli sobs quietly. “I don’t want to die.”

It breaks me to hear it. To hear my five-year-old kid beg his biological father to spare his life. It would break anyone with a heart—anyone at all.

Turns out, it breaks Brad, too.

Slowly, he lowers his gun. It’s still shaking, but it’s pointed at the ground now, not Eli.

“Go,” he rasps.

Eli doesn’t need to hear it twice. He runs into my arms. “Mommy!”

I wrap myself around him, squeeze him tight against me. “I’ve got you, baby,” I whimper. “Mommy’s got you.”

We’re both crying, a mess of tears and snot, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters—just this.

I lock eyes with Brad behind Eli’s back. “Thank you,” I mouth.

He nods once.

Then a gunshot rings out.

I see it happen in slow motion. Brad’s shaking fingers, pulling the trigger by mistake. A bullet flying from his gun.

Another bullet, flying towards him.

And then smoke, rising from Yulian’s gun.

64

MIA

Brad’s body lurches back, as if thrown by an invisible hand. His back hits the ground with a thump. Dread rises within me, my heart still pumping with adrenaline from everything that just happened.

I keep both hands firmly over Eli’s ears. “It’s okay,” I croon, calming him down as he shakes. “We’re okay.”

But Brad is not.

I can still see the smoke rising from Yulian’s gun. He’s standing next to us, impassive, the cold eyes of a general on the battlefield.

My gaze darts to Brad’s body, lying face-up on the ground.

“I’ve got him,” Nik urges, scooping Eli in her arms. “Go.”

Slowly, I walk up to the body. Yulian falls into step with me, pocketing Brad’s gun on the way over.

Then I see it.

A bullet hole⁠—

In Brad’s shoulder.

I slump with relief. “You didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t kill him.” Going by Yulian’s tone, it cost him a great deal of restraint. “I knew you wouldn’t want it.”

My heart fills with warmth. Because he listened to me, because he put my needs for peace before his thirst for blood. Because he put my son’s needs above everything else.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

But my gratitude is short-lived. Soon, another feeling overtakes it. Something I’ve been smothering for Eli’s sake, so I could save him and comfort him. As I watch Brad writhe on the concrete, that feeling leaps to the forefront, and suddenly, I remember its name.

Fury.

I lean over Brad. He’s twisting like a worm, moaning in pain. “You⁠—”

“No.” I put my palm over the bullet wound. “No more talk from you. You’ll listen to me now.”

Then I press down hard.

Brad howls. He tries to pry me off, but Yulian pins his good arm to the ground with his foot, keeping him still.

I should feel bad about this. Breaking my oath, this time on purpose. Not because of extenuating circumstances, but because I want to.

But I don’t.

Because, as it turns out, there isn’t a single oath I wouldn’t break for my children.

“You tried to rape me,” I growl in Brad’s sweat-beaded face. “To kidnap me and kill my daughter. Then you put a gun to my son’s head.”

“H-He’s my⁠—”

“No, he’s not,” I cut in. “He’s not yours anymore. You gave that right away the second you tried to punch him out of me. And then again tonight, when you threatened to shoot him.”

“I d-didn’t—” he gasps. “I saved him! I let him go!”

“I know. That’s the only reason I’m offering mercy right now. Because somewhere in that rotten heart of yours, you actually care about him after all.” I pin him with a glare. “So here’s what’s gonna happen.”

I grab his chin, force him to look at me as I speak. I want him to remember this—to burn each word into his memory. He won’t have a chance to hear it twice.

“Earlier, I recorded everything you said,” I explain. “All your dirty little secrets about your business: your shell companies, your mob ties, the people you had killed. You wanna know where that recording went?”

“W-Where?”

“To the feds.”

Brad’s face goes white. “N-No. You can’t⁠—”

“Yes, I can.” My voice turns to ice. “And I just did.”

As if on cue, sirens start blaring. Brad’s face goes from white to green.

I feel my lips curl into a smile. The first genuine smile of the night. “I’ll give you a head start. If you run, we won’t come looking. But if you so much as think of stepping foot in New York again, it’s on sight.” I dig my nails into his face. Whether they’ll leave a scar or not, I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care. “Nod if you understand.”

He nods instantly. Repeatedly.