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I’m not just playing nanny here; I’m playing nanny in a mobster’s den. All while juggling the secret that I’m essentially a spy in their midst.
Fantastic. Just…fantastic.
The sharp ring of Dimitri’s cell slices through the merriment like a cleaver through a ripe tomato. All eyes pivot to him as he steps away, answering the call with a curt, “Dimitri.”
His joviality evaporates, replaced by an ice-cold businesslike demeanor. He returns to the kitchen, looking at me, before locking onto Luka and Erik. His voice is a low, gravelly growl. “We’ve got a problem.”
Erik’s face immediately hardens, his expression a mirror image of Dimitri’s seriousness. Luka, on the other hand, maintains a composed front, but there’s a distinct change in his posture – a coiled readiness that wasn’t there before.
There’s an almost tangible moment of silent communication between the men, a brief flicker of mutual understanding that sends a prickling sense of unease down my spine.
Luka’s ice-blue eyes catch mine, just for a moment, and there’s something in them that stops me cold – a silent warning, perhaps?
“Sophia,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind, “make sure Yulia finishes her pizza, yes?”
I blink, taken aback by the abrupt shift in responsibility, but I manage a quick nod. “Of course, Luka…I mean, sir.”
His gaze then shifts to Yulia, and his voice softens. “Malysh, we have to step out for a bit,” he tells her, his tone filled with regret. “Can you make sure you finish your dinner?”
There’s a brief pause as Luka looks at Yulia, who’s now staring down at her masterpiece of a pizza with a touch of disappointment on her little face.
“I was hoping you’d try it, Luka,” she murmurs, her small shoulders drooping a tad.
Luka looks down at her, his stern features softening further. “I promise, malysh, I’ll have the first slice when I get back, alright?”
There’s a flicker of hope in Yulia’s eyes as she nods, lips pressing into a determined line. “You better, Luka. I made it especially for you.”
The thud of their departing footsteps echoes against the kitchen walls. I’m marooned in the kitchen of a mafia mansion, left alone with little Yulia. The scent of fresh pizza still hangs in the air, but it’s gone from comforting to mocking in seconds flat. It’s a sick joke, a slap of domesticity in the face of the very real danger looming over us.
And then, when I look at Yulia. I see it — a tiny tear clinging to the edge of her lower lid.
Chapter 26
Sophia
THIS POOR little kid is going to be caught in the sick game I’ve been forced into.
I feel like shit.
Putting on a smile, I poke Yulia gently, “It’s alright, Yulia. You’ve still got me and Max to share this pizza party with!” I gesture toward the puppy that’s now curled up in a ball of fur, twitching in his sleep like he’s chasing rabbits in dreamland.
Yulia sniffles, wiping at her eyes before giving me a watery smile. “That’s okay, Sophia,” she says, her tone a strange mix of mature acceptance and childlike optimism. “Luka always says, ‘Duty before dinner.’ He’ll eat later.”
Her acceptance tugs at my heartstrings, the mature sentiment delivered with such nonchalance leaving me stunned. She reminds me of a young version of myself, forced to be stronger than any child should be far too soon.
“I guess you’re right, Yulia,” I reply, my voice choked up as I force a cheerfulness I don’t really feel.
Thinking quickly, I decide to try to distract her from the immediate disappointment. “Hey, Yulia, can I ask you something about Beauty and the Beast?”
Her eyes, still shiny with unshed tears, light up a little. “Yes,” she replies, her voice small.
“If Belle were a flower herself, which one do you think she would be?”
Yulia seems to consider this, her small brow furrowing in concentration. After a few silent moments, she finally announces, “I think Belle would be a rose!”
“A rose?” I ask, intrigued by her choice. “Why a rose?”
“Because roses are pretty and brave! They have thorns to protect themselves, just like Belle is pretty and brave, and she protects the Beast!”
