Page 118 of Brutal Vows

Zoe chortles then squeals, gazing down at him, her feet kicking the air.

I melt.

“Oh my God,” he murmurs, his voice thick as he sways her side to side in the air. Zoe, now wide awake, loves it and seems ready to twist her Papa around her little finger. He meets my gaze. “I…” A smile teases at his lips. “I just fell in love.”

So did I, but it’s a lie. I’ve been in love for weeks now.

He closes his eyes, gathers her to his chest, and hugs her close. His hold is so gentle, so caring, and my heart leaps. Then he nuzzles her with his nose, inhales her sweet baby scent, and presses the most gentle of kisses to her soft brown hair.

He meets my gaze as she clutches at his face. “I’m afraid you just got promoted,” he says, a lightness in his voice.

“To what?”

“My queen.” He turns to me as he settles her in his arms as if he’s held her a thousand times. “And now, behold our princess, Zoe the Magnificent.”

55

LUCA

Holding Zoe shifts everything in my mind. This is real. She is real, with the cutest little happy face and big blue eyes just like her mom’s. I’d go through all that violence again if it would lead me back to this moment once more. She smells so sweet, and she’s so soft and tiny, and protectiveness roars inside me. Nobody gets to touch her, hurt her, or ever look at her with a smidgen of malicious intent. I’ve never before in my life had a surge of love like this, but this baby girl has, by some weird and warped path, become mine to protect with my life and to love with everything in me.

Milana has her coat on and the baby bag is ready at her feet. I don’t want to let Zoe go, but I need to put on the baby carrier. Once we’ve followed Masha’s instructions to a T, I’ll have her against my chest where she belongs. I press a kiss to my little princess’s head and hold her out to Milana again.

“Let’s wrap this up. You have gloves?”

“Yes,” she says as she takes her. “She’s clean and has had a bottle. There’s enough for three more days.”

“Is she warm enough?” Zoe is wearing a thick fleece onesie and I bet she has a layer underneath. The lined coat will protect her and she’ll be pressed against my chest, but I don’t want her to be cold at all.

“She should be fine with her cap and mittens. I’m thinking we could head to a small town down the road. It’s in the opposite direction from Saint Petersburg, about thirty minutes’ drive off the main road. If someone’s looking, it won’t be the first place on their radar.”

“Okay. You know your way around? Can you find a deer track in the forest?”

“Yes. We knew all the tracks back then, and deer don’t change their habits. We can do it.”

We don’t have a choice.

“Come.” I hold the door into the main room for her. “Don’t look. Don’t let Zoe see.”

She cups our little one’s head close and picks her way through the room to the front door, avoiding the carnage by facing the wall.

Once outside, I put the baby bag and our backpack into the car, and gesture for Milana to get in too, with Zoe. “Wait here,” I say. We’re going to be out in the elements for long enough. “I’ll be quick.”

Once she’s settled, I grab the cooler box in the back and go into the cabin. The Russians had fleece neck gaiters in their backpack, and I pull one over my nose to block the assault coming from the cooler box. I first check the body to see if Masha’s story tracks. I sag with relief at the scar on her little chest, but I also look for the marks where drips would have been attached to her small body. It’s all true. For a moment, I still. Pray for this little soul. Blink at the tears welling.

Fuck it.

Maybe we won’t pay for this tenfold in the years to come.

With a swallow, I force myself to focus.

I set the scene. Place the baby’s corpse next to Masha’s, in the fold of her arm, then roll Masha on her side and make as if she was hugging the baby, protecting her. I inspect her head and find the bullet’s exit wound. The hole is a bit small for someone shot execution style with one of the Russian’s guns and could give us away. I don’t bother to find the bullet; it will deform in the fire. I take the plastic gun and shove it in my waistband behind my back.

I lift Masha’s head, and using one of the Russian’s guns, I shoot another shot through her head at close range, aiming so the exiting bullet slams into the wall on the other side of the room.

I place her obliterated head back on the floor, and then do the same for the baby, but let the bullet lodge in the floor. I go about all of this as if I’m preparing a body for our promession site: cold, clinical, disconnected.

I can’t afford to think beyond what I need to do to get us the fuck out of here and make the world think this is another vendetta gone wrong. Let whoever comes to investigate ask questions about the Russians’ bashed-in heads and broken bones, and hopefully, the fire will eliminate any evidence that could tell the real story. I hope they think Masha and her baby were executed by these Russian hands and their guns, before someone came for them.