Page 74

I pull out a chair. “You can’t change his old life just because you have the money to do it.”

His gaze meets mine across the table. “His old life burned.”

The words stop me. I built my certainty around danger. Men like Alexei brought guns, enemies, claims, and consequences. Keeping Misha away from him was simple when Alexei existed only as a name tied to one reckless night.

Watching him wipe strawberry juice from Misha’s wrist makes nothing simple.

Alexei sets the napkin down and reaches for his tablet. “Oksana has his schedule.”

I look at him. “He doesn’t have a schedule here.”

“He does now.” He turns the screen toward me.

Someone has entered breakfast, play, reading, lunch, rest, outdoor time inside the walled service garden, and dinner in fifteen-minute blocks. Security escorts appear beside every location. My own name sits beside bedtime.

I scroll once. “You scheduled free play.”

“It needed a place.”

“Free play stops being free when Abramov has assigned it a guard rotation.”

Alexei breaks off a small piece of chocolate and places it beside Misha’s toast. “His playschool had gates, cameras, teachers, and rules about who could collect him.”

I lower my voice. “It didn’t have your kind of guards outside the painting room.”

“It should’ve had better cameras.”

I set the tablet down before I throw it. “Galina knew him. She knew when he was pretending to sleep, which cup he wanted, and why he refused soup after seeing parsley. You can’t replace that with a timetable.”

“I’m not replacing her.” Alexei wipes the knife on his napkin. “Abramov is trying to bring her here.”

My hand stills beside the tablet. “What?”

“She left your building before the attack. Belov’s men may know she cared for Misha.”

“You contacted her without asking me?”

“Abramov sent two female guards with Roman and another soldier. A second vehicle is following them.” Alexei sets the knife beside his plate. “They’ll explain the danger and let her decide.”

The answer is careful enough to irritate me for a different reason. I was ready to accuse him of dragging Galina here. Instead, he’s protected her and given her a choice, and now I have to swallow the argument waiting on my tongue.

Misha holds out his cup. “Milk.”

Alexei pours a small amount from the jug.

Misha drinks it in one gulp and puts out his hand. “More.”

Alexei obliges.

“That’s your last cup,” I tell Misha.

He drinks with both hands and lowers it with a white line above his lip. “I have a mustache.”

Alexei studies him. “It’s very impressive.”

Misha wipes his mouth, then points at Alexei. “You need one.”

“I have enough problems.”