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“And the tattoo?”
“I'll have an answer.”
“Good.”
Roman lowers his voice. “Get some rest, brat.”
A humorless breath leaves me. “You called to give orders?”
“I called because you sound like a man about to burn the city down before sunrise.”
“Would that be a problem?”
“Only if you do it without me.”
The response earns the closest thing to a smile I've managed all night. Then the grief returns.
“I owe Irina. Blood for blood.” My hand tightens around the phone. “The longer they breathe, the harder this becomes.”
“No,” Roman counters. “The longer they breathe, the more mistakes they make.”
That much is true.
We end the call a minute later, after confirming details. Men, files, routes, names, and every possible connection between Clara's hidden messages and the attack. When the line goes dead, I remain by the window with the phone in my hand.
The mansion sleeps around me while I remain awake. My daughter sleeps because Maggie stayed. Irina is dead because someone wanted Ivy. And somewhere, the person responsible believes they’re beyond my reach.
They’re wrong.
3
MAGGIE
A scream rips me out of sleep so violently that for one disoriented moment, I don’t know where I am. It's dark, the blanket is twisted around my legs, and my heart pounds until I remember the room, the mansion, and the small body thrashing next to me.
Winston jerks awake with a startled whine. He scrambles across the mattress, nails skittering against the blanket as he crowds against Ivy's side. On the floor, Daisy is already up, pacing beside the bed.
“No!”
Ivy’s cry tears through the quiet, making my stomach drop. She’s tangled in the blanket, her cheeks wet, her little hands clawing at the sheets like she’s trying to fight her way out of a nightmare that still has its hands on her. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and every breath shudders out of her in broken pieces.
“Irina!” she sobs. “Irina, wake up!”
“Oh, sweetheart.” My voice cracks before I can stop it. I push the blanket aside and reach for her, moving carefully so I don’t scare her worse. “Ivy, baby, it’s Maggie. I’m right here.”
She doesn’t hear me at first. Her head moves back and forth against the pillow, hair stuck to her damp cheeks, while her body shakes beneath my hands. The sound of her crying pulls me straight back to the shelter hallway, blood on my palms and Irina’s face going pale beneath the awful fluorescent lights.
I gather her into my arms, holding her against my chest while she fights the nightmare for another breath. “I’ve got you,” I whisper, rocking her gently. “You’re safe, baby. You’re at home. I’m here.”
Her eyes fly open, wide and terrified, and she stares at me like she’s deciding whether I’m real or not. The moment she recognizes me, her face crumples all over again. “Maggie.”
“I’m here.” I rest my cheek on her hair and hold on tighter. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“She wouldn’t wake up,” Ivy cries against my shirt.
My throat burns so badly that answering hurts. I don’t know how to take a child’s grief and make it small enough for her to carry. All I can do is hold her while my own tears slip free.
The mattress dips beside us, and I look up. Alexei is there. His hair is messy, and his shirt sleeves are wrinkled at the elbows. There are shadows under his pale blue eyes, but he’s focused only on Ivy. I’ve seen Alexei angry. I’ve seen him cold, commanding, and terrifyingly calm. But I’ve never seen him look helpless until now.
