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For a second after she was born, I was jealous of the way Luka looked at her. At the way he clearly worshipped her. But then, I realized how lucky I was to have a man like that in my life. A man who cared for his daughter more than he cared for himself. Who would do anything to protect her.
Then, he looked up at me, and I recognized the look. It was the same one he gave our daughter, and I knew.
He worshipped me, too.
Milaya bats her tiny hands at the butterflies that flutter close to her stroller, trying to grab them, but they move too quickly. She turns her head from side to side, eyes wide and full of wonder.
I cling to the moment, knowing one day I’ll miss this.
A man appears at the corner of my vision. A dark shadow on the otherwise bright day. I turn to look at him, but Luka angles himself in front of me and Milaya, blocking my view.
I stretch to look around him, but I see the tension in his shoulders and follow the line up to his face. His eyes are narrowed. His gaze is on me, but his attention is somewhere else. Once again, I try to see around him, but he moves to block my view and then grabs my chin.
When I look into his eyes now, they are soft. My favorite shade of green. Like sunlight through spring leaves.
All thoughts of the man behind us disappear as Luka wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me against him. His lips flutter against mine, softer than butterfly wings, and I melt into him.
2
Luka
As soon as my eyes drag open, I’m on my feet.
Holding onto furniture and walls for support, I stumble through my bedroom and into the hall.
“Hello?”
I know Eve isn’t here and she and Milaya are gone, but we have security. Men from the Bratva who watch the house in shifts.
Ever since Eve was kidnapped by her father, I’ve made sure we have security on the property. Even if our system failed, the guards should have noticed something was going on.
“Hello?” I scream, voice hoarse and dry.
The house is eerily silent, and I stop at the top of the stairs, trying to listen for any movement. There is nothing, and I grip the handrail so hard on my way down the stairs that I’m surprised it doesn’t break off in my hands.
Eve wanted me to quit smoking. If I hadn’t been outside smoking a cigarette, this never would have happened.
The Irish wouldn’t have gotten into my house and taken my wife and child.
All of this is my fault.
I reach the landing and move towards the back of the house where the guards should have been keeping watch from the security room.
As soon as I walk into the small hallway where the door to the security room is, I see the blood.
A thick red puddle leaks out from beneath the door. It is congealed and sticky, meaning it has been there for a while.
How long have I been unconscious?
I turn the handle and toe the door open. It opens a couple feet before it catches on something and won’t open any further.
It is a body.
“Shit.” I slam the door closed and lean back against the wall, hands tugging at my hair.
The Irish did this. I know that. The raid earlier in the evening was a distraction. Rian Morrison had a recording of me killing her brother, which gave her enough evidence to bring me in but not enough to hold me.
But that doesn’t matter. It was a distraction.
