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“What about when we go back home? You’ll stay here?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to leave. I like it here.”
“We don’t always get to do what we want, Leo,” I tell him gently. “But it won’t be like before. You and I can talk on the phone and visit.”
My son looks up at me with wide, worried eyes. “Do you promise?”
As a general rule, I hate making promises. Being thePakhanisn’t about accountability. It’s about power and control. I’m not obligated to advance anyone’s agenda besides my own.
But I look at my son, and I know, even before the words leave my mouth, what I’ll say.
“I promise.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
LYLA
It started snowing a while ago. I’m not sure exactly how long it’s been. Watching the flakes fall feels a lot like all of my time in Russia has seemed—suspended in space.
I’m so far from who I used to be. The only facet of my identity that’s remained the same is being Leo’s mom.
I don’t go to work.
I’m not in a relationship.
Other people cook and clean for me.
All I do is take up space in this big, empty house.
My foot starts to cramp. I shift, rubbing my toes against the velvet upholstery of the chair my legs are flung across.
After a productive evening, spent refolding my sweaters and eating dinner alone, I ended up in the living room.
My only company is a bottle of wine I stole from the dining room after eating. Usually, I’d be upstairs by now, helping Leo with his homework and getting him ready for bed. Then, I’ll read or watch television before falling asleep.
A predictable, boring routine Nick eviscerated with his invitation to Leo.
I cast an anxious look at the clock and then drink more wine.
Five hours.
That’s how long Nick and Leo have been gone for. Every second that ticks by feels like an eternity. Of waiting and wondering and worrying.
So, I’ve settled for drinking and watching the flakes of snow drift down from the sky. A fire crackles in the stone fireplace, each occasionalsnapof burning wood making my pulse jolt.
I lose track of how much more time passes before I hear the click of the front door opening.
I stand and rush toward the hallway, my head hazy from the sudden motion and the wine.
Nick stands in the entryway, murmuring quietly to one of the butlers. The front door is open, a line of cars pulled up outside. Bright headlights illuminate the path of the falling snow and backlight Nick.
He looks at me as soon as I walk into the entryway.
I wrap the sweater I’m wearing more tightly around my waist, buffering myself against the cold air rushing inside. And against the sight of seeing Leo fast asleep in his father’s arms for the second time.
Leo grew too tall and heavy for me to easily carry years ago, but Nick doesn’t look the least bit winded. He looks strong and capable as he passes me and heads up the stairs.
