36. Matvey

36

MATVEY

A crackling fireplace. The scent of sweet smoke. Snow, just outside, rattling the windows.

It doesn't matter, the snow. Even if the wind sneaks in from the cracks, chilling and biting, there is warmth. Warmth like fire. Warmth like a hug.

A mother. A child. Another endless night.

"Go to sleep," the mother laughs softly. "If Daddy comes home, I'll wake you."

I don't give a crap about Dad, the child wants to say. He can sleep in the snow for all I care.

But his eyelids are heavy, and his mother's voice is warm, and her embrace is warmer, warmer, warmer still.

So the child cuddles closer, burrows into his mother's arms, and sleeps.

I blink awake slowly. It takes me a moment to put my surroundings into focus: the couch, the television, the freshly cleaned kitchen. Morning light streams from the curtains, illuminating an empty living room.

Empty but for two people.

Or maybe I should say three . Inside April's curled-up form, our child sleeps, tucked close against my chest.

When did we fall asleep? I wonder, sluggish. Why did we fall asleep like this?

And, lastly, What was I dreaming about again?

As my senses slowly come back to me, I realize there's one person missing from this equation: Charlie.

"Guest room," April mumbles sleepily from under the blanket. "Didn't wanna wake you."

I look down at her mess of curls, made messier by the position she slept in. I'd never seen April with bedhead. It suits her. Goofy, but endearing. Like pretty much the rest of her. "And what's your excuse?" I ask lightly.

April just burrows deeper into me. "Comfy," she mutters, not bothering to uncurl from the embrace.

It sparks unfamiliar warmth at the center of my chest, which I do my damnedest to fight off. It's been a while since this has happened—waking up with another person by my side.

How strange.

I should be aching in a million different places. I should be crawling out of my skin, itching to get away. Instead, all I want to do is follow April's example and go back to sleep.

Stay. The first time April suggested that, sex-addled and dazed, I bolted. It was instinct; it was self-preservation.

But now…

Get it together , I snarl at myself. This isn't like back then.

This isn't your family.

Except that it is. At least in part—the part April's cradling inside herself. My blood. My child.

Perhaps that's what's driving me crazy here, making me see things that aren't there. Because, even though it's been years since I've had this, I can't help but remember what it felt like.

Family.

Not like the family I've grown used to—a family on the run. Just me and Yuri against the cold, hard world. This feels different; a woman and a child, a blanket and a fireplace. The kind of family that comes without a fight.

The kind that makes you want to…

"What are you thinking about?" April murmurs into my side, lifting her messy head towards me.

You , part of me wants to tell her. Us.

Staying.

For so long, I've been telling myself I can't have that: an us. Not with anyone. If family's the only thing that can be trusted, who's left to make one with?

I'm not going to leave myself open to betrayal. I'm not going to let anyone close enough to try. Not after my own blood turned its back on me.

And yet, when April looks up at me with those warm, hazel eyes, the color of forest floors and riverbeds…

When she looks at me like that, I almost want to risk it all again.

It's a foolish thought. It's the haze of sleep, I tell myself, making me cling to stupid dreams. Childish dreams. Dreams I haven't entertained in forever.

But why not dream a little longer?

Without thinking, I draw close. April draws closer still. Our breaths are brushing against each other, lips nearly touching. This isn't going to be like all our other kisses, I realize. This isn't going to be hungry, desperate, passionate. This isn't going to be physical.

It's a terrifying thought.

And then, just as I'm tilting up her chin, just as her lips are parting to meet mine?—

For the second time in as many days, all hell breaks loose outside my door.

"I told you to let me through, you oversized excuse for a chimpanzee!"

April's pupils shrink. From the guestroom, a lanky figure emerges, just as sleep-mussed as his sister. The siblings lock eyes.

"Mom's here," they whisper in unison.

It's a day of firsts. Before I've had a chance to assess the situation, April jumps up, ready to assume her battle position. "Charlie," she calls firmly. "Hide."

But Charlie shakes his head. "It's me she wants," he rasps, like some tragic hero from a comic book, ready to face his demons.

I decide I've had enough of the dramatics.

No demons are getting through my door today.

I stand, grab my jacket, fix my tie. Then, once I've made myself presentable again, I cross the distance between the couch and the door with swift steps.

But, just as I'm about to throw the door open, April rushes over, stilling my hand.

"No!" she pleads. "Let me handle this."

I don't want to let her handle this. I don't want to let her handle anything. Worse, part of me wants to bundle her up and turn back time a few precious minutes, bring her back to that couch, pick up exactly where we left off.

But I'm way too familiar with that look. It's the look my men get in their eyes when they cross paths with an old foe, finding a score to settle.

Right now, April needs to be the one to settle this score.

So I give her a nod, step away, and let her handle this.

The second April pulls the door open, a woman-shaped hurricane storms into the penthouse. "You!" Eleanor Hill barks, jabbing a trembling finger at her daughter.

And there's truly no mistaking it. Her eyes, her freckles, her height: everything about her screams April's mother. If not for the disdain on her face, they could almost pass for half-siblings themselves.

Almost.

"Hi, Mom."

April's voice is calm, clear. But Eleanor isn't so easily pacified—wagging her finger like a weapon, she starts yelling at everybody in the room, starting with her wayward daughter. "How dare you steal my son?"

April's taken aback. She gives Eleanor her trademark customer service blink, the one that seems to say, I beg your fucking pardon? but doesn't actually spell it out. What was her phrase of choice? "No body, no crime"?

"Mrs. Hill," I greet impassively.

Eleanor gives me a cursory scowl. "And who the fuck are you?"

"Mom!" Charlie scolds. He sounds every bit the embarrassed teenager whose mother is making a scene in front of everyone—which, considering the situation, really isn't far off the mark. Even the bodyguards are leaning in close to eavesdrop, those lazy fuckers.

"Oh, don't you ‘Mom' me!" Eleanor snaps, whirling around to face her son. "You think this is funny, don't you? Disappearing on me, yelling all those mean things?—"

"I wasn't yelling; you were?—"

"Quiet!" she hisses. "You are in a sea of trouble, young man. Go pack up your things right this second. We're going home."

"Mom," April interrupts, her tone still placating, "let him explain."

"Don't think I'm done with you ," Eleanor snarls, not even looking at her daughter. "You're lucky I could track Charlie's phone. Otherwise, you know who would've shown up at your snazzy door? That's right: the fucking cops! "

"You tracked my phone?!" Charlie shouts.

"Pack. Your. Bags," Eleanor cries back. "Now. Or else, I'll make your dad come get you."

That gets a reaction out of both siblings. I watch them freeze and, not for the first time, I'm hit with the urge to reach for my gun.

Let him come , I want to snarl. Let's see how he likes the taste of lead.

But it's not my fight.

"Mom," April pleads, "can we please just talk about this?"

Fucking hell, it's taking every ounce of my willpower not to step in. Especially when Eleanor whirls around again like a harpy, staring daggers at April right in front of me. "Oh, so now you wanna ‘talk,' huh?"

"That's all I've ever wanted!"

I notice Charlie's still standing in the middle of the room, conflicted. On one hand, he clearly doesn't want to upset his mother even more—or worse, risk his dad's wrath. On the other…

On the other, his sister's still in the line of fire.

Last night's conversation comes back to mind. It plays back in my head like a recording, word for goddamn word.

"He took your side. He stood up for you. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"It is for me."

Taking advantage of the chaos, I inch closer to Charlie. "Go," I mutter to him. "I've got this."

Only then does he finally shake himself. With a quick "Thanks," he disappears into the guest room.

I turn my attention back to the conversation between April and her mother. Though it isn't much of a conversation to begin with: it's a one-sided assault, with Eleanor tearing into her with sharp, vicious words.

At my sides, my fists clench tighter.

"‘That's all you've ever wanted?'" Eleanor mocks, throwing April's honesty right back into her face. "Hah! Could've fooled me. And here I thought you were just trying to snatch yourself an actual kid." Her glare turns to April's belly. "What's that, by the way? A prop?"

Without ceremony, she lifts April's shirt.

I nearly whip out my gun.

Don't you dare touch my child.

Don't you dare touch their mother.

But Eleanor doesn't go any further. All she does is gawk at the very real belly before her and sneer, "Well, well, look at that! Seems like someone was brave enough after all."

"Mom…" April's voice wavers, mortified.

"I guess everybody gets lonely sometimes," Eleanor dismisses, letting the shirt drop. "Even desperate."

"Mom, please. I'm?—"

"Is this why you tried to kidnap my child?" Eleanor continues, oblivious to the murderous rage mounting inside me. If this woman wasn't my child's biological grandmother, she would already be six feet under. In several pieces. "Because you know you can never do better? Charlie's always been a good kid, after all. Nothing like you."

"Leave Charlie out of this!"

"You've always been jealous," Eleanor spits, full of scorn. "And now, you're trying to poison him against me. All so you can ruin him!"

"I never wanted…!" April tries to cut in, but her voice is too unsteady. It breaks before she can finish her sentence.

Smelling blood in the water, Eleanor jumps right on it. "Oh, you, you, you . It's always the same song with you. Don't you know you have to be selfless to raise kids?" A mocking laugh. "Some mother you're shaping up to be."

April's eyes dim.

It's the most sickening feeling, watching the light go out of her gaze. April, who always has a kind word for everyone. April, who always sees the bright side. April, who never takes shit lying down. Sun or fire, her eyes always hold a spark.

Until now.

React , I want to scream. React! Didn't you ask me to let you handle this?

But she doesn't.

She dims.

"It's my fault for never teaching you a lesson." Eleanor is lost in her delirium, spit flecking her painted lips as she sneers and jabs that spindly finger here and there in the air. "I always let Tom take up that burden. But you couldn't even be grateful for that."

"I'm s-sorry," April chokes.

"Not yet." Eleanor raises her hand. "But you will be."

April flinches back; Eleanor's hand draws an arc in the air; and just when the sharp crack! of a slap should echo?—

"Ow!"

My fingers close around her wrist, freezing it midair.

Eleanor recovers quickly. Her fury zeroes in on me. "How dare ? — "

"You asked me who I am." The witch tries to talk, but her words fizzle out when I squeeze her wrist harder. I don't intend to give her a chance to open her damn mouth again. "No—you asked me ‘who the fuck' I am, to be exact."

I tighten my grip more. Not quite enough to cause damage, but enough to make her stop trying to yank her wrist away.

Enough to make her listen.

"My name is Matvey Groza," I continue icily. "I'm the owner of this hotel. I'm the father of your daughter's child. And, unless your hand goes right back into your pocket, I'm gonna be the man who ripped it clean off your body for daring to touch someone like that in my presence."

I whisper that last part, careful not to let Charlie catch it.

But I make sure Eleanor hears every word.

"You're threatening me?" she squeaks. Her earlier bravado has already started to leak out of her voice. Through my fingers, I can feel the clear tremor of her wrist.

It reminds me of an old Chinese saying: The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind it.

Meet the fucking oriole, bitch.

"Mrs. Hill," I say with a hint of amusement, "the only reason you're getting a choice at all is because your children are here. And because, unlike your deadbeat husband, I don't enjoy hitting women and kids."

I catch a flash of surprise across April's face. Eleanor's off-handed mention of Tom shouldn't have meant anything to me—so how do I know? I can practically read the question written across her face.

But April's too smart not to put two and two together. In a second, her expression changes again, this time to something more complicated. Something I don't have the time to decipher.

"In the interest of unsolicited advice—" I turn back to Eleanor. "—you should think twice before hitching yourself to a known felon. But then again, you probably weren't thinking much, what with all the drinking."

Eleanor bristles. "Keep your filthy implications?—"

"As long as you keep your filthy hands to yourself," I cut in "and your filthy, alcoholic breath out of my face."

Then, abruptly, I let her wrist go.

Eleanor stumbles off-balance. She tries to catch herself on April's shoulder, but April flinches away again, this time with purpose. It's only the open door behind her back that prevents Eleanor from falling face-first on the floor.

"Next time you want to criticize the mother of my child, you might want to consider looking into a mirror." I take an instinctive step closer to April. "Then you'll see what a failure of a parent really looks like."

In that moment, Charlie comes back with his overnight bag. He watches the scene with a confused expression, which confirms for me that he's caught nothing of the last few exchanges. Good. If Eleanor's grown any wiser in the last three minutes, she'll keep the details to herself.

If not, I doubt Charlie will mind.

"I don't have to stand here and take this." Eleanor quivers, face red with rage. "Do whatever the fuck you want. I'm out of this shithole."

And she storms right out.

"What happened?" Charlie rushes over.

"Just made a couple of things clear," I answer. "As for you…"

Charlie straightens up, as if expecting a blow of some kind. Some mother , I find myself thinking bitterly. Her kids flinch and cringe whenever she's close enough to touch them.

"Feel free to stay as long as you need," I finish.

April finally snaps back to reality. "Yes!" she agrees wholeheartedly. "If you don't want to go back?—"

"No." Charlie shakes his head, smiling faintly. "I… Thank you. But I'd better go after her. You know how she gets."

April gives an understanding nod.

The look on their faces is one I recognize. I've seen it often enough on Yuri as a kid—chopping wood, making dinner. I've seen it even longer in my own mirror. It's the look of a child forced to grow up too soon.

Though, in our cases, our mothers didn't have the choice to spare us.

"Thank you for everything," Charlie says again, holding out a hand to me.

I give it a firm shake. "If you change your mind, call."

He nods. "I will."

Then it's April's turn. He looks at her with a hangdog frown. "Sorry for making a mess," Charlie adds sheepishly.

She crushes him into a hug. "Promise you'll visit."

"Okay," he swears. "Lemme know when the little one's popped, yeah?"

"Deal."

Then Charlie's out, too, chasing after his harpy of a mother, who's still screaming bloody murder in the hallway.

Just like that, we're alone again.

Shit . That's my first thought. Did I really just threaten April's mother? Right in front of her? After she asked me to let her handle it ?

I search my mind for regret. I find none. If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a goddamn thing.

That woman was going to strike her.

And no one touches what's mine.

But I can't imagine April's thrilled with me right now. "I should go, too." I clear my throat. "Work. People to see."

It's the flimsiest excuse I've ever used—it's not even 8:00 A.M.—but I figure I should give her space. To… process. Or whatever it is normal people do.

I'm almost out the door when?—

"Wait."

Two fingers catch my sleeve, butterfly-light.

I turn. "Yes?"

April's eyes are shining again. It's not the sun-bright glow she usually has, but it's still a spark. It's still more than she had with Eleanor in the room.

"Thank you," she breathes, stunning me.

For once in my life, I don't know what to say.

Luckily, it seems that April does. "See you at dinner?" she asks, all hopeful.

I should tell her no. I should nip whatever the fuck this is in the bud—this warmth that has nothing to do with the fire of sex and passion. Instead, I tilt my head in acknowledgement. "See you at dinner."

Only then does April let me go.

When I climb into the car, I practically slam the door off its hinges.

Fuck.

This shit is getting out of control.