1. April

1

APRIL

24 HOURS EARLIER

"Concierge, how can I help you?"

Looping the phone lanyard around my neck like the noose it is, I start folding the towels. Though "folding" is a strong word. An even stronger word? "Towels." A dirty kitchen rug would be less of a health code violation than whatever passes for cleaning implements around here. One more round in Mrs. Tanner's germ-breeding excuse for a washing machine, and they'll end up developing a conscience.

Oh, well. At least that means somebody would have one in this place. I don't think my current bosses ever had that problem—certainly not Mrs. Tanner.

Or a soul, for that matter. You'd have better luck scanning for ghosts.

Though I would advise against waving around a blacklight. Some things are better left unseen.

"Bedbugs, you say?" I ask the caller as I pile up the clean laundry. Again, strong word. "Oh, those aren't bugs , ma'am, not really. If anything, I'd say they're bed features . Ever heard of a cat hotel? It's a bit like that."

Ms. Room 104 yells into my brain. It's an ear-splitting screech, a cross between a banshee and a dial-up modem. Nothing I haven't heard before. Ms. Tanner isn't big on what we'd call "customer service."

"A one-star review?" I try my best to gasp, but all I can manage is a yawn. "How terrible. So sorry your experience hasn't been up to standard. Tell you what: I can recommend a good place to eat. I swear to you, the wontons are to die for . "

I take the clean(ish) sheets up to the third floor and start my final round of cleaning. If it can even be called that. With how quick Mrs. Tanner expects me to be, it's a miracle I manage to wash anything at all.

Probably because they weren't expecting you to actually do it , I realize with a shudder.

I vacuum the carpets (if they can even be called that), strip the beds (again, if they can even be called that), mend a couple of mysterious holes in the sheets (again—), and so on. All the while, the customer keeps yelling my ear off.

Just another Tuesday, really.

"Oh, you—you want me to go die?" I blurt out as I empty the bin. I always try not to look, but it's like watching a train wreck: you don't want to see it, but you also kind of do. "That's not very nice, ma'am. If you didn't like Chinese, you could've just said so."

Then I check under the pillows for drugs.

Not for me, of course. It's just that the local cartel seems particularly fond of hiding things inside pillowcases, especially if said things are expensive. And against the law. I suppose a motel in the middle of nowhere does make for an ideal storage space.

But I don't want that kind of trouble here.

I'm done with gang activity. And this may be a short-term, shitty gig, but I don't want anything jeopardizing it.

For now, at least, I need it.

I need a shitty boss like Mrs. Tanner, willing to turn a blind eye in exchange for me beavering away. As long as I don't kick up a fuss, or turn up my nose at the—ahem—bed features crawling all around the place, she'll let me keep my relatively clean room, my anonymity, and my hard-won freedom by not mentioning me to the authorities.

Or the newborn in my room.

That's the crux of the matter, really. That's the reason I don't want to get involved with anything dangerous—with any one dangerous—again.

Because it's not just about me anymore.

After finishing my rounds, I drag myself back to my room. "Exhausted" doesn't even begin to cover how I feel. But the second I lay eyes on the bundle by the window, everything melts away.

As if sensing my presence, the baby stirs. She lets out a whine, grabby hands reaching up into the air.

I cross the room and make my way to the crib. "Hush," I whisper, taking her in my arms. "Mommy's got you, Nugget."

I smile to myself. It's hard to remember sometimes that it's not her name anymore. Hasn't been for almost four weeks.

It's still a good nickname, though.

She gurgles against my chest, demanding dinner.

"I swear," I shake my head as I oblige, "sometimes, you're just like your father."

As Nugget latches on, I let my mind wander. I try my hardest not to think of him. Every day, from the moment the sun rises to its last blink over the trees, I dive into my work and try to forget him.

But sometimes… sometimes, I let myself remember.

"Matvey…" I breathe into the silence, too quiet for anyone to hear.

I wonder if he'd like her. If he'd look at her with the same cold gaze he did me that last time we saw each other, or if he'd let himself thaw. If he'd be warm with her as he once was with me.

I wonder if he'd smile.

It's pointless , I scold myself. You've already made your choice.

I don't regret what I did. It was the only play I had left. The only thing that would let my child grow up free from the shackles I've struggled against all my life.

I had to break the cycle. I had to break free .

Even if it meant breaking free from him.

"Seriously? You're already sleeping again?" I let out a laugh.

In my arms, Nugget coos tiredly. She's a real sleepyhead—a dream baby, honestly. Just as cozy as she was in my belly, though I have no idea where she gets it from. Certainly not from me.

Certainly not from her dad, either.

Just as I'm pushing away the thought of Matvey again, there's a knock on the door. A series of knocks, in fact, delivered with extreme precision.

"Come in!"

The door opens. The heavenly smell of takeout wafts in, making my stomach growl. "Can we please change the knock? I can't stress how unsafe this is."

"Hey!" I protest. "What do you have against Shave and a Haircut ? It's a classic."

"And that's exactly why it will be anyone's first guess. It's not a secret knock if the junkie down the road can do it."

"Bold of you to assume the junkies stay down the road," I mutter.

"You picked this castle, princess, not me."

"Fair." I make grabby hands at the takeout bags. "Now, gimme. Mommy's hungry."

Wordlessly, Yuri hands them over.

Yuri. If anyone had told me two weeks ago that this would happen, I would've asked them where they kept the good stuff. Or not—what with the pregnancy and all—but still.

Instead, here we are.

"He hasn't stopped searching, you know," Yuri mutters around a mouthful of kung pao chicken. "He sent out another party today, not too far from here."

"But not here?" I venture.

"But not here."

Of course he hasn't. All this time, Yuri's been covering for me—overseeing the search, steering people away from the motel.

There's no way I would've made it four weeks under Matvey's radar otherwise.

"How is he?" I ask, unable to keep my mouth shut.

"How do you think?" Yuri snaps, but without any real bite. If anything, he just seems sad. "He's torn up inside, April. Hasn't slept a wink since it happened. Since…" He lets the sentence hang in the air, unfinished.

"Since you helped me run," I finish for him.

I regret those words immediately. Yuri's face tightens, darkens. His eyes fill with pain, with a thousand conflicting feelings at once.

"Why did you?" I finally ask. "Help me run?"

I remember it like it was yesterday: the hospital, the birth, the pain. The blood on the sheets and the phone in my hand.

"Yuri. It's me. I need your help."

It takes a while for him to speak. When he finally does, his voice is tight, too. "Matvey wasn't…" He hesitates. "He wasn't his best self back then. I can only imagine what that meant for you."

He told me he'd lock me up in a cage and never let another man near me , I almost spit, but I manage to stop myself. Even if Matvey said those things, I can't imagine he fully meant them. Or that he meant them the way I took them. And if he did…

Either way, Yuri doesn't need to hear it.

"He married Petra," I say instead. "He has a legitimate heir on the way. He didn't need me. Didn't need us. "

"Maybe he did," Yuri mutters, expression unreadable. "Maybe he needed you more than ever. Maybe he still does."

I don't reply to that.

It's pointless anyway: I made my choice. I left. There's no coming back from that.

Not with someone like Matvey Groza.

"Wanna hold her?" I ask instead.

It's one of the best moments of the day—getting to drop my baby in Yuri's arms. Watching his face go white and red at the same time, like he has no idea where his hands even go.

But he's been learning. "She really likes you," I say.

Yuri winces. "She likes everyone. She just wants something warm to snuggle into."

I watch his gruff face slip into a smile and I melt. He looks so much like Matvey.

"You're going to be a great dad one day, you know?"

Yuri chokes on his next bite.

I can't help it then—I laugh. I laugh with all I have. Things might be rough now. They might even be terrible. I'm at the lowest I've ever been, with no one to talk to but my daughter's spiritually teenaged uncle, and yet…

And yet, somehow, I think it'll be okay.

No, I know i t will be okay.

Because I'll make damn sure of it.