45. April

45

APRIL

When I wake up, there's a note from Matvey on the table.

Business meeting over breakfast downstairs. Will bring muffins back.

PS. Your cat is a menace.

I shake my head and laugh. "What did you do this time, Buttons?"

A furry little head pops up from the crib, the picture of innocence. It would almost work, except for the blue tie in its mouth.

"You little plunderer!" I scold without any real heat. "Always looking for treasures to hoard. I swear, it's like you're an actual pirate."

"Mrowr."

I swipe the tie and check on my baby. May's sound asleep, her tiny hands holding tightly onto Buttons's tail. To his credit, Buttons hasn't complained yet. "Fine. I'll let it slide, but only this once."

I give him a scratch behind the ears, then go wake up Charlie. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead."

He groans. "Five m're minutes…"

It's such a domestic scene, I can't help the stupid grin on my face. My cat's antics, my brother's complaints. My baby, sleeping the morning away just because. And then Matvey's note, sweet and ordinary, like we're just any other normal couple.

No Bratva, no fake marriages—just us.

I poke Charlie some more. When that doesn't work, I pull out my secret weapon. "I heard there's muffins on the way."

His head immediately pops up from the blanket. "Chocolate or blueberry?"

"Knowing Matvey, probably both."

"Can I have coffee, too?"

"Nope. You're way too young."

We're interrupted by knocking on the door. "I'll get it," I tell him.

Then, once I'm there, I stop. My hand is on the doorknob, but something tells me to be careful. Call it a sixth sense, a mother's instinct—whatever.

"Forgot your keys?" I ask through the door, putting on a carefree tone.

No reply.

"Matvey?" I try again.

The knocking resumes, more insistent. BoomBOOMboomBOOM.

"Sis?" Charlie calls over from the couch. "Something wrong?"

Yes. I don't tell him that, though. Instead, I lean quietly down and look through the peephole.

I freeze.

What is he doing here? How did he know where…?

I force my voice to sound calm. "Hey, can you take May to your room for a bit?"

Charlie frowns. "Apes, are you…?"

"It's okay," I cut him off. "I'll only be a second. But this is really important: no matter what you hear, I want you to stay with her. Can you do that for me?"

"You're scaring me."

"I know." I give him the best smile I can muster. "Don't worry. This'll be over in a second."

With a tight nod, Charlie obeys.

I can tell he doesn't want to. Even when we were kids, he was always throwing himself between me and danger. He was younger than me, but he still tried to save me every time.

Now, it's my turn to save him.

You could just keep the door shut , the rational part of me whispers. Call Matvey, tell him what's happening. He'd come rushing at your side.

But I don't call him. I'm done hiding behind other people's backs. I'm done running away.

I fight my own battles now.

So I take a deep breath, steel myself, and open the door.

"Hi, April," says the man on the other side.

I offer him a tight smile. "Hi, Tom."

The last time I saw my stepfather, I was seventeen.

It was the day I decided to stick it out at Dominic's until my eighteenth birthday. Not that I had any control over that: back then, I was being shipped back and forth like an unwanted parcel. But I knew how it worked, and I knew how to beg.

So I begged. I begged my father to take me back. I begged Nora, too, and my stepsisters. I apologized for all the imagined slights they'd cooked up against me and promised to be good from then on. I'd do all the chores, stay out of sight, be as quiet as a mouse.

Because I couldn't bear to see Charlie hurt again.

No—I couldn't bear to see him hurt because of me.

And I'm not going to let it happen now.

"Where's my son, April?"

I swallow hard. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, but you do. That's his backpack right there." He points to the corner of the couch.

Crap. "It's a common brand," I try.

"Sure, and I'm fucking Santa Claus. Now, where is he?"

I have to force myself not to gag or reel back. The stench of alcohol on his breath is enough to make anyone in a range of fifty feet test positive to a breathalyzer by osmosis. "I don't think this is a good idea, Tom. You've clearly had a few."

"And I'll have a few more after I get the kid back. Teach him some respect, while I'm at it."

"And give him another black eye?"

"I've got nothing to do with that."

"Right. I'm sure he just tripped."

"Why not? The boy's clumsy." He shrugs. His face is lobster-red, like he just spent a week straight in the sun. I know better, of course. If there's anything Tom hates more than staying sober, it's waking up before dark. "Could trip over his own two feet. You remember, don't you? How distracted he can be?"

I grit my teeth. "I remember you helping him with that. And I'm not letting you do that anymore."

"For fuck's sake, he's a minor," he barks back. "You can't keep him from his parents. You'd be breaking the law."

"So let's call the police," I retort. "See what they think about that black eye. See what he tells them."

Unexpectedly, Tom bursts out laughing. "Oh, please! He won't say a goddamn thing, and you know it. After all, I still have his mom at home. Yours, too, not that you'd care."

I care enough not to want her in the hospital. I keep the words sealed tightly behind my lips. It wouldn't do me any good now to give Tom another weakness to exploit.

But he sees right through me. "Aw, isn't that sweet? Someone's got a heart after all. Thought all that money was turning you into a snob like your daddy."

"Tom, I will call the cops."

"Nah, see, I don't think you will. I mean, do you really want the police here?" He gestures broadly at the hotel. "Your boyfriend certainly wouldn't appreciate it."

"Partner," I correct icily.

"Sure, whatever. You think I don't read the papers? You think I don't know you hooked up with a mob boss? By all means, let's call the cops. See what they think of that. "

"Conspiracy blogs aren't ‘papers'—"

"Whatever you sheeple say."

"—and if you think I'm going to just hand over Charlie, you're even stupider than I remembered."

That gets a reaction. "I'd be careful if I were you, April."

"Right back at you, Tom."

He laughs, dry and deranged. "What, you think I want the kid back? It's a hassle! But his mother won't stop fuckin' crying. It's like she's depressed or something. Won't even put out anymore."

"You're the worst, you know that?"

"I do my best."

"I can see that."

"How ‘bout this, then?" He grins, showing a row of rotten teeth. "Step up and I'll let you keep him."

I frown. "‘Step up' as in…?"

"Put out. Cross an item off your dear mommy's to-do list. I'm sure you remember how it goes? I mean, you've had a kid, so clearly you've finally learned what that shit between your legs is for. Or do you need a reminder?"

It takes me a moment to fully process what I'm hearing.

Then the rage sets in.

"You're disgusting," I spit.

"And you're not?" he guffaws. "Look who thinks she's hot shit just because she's fuckin' the gangster boss. Lemme tell you something, sweetheart: you're a whore."

"You—"

"A pathetic little side piece to some rich, married guy," he cuts me off without ceremony. "It's all over the papers, you know? Him with that blonde wife of his. Wouldn't mind getting a piece of that , but I guess everyone has to make do sometimes."

Suddenly, his hand shoots towards me. I pull away, but I'm not fast enough—his sweaty fingers close around my wrist, trapping me in the doorway.

"Let go of me," I rasp.

"What? You don't like married men anymore?" he mocks. His stale breath is right against me now, so close I could retch from the stench alone.

But what worries me the most is his other hand. It finds my hip and squeezes, hard enough to leave a bruise. I try to shake it off, but it's useless. I'm useless.

Come on, react. For God's sake, react! You're not a kid anymore! You're not young like you were when he last tried… when he…

I cast the memories off. They're no good to me now. Charlie was there last time. He didn't understand what was going on—only that his father wanted to hurt me. Back then, he saved me.

Now, there's no one.

Before long, Tom's hand starts sliding down, down, down. I'm paralyzed, a deer in the headlights. For a second, I forget everything: my brother in the next room, Matvey downstairs. All I can think is, This is it. This is gonna happen.

"You want it, don't you?"

"No," I croak.

"Fuck yeah, you do. You've always wanted it. That's what all those skimpy dresses were about, huh? You wanted me to rip them off of ya?"

"They weren't skimpy!" I cry out. "They were just dresses! I was seventeen, Tom!"

"And with a rack like a porn star. C'mon, be honest: you wanted to pull one over on Mommy, didn't ya? Steal her man and then brag about it?"

He keeps pouring filth into my ear. I can't do anything to stop it. Everything I say, he ignores; every denial, he mocks; and with every move I make to free myself, he only grips me harder.

React.

Fucking hell, react!

What if this was happening to your daughter?

That's what snaps me out of it. Of all things, it's May. May, who was born a girl in a world like this—a world I'm going to have to protect her from.

How the hell can I do that if I can't even protect myself?

"Guess I can make the sacrifice." Tom sneers as he feels up my thigh. "Fuck a couple cobwebs away since I'm at it. Maybe even put another bastard in ya."

"I doubt it," I force out. "You'd have to get it up for that."

I watch the lust drain from his face. Fury replaces it instead. "You little…!"

He pries his hand off my thigh and raises it high. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself: it's not the first slap I've ever gotten from Tom, but it's the first in a long time. I don't know how used to it I am anymore.

But before the blow can land, I hear a voice.

His voice.

"Get the fuck away from my woman."