Chapter 39

Chapter 38

Sophia

"SOPHIA."

The sound of my name jerks me from my thoughts, making me drop the damning burner phone onto the bed. I spin around to find Yulia peeking through the slightly ajar door. Her big blue eyes, disoriented from a deep nap, squint at me.

"Yulia," I say, trying to regulate my heartbeat. "You scared me." Gathering myself, I quickly tuck the phone back into my purse and force a reassuring smile on my face.

"Sorry," she mumbles, her little fingers gripping the door. She ambles into the room, still dazed from sleep, blonde curls framing her sweet face. "I just woke up," she says, rubbing her eyes sleepily. "And I'm hungry."

A pang of affection softens my features. "Hungry?" I echo, rising from the bed. Her innocence in this whirlwind of danger is so at odds with what's at stake. "Well, we can't have that. I smelled something good wafting from downstairs. Want to go down there?"

Her face brightens immediately, any remnants of sleep chased away. "Really? What is it?"

"Come on, let's go find out," I encourage her, gesturing to the door. As we pass the side table, I eye my purse, its innocent exterior betraying the treachery it hides. A tight knot forms in my chest.

Stepping into the hallway, I take a moment to orient myself, then guide us down the winding staircase toward the kitchen.

"Max!" Yulia squeals in delight as the pup bounds over to us. He jumps up, his fluffy tail wagging wildly at the sight of his favorite playmate.

I force a laugh, bending down to give the puppy a quick pat, keeping up the facade of normalcy. But beneath the surface, guilt gnaws at me. Every innocent interaction, every shared smile, is a blade twisting deeper.

"I think Luka is preparing something yummy for us," I say, reaching for Yulia's hand. Her small fingers curl around mine, and we head toward the kitchen door. "Macaroni," I reveal, giving her a conspiratorial wink.

Her face brightens, a smile forming. "Really? That makes my tummy…hungrish," she declares, her hands theatrically patting her stomach. Her flawed English, misshapen by childlike innocence, is adorable.

She's so damn cute.

I chuckle, but all this is unbearably sweet. And it hits me like a sucker punch. I'm the snake in their Eden, the traitor in their midst, all smiles and kind words, and it's just goddamn lies.

My chest tightens as I feel Yulia's small hand in mine. She looks up at me with absolute trust. Trust I don't deserve.

Dammit, Aleks! What deadly plan are you plotting.

Fear curls its icy tendrils around my heart, and I grit my teeth against it. My mind spins with terrifying possibilities.

Am I putting Yulia in danger?

My betrayal pounds in my ears with each heartbeat. I'm a hypocrite, using them like pawns in Aleks's sick game. And the worst part? I'm good at it. I'm good at fooling them, playing the part of the devoted caregiver, the woman who's becoming a friend. But the dread chewing at my gut keeps reminding me of the bed of deception I'm laying.

And then there's Luka. Damn him. Why did he have to be a part of this? His eyes, cold and unreadable, always give me chills. There's a dangerous power about him, a lethal aura that spells trouble. He's no angel, that's for sure. No, he can be the devil.

But for Yulia, he's just her big brother. A pillar of strength. And Yulia… God, she's just a child. Already scarred by loss. How much more would she have to endure?

"Do you smell that?" Yulia's voice is eager, shattering my self-loathing reverie.

I flutter my eyelashes, focusing back on the present. There's a mouth-watering aroma wafting down the staircase, and I realize it's Luka's cooking.

"Mmm, this smells good," I comment lightly, shoving my guilt down further. Yulia grins at me, and again, I'm swept up in her innocence.

"Careful there," I warn as she bounces ahead, tugging me along with her.

Taking a breath, I plaster a smile onto my face, pushing the dread down, down, down until I can taste it at the back of my throat. I've made my bed, and now I have to lie in it. For Nilo. Wren. Nana. For them.

God, what have I done?

"Wait, all of this is…for lunch?" My voice comes out as a bewildered squeak as I take in the spread before us. Luka has truly outdone himself. The macaroni sits proudly in the center, steam wafting from the creamy, hearty dish. Accompanying it is a bowl of vibrant salad, a symphony of fresh vegetables sprinkled with crumbled feta cheese and coated in a vinaigrette. To round off the feast, a plate of blini – fluffy, bite-sized Russian pancakes served with tangy sour cream and a generous dusting of fresh dill.

This can't be just lunch. It's a feast fit for lunch, dinner, breakfast, and repeat.

I blink once, twice, and then a third time, half expecting the vision before me to dissipate. But no, the food remains as real as ever, tantalizing my senses and amplifying the surrealism of the moment.

Luka shoots me a lopsided grin, a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes. "Just wanted to show off a bit," he says casually.

"Show off?" I say, a laugh bubbling up. "This is like…culinary Olympics. Are you sure you don't have Marco, Paolo, and Antonio stashed in a cupboard somewhere, just popping out to cook and then ‘poof' disappearing again?"

Luka laughs, a rich, warm sound that fills the kitchen. "Oh, you're onto me. I am hiding my kitchen crew somewhere around here," he jokes, playing along with my suspicion.

"Yeah! Let's eat!" Yulia cheers.

"Alright, let's get your hands washed first, sweetie," I say, lifting Yulia onto the counter by the sink. She giggles, her legs kicking back and forth, and I can't help but return her infectious smile.

"Like this, Sophia?" she asks, her hands rubbing together under the running water.

"Exactly like that, kiddo. You're a pro!" I compliment, drying her hands with a dish towel. When I glance over my shoulder, my gaze collides with Luka's. There's an unexpected tenderness in his eyes, a warmth that feels like a gentle caress against my skin. There's a softness there that catches me off guard. It's a quiet kind of intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. He's looking at me as if—

No, it's probably just my imagination.

"Alright, Yulia. Ready to chow down on that macaroni?" I ask, swiftly changing my focus.

In one fluid motion, Luka strolls over and hoists Yulia into his arms, placing a smacking kiss on her rosy cheek. A sound that could only be described as pure, unadulterated glee explodes from Yulia, lighting up the room in a way no chandelier ever could.

The scene feels unreal, like I've somehow crash-landed in the middle of a family sitcom. But this isn't television, and there are no commercial breaks coming to relieve the tension building within me. The jovial brother, the innocent child – their joyous laughter at odds with the spiraling thoughts in my mind.

"Did I tell you, Sophia?" Yulia suddenly pipes up, turning her bright, expectant gaze on me. "Next week, it's my birthday!" She practically bounces with excitement.

Next week? Hell. I don't even know if I'd be around in the next hour.

I feel like a fraud, smiling and nodding at this little girl, knowing what I have in store. I can barely stomach the thought, my conscience screaming at me like a siren in the night.

"Now, maly?ka, remember when I told you about the cake Mama used to make for me on my birthday?" Luka asks, setting her down but keeping an arm wrapped around her small shoulders. His voice holds a tenderness that somehow keeps surprising me. Yulia's face scrunches up in thought, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth adorably.

"Oh! The one with the chocolate and cherries?" she finally exclaims, looking up at her older brother with sparkling eyes.

Luka's smile is warm as he nods. "That's right. We'll bake the same one for your birthday, maly?ka," he says, pulling her closer. "Just like Mama used to."

There is a flicker of something in Luka's gaze as he speaks about their mother, a subtle softening of the edges that makes him seem less like a feared mob boss and more like a…like a man.

"Luka, can we go visit Mama and Papa today?"

Visit Mama and Papa?

Somehow, I'd assumed they were dead.

"Of course, maly?ka. We can take a walk there after lunch." Luka's smile doesn't falter, but I notice something change in his expression.

Why did he speak about them in past tense if they're still around?

Before I can voice my questions, Yulia changes the topic with her usual effervescence. "Sophia, you're coming to my birthday party, right? I'm going to be eight!" She holds up eight fingers, her grin so wide it could light up the whole damn place.

A strange tightness settles at the base of my throat. The invitation is so simple, so innocent. But I'm far from either. If things go the way I plan, I won't be around for the party.

I flash her a quick grin, all the while wrestling with my conflicting emotions.

"I love parties, Yulia. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Oh, God. I'm going to hell.