Page 97 of Ruthless Serenade

"Inside," I gesture toward the guest room and she’s moving before I can even finish my sentence. I mutter a quick thanks to the doctor and follow her in. Sharon lies curled on the bed, her face impossibly peaceful for someone who’s just been kidnapped. Her breathing is soft, almost fragile in the heavy silence.

Mindy approaches the bed like she’s in a trance. Her hand trembles as she strokes Sharon’s hair, tears tracking silver down her face as she presses a kiss to our daughter’s forehead.

"Baby," she whispers, her voice raw with relief. "Mommy’s here. You’re safe now."

I hang back in the shadows, silently guarding their reunion. "You two are staying here," I tell Mindy, my tone brooking no argument. "I’m arranging surveillance, security detail, the works. Everything. No arguments."

For a moment, I think she’s going to fight me on this. That familiar defiant fire flashes in her eyes. But then her gaze falls back to Sharon, and the resistance bleeds out of her.

She nods, whispering, "I think that’s a good idea. For now." The silence stretches between us, heavy with seven years of unspoken words. Finally, she breaks it. "Thank you," she says softly. "For everything you’ve done. For bringing her back. I could never thank you enough."

I nod, but guilt slams into me like a fucking wrecking ball. This is my fault. All of it. The price of being who I am, of thelife I’ve led. Every enemy I’ve made, every throat I’ve cut, every fucking decision that led me here - it all comes crashing down. Playing Russian roulette with my own life is one thing. But Sharon? Mindy? I can’t allow them to pay for my sins. Not again.

My eyes drift to Mindy as she tends to our sleeping daughter, and something shifts in my chest. Nothing else matters now - not our tumultuous past, the lies I told myself, the blood on my hands, or the empire built. We have a daughter now. That makes us family. And it’s my job to give them the safety and love I never thought I deserved to offer.

I move closer, drawn by some primal force I can’t name. When I cup Mindy’s face, my calloused hand against her silk-soft skin, time stops. Her pulse races beneath my palm like a trapped bird, and something flickers in her eyes. Desire? Love? The same fucking hunger that’s eating me alive?

Before I can put my finger on it, she breaks away, turning back to Sharon. "I should stay with her," she murmurs. "She doesn’t know you’re her father yet."

I nod, dropping my hand. "Of course. I’ll be outside if you need anything."

At the doorway, I pause for one last look - Mindy and Sharon, huddled together like survivors of a storm.

My family.

I’ll paint these fucking walls with anyone who tries to hurt them again.

I exit the room, my phone already in a death grip. With practiced precision, I dial Pavel’s number. "I have a job for you,bratok," I tell him coldly.

"I’m all ears, boss," he says.

"Remember the woman on TV? The psychiatrist Rachel Anderson?"

"Yeah. You want her gone, boss? Have her limbs removed?" The eagerness in his voice echoes my own dark urges.

I think of Sharon curled up on that bed, of Mindy’s tears. My family. My responsibility. "Track her down and bring her here." I tell Pavel. "I’d like to have a little talk with her."

"Consider it done, boss." Pavel sounds almost robotic. He knows exactly what this means. Rachel Anderson is about to suffer the consequences of her actions. And I’m not about to go easy on her.

I end the call and notice the missed calls list. Timofey tried reaching me twice while I was talking. That’s not like him. I’m just about to call him back when a text appears on my screen:

"Mom’s not well. It’s serious. Come now."

I stare at the screen dumbly. The message hits me like a kick to the gut and the ground shifts beneath my feet. Just when I thought I had my shit together, just when I found my daughter, life decides to remind me what a cruel bitch it can be.

"Matushka,"I mutter, my legs already carrying me toward my mother’s quarters.

Looks like this fuckup of a day isn’t done with me yet.

Chapter Forty-Six

Maron

I rush to my mother's quarters like death itself is on my heels.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I pause at her door, sweat beading on my forehead.

Her time has come.

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