Page 124 of 10 Days to Ruin

I spring backward to make room for the new entry. The girl who just ran in can’t be older than five, her braids secured with mismatched butterfly clips. Sasha goes predator-still—then slowly crouches, beaming wildly as he lowers himself eye-level with her. “Anyusha. Where is your mother?”

“Talking to the lawyer lady.” She thrusts a crayon drawing at him. Purple stick figures holding hands under a lopsided sun. One has bright blue eyes. “Look what I made! This is you and me at the park!”

“This can’t possibly be right…” He takes the paper like it’s made of blown glass. “There’s no swing set!”

Anya giggles hysterically as he tickles her belly.

“Go add swings so I can push you higher than the trees, like I promised,” he tells her.

“Come with me!” she pleads. Her eyes are huge and round, completely undeniable. I can feel my heart melting at the edges.

Sasha looks at me and I nod. “Go ahead,” I murmur. “I’ll be alright.”

He rises and takes her hand. Well, sort of—her tiny fingers barely fit around his pinky. But he lets her lead him away through the door and into the room beyond, leaving me alone and wondering just what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

The door clicks shut behind Sasha and Anya. I slump onto the bench, staring at the half-folded onesie in my hands. The fabric’s worn thin at the knees. Some little girl will wear this until it disintegrates, and she’ll never know the monster who paid for her safe place to sleep.

“He’s good with the little ones, no?”

I startle. Elena leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, gazing at me.

“Seems like it,” I mutter, folding the onesie into a tight square.

She hums, moving to sort through a box of battered board books. “You know, the first time he came here fifteen years ago, I thought he was casing the place. Big, rich man, scary man sniffing around my door? I nearly called the police.”

My hands still. “What changed your mind?”

“The woman who came with him.” Elena plucks a copy ofGoodnight Moonfrom the box, thumbing its water-stained pages. “Her face was… how you say? A mosaic. Broken pieces glued with fear. Sasha carried her suitcase. When I asked if she needed sanctuary, he said, ‘No. She needs a boat.’”

Jealousy licks my ribs. I hate myself for it. “His mistress?”

Elena barks a laugh. “Hisconscience. Her husband was a powerful man, a bad man.” She sets the book aside and looks at me again. “Sasha showed up at their home in the middle of the night, put a gun to the husband’s head, and made him let her go. Then he took her away. Last I heard, she’s teaching violin in Marseille.”

The onesie slips from my numb fingers. “Why?”

“Why does anyone do kindness?” Elena shrugs. “Maybe he saw his mother in her eyes. Maybe he simply felt like.”

The jealousy is a feral thing inside me now. Still loathing how much it’s affecting me, I can’t help but whisper, “Did he love her?”

Elena’s smile is pitying. “You think this is about romance? Think bigger,solnyshka.” She taps her temple. “The head, the heart—they speak different languages.”

Footsteps echo in the hall. Elena straightens as Sasha reappears, Anya’s giggles trailing behind him.

“That little princess is a tyrant in the making,” he grumbles, but there’s warmth in it.

My throat tightens. I want to ask about the woman from Marseille, about midnight drives and loaded guns pressed to abusive husbands’ temples. I want to know if he kissed her goodbye at the docks, if her hands trembled when she thanked him for what he did.

Instead, I say, “You’re good with her.”

“Children are simple.” He adjusts his hair. “They want safety. Swings. Teddy bears and cookies and for their fathers to stop coming home so angry.”

“And you? What do you want?”

His gaze traps mine. “Do you still have to ask me that question, Ariel?”

At the sound of a door closing, I look up to see that Elena is gone. It’s just us in here, Sasha and me, in this home of dreams that have been beaten but not yet killed.

Meanwhile, deep in the belly of Safe Harbor, the furnace kicks on with a groan. Somewhere closer, a mother sings a lullaby in soft Spanish. Sasha Ozerov sits amidst the chaos of discarded toys and secondhand hopes, smelling like snow and gunmetal, and I finally understand?—

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