I used to have walls.
Then I knocked them down for Rowan.
Then our baby came, and I rebuilt them—but this time, I built them around all three of us, so that no one could ever hurt us. I thought that would be enough.
I was wrong.
Because it’s only been one day since Rowan found those letters from Grigor to her mother, and already, the walls I’ve built around us have developed hairline fractures.
The poison of possibility seeps through those tiny, skittering cracks—that somehow, Grigor Petrov is more than the monster I know him to be. That there might be “another way” beyond the blood-soaked path I’ve walked my entire life.
Peace. As if men like us ever get to know what that word means.
I’m in my study working when I hear a sound that stops my heart mid-beat. Sofiya’s cry. Not her usual demand for attention or food, but something terrified that awakens every predatory instinct I possess.
I’m at the nursery door in seconds. “What’s wrong?” I find Rowan bent over Sofiya’s crib, her face tight with worry.
“She’s burning up.” Rowan doesn’t look at me, her focus entirely on our daughter. “I think it’s a fever.”
I cross to them and press my palm to Sofiya’s forehead. Heat pours from her skin like she’s been lit from within. Her cheeks are flushed scarlet, eyes glassy. When I pull my hand away, it trembles.
“Get her things,” I order, already lifting Sofiya from the crib. Her tiny body is a burning coal against my chest. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”
“Vince, babies get fevers all the—”
“Now, Rowan.”
She must see something in my face that silences her. She hurries to gather Sofiya’s essentials while I carry our daughter downstairs, barking orders into my phone.
“Full security protocol. I want the hospital wing swept and secured. Medical staff vetted. Anyone who came near this house in the last forty-eight hours is to be identified and interrogated.”
Sofiya whimpers against my neck. Quick, shallow pants. Each one is a knife between my ribs.
“What are you doing?” Rowan appears beside me, diaper bag in hand.
“Protecting our daughter.”
“From what? It’s just a fever, Vince.”
I turn to her, jaw clenched so tight I can hear my molars grinding. “There are no coincidences in our world. Not ever.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The timing is fucked. Less than twenty-four hours after you find those letters, after Grigor shows up at the funeral, she’s suddenly sick?” I secure Sofiya in her car seat while Arkady holds the door. “No. They’ve found another way in.”
Rowan’s face drains of color. “You think someone poisoned our baby?”
“I think nothing happens by accident.”
The ride to the hospital is eternal torment. Sofiya’s cries weaken, her body alternating between rigid and limp in her car seat. Sweat beads along her hairline and dampens the dark curls that match her mother’s. Her blue eyes—my eyes—struggle to focus through the fever.
Cold fear wraps itself around my spine. I’ve faced death countless times without flinching. I’ve inflicted suffering without remorse.
But the sight of my daughter in pain turns me inside out.
By the time we reach the hospital, I’ve deployed half my organization. Men in tactical gear pace the perimeter. Others sweep the private wing reserved for the Akopov family. The emergency entrance is flanked by men with concealed weapons, their faces carved from the same stone as mine.
I carry Sofiya inside myself, trusting no one. Not even the nurses who rush to meet us.
“I want every doctor vetted,” I inform the head of security. “Anyone who touches her gets searched first. Full biochemical protocol.”
“Sir, this is a pediatric ward,” a nurse protests, stepping toward us. “We need to examine your daughter immediately.”
“You’ll examine her when I say you can.” My voice could freeze hell itself. “After you’ve been cleared.”
The woman retreats, eyes wide.
“Vince.” Rowan’s hand finds my arm. “She needs medical attention now.”
“She’ll get it. After I know it’s safe.”
“This is ridiculous—” A doctor approaches, flanked by two of my men. “Mr. Akopov, I’m Dr. Oakley. I’ve been through your security protocols.” He eyes the guards with barely concealed unease. “May I please examine your child?”
I reluctantly allow him to lead us to an examination room, though I refuse to release Sofiya until Arkady confirms the space is secure. Only then do I place her on the examination table, my body positioned between her and the door.
Dr. Oakley checks her vital signs. “Her temperature is 103.6. Concerning, but not immediately life-threatening.”
“Test her for everything,” I demand. “Poisons. Toxins. Biological agents.”
The doctor exchanges a glance with Rowan. “Mr. Akopov, your daughter presents with classic symptoms of a viral infection, likely influenza or RSV.”
“Test. Her. Anyway.”
“Vince, you’re scaring the staff,” Rowan hisses, cheeks flushed with embarrassment or anger—not that I give a fuck which it is.
“Good,” I growl. “Fear makes people thorough.”
The next hours blur together. More doctors arrive; more tests are ordered. Hospital administrators appear, demanding the removal of armed men from their facility. I meet each challenge the same way: with an unblinking stare and a wordless grunt.
They get the message pretty fucking quickly.
Sofiya’s fever remains stubbornly high, though it responds marginally to medication. The toxicology screens come back negative. So do the tests for biological agents.
Each negative result only deepens my certainty that we’ve missed something.
By evening, the hospital is a fortress. It doesn’t make me feel one fucking bit safer.
I stand at the window of Sofiya’s room as I watch the sun sink below the horizon. Rowan sits beside our daughter’s bed, gently sponging her forehead with a cool cloth. The sight of them together tightens the knot of dread in my gut.
“The hospital administrator is threatening to call the police,” Arkady informs me quietly at the door. “Says you’re ‘disrupting patient care.’”
“Let him. I’ll have the chief of police here in twenty minutes explaining why that’s a bad fucking idea.”
Arkady hesitates. “Vin, do we really need to be doing all this? We’re causing a scene, you know. Besides, the doctors are saying Sofiya’s getting better. Her fever’s down to 101.2. Whatever this is, it’s responding to treatment.”
“Or they’re lying to get us to lower our guard.”
“Why would they—?”
“Because they’ve been compromised.” My jaw is so stiff that it’s hard to speak. “Nowhere is safe.”
Arkady’s silence says more than words could. Even he thinks I’m overreacting.
But to his credit, he remembers the pecking order. He sighs and retreats. When the door closes behind him, I cross to Sofiya’s bed and stroke her damp hair. Her skin still sizzles beneath my touch, but her breathing seems easier.
“The fever’s breaking,” Rowan murmurs without looking up. “Just like the doctors said it would.”
“We can’t be sure until—”
“Until what?” She finally looks up, eyes blazing. “Until you’ve terrorized every medical professional in this hospital? You’re gonna get yourself arrested, and then we’re worse off than ever, Vince.”
“I’m protecting our daughter.”
“No.” She stands, bristling with restrained fury. “You’re protecting yourself from your own fear.”
“That’s not—”
“It is. This isn’t about Sofiya. It’s about you not being able to control the fact that sometimes, children get sick. You know what, Vince? Sometimes, bad things happen that have nothing to do with enemies or threats or your father or mine. Bad shit just happens.”
“You think I’m wrong.”
“I think you’re terrified.”
I step closer, towering over her. “And if you’re wrong? If this isn’t just a fever? If someone did get to her?”
“Then we’d know by now. The tests would have found something.” She doesn’t back down. “This is exactly what the doctors said it is: a virus. Nothing more.”
“You’re too willing to believe that.”
“And you’re too willing to believe the worst.” She turns back to Sofiya, dipping the cloth in cool water again. “You see threats everywhere, Vince. Even where they don’t exist.”
Before I can respond, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
“I have to take this.” I step into the hallway, closing the door behind me. “Report,” I snap into the phone.
“We’ve got a situation at the Costa Rica site,” Dimitri’s voice is tight with controlled urgency. “Solovyov’s men hit the latest shipment. Three of our guys are dead and there’s about one point two mil of cargo missing.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as a headache swarms in. “Lock it down. No one in or out. I want identification on every Solovyov operative involved.”
“Already working on it. But Vin—” He hesitates. “This was coordinated with local authorities. Someone’s been feeding them intel.”
“Deal with it to the best of your ability. I’ll check in when I can.”
I end the call and stand motionless in the hall. I want to believe in a world where bad things happen only by accident and then go away just as quickly.
But I don’t.
I don’t believe in that shit at all.
I return to Sofiya’s room, where Rowan is still perched beside the bed. “We need to talk. Now.”
She must hear something in my voice, because she follows me to the corner of the room without argument.
“Solovyovs hit the Costa Rica shipment,” I tell her quietly. “Three of our men are dead.”
Her jaw drops. “When?”
“Two hours ago, according to Dimitri. They had inside information. Local police cooperation.”
Understanding dawns on her face. “You think this is connected to Sofiya’s fever.”
“I think it’s a distraction. Get us focused here, vulnerable to attack there.” I run a hand through my hair. “I need to go to the office. I need to contain this.”
“Go.” Her face hardens with resolve. “I’ll stay with her.”
“I’m leaving six men. Full security protocols remain in place.”
“Fine. But handle the real threat. I can manage the imagined one.”
The barb stings, but I let it go. There’s no time for arguments when real blood has already been spilled.
I kiss Sofiya’s forehead, still too warm beneath my lips. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“We’ll be here.” Rowan’s voice softens slightly. “Do what you need to do.”
I go to inform my head of security on-site about the situation. It’s a quick conversation, but I detour on the way back to stop by Sofiya’s room once more.
I’m at the doorway when I hear a voice. Rowan’s voice, specifically.
She’s talking to Sofi, whispering. “… just that, sometimes, I wonder if your father’s protection is worth the cost.”
I freeze, my hand hovering over the keyboard. She keeps talking, but I can’t hear her voice over the roar of angry, anguished blood in my ears.
Because deep down, behind the walls I’ve built around my heart, I’ve started to wonder the same thing.
