Running away from Vince was like cutting off my own hand. Necessary to survive a deadly infection, but still excruciating.
I stand on the wraparound porch of this weathered beach house, watching waves crash against the shore like my heart smashes against my ribcage—relentless, furious, destructive.
Sofiya sleeps in her makeshift crib inside, blissfully unaware that her mother shattered her family to save it.
It’s been three days since I peeled away Vince’s tracking necklace and fled the life we built together. That means three days of waking up expecting his arms around me, only to find emptiness. Three days of phantom limb syndrome, but the missing limb is my husband’s entire fucking existence.
The beach house sits on a forgotten stretch of Rhode Island coastline, tucked between overgrown dunes and twisted pines that shield it from prying eyes. It’s a place Grigor mentioned in one of the letters to my mother, describing it as “off the books, off the grid, off the fucking radar.” Perfect for a woman hiding from the most dangerous man in New York.
Wind whips strands of hair across my face, stinging my eyes.
Or maybe those are tears. I can’t tell the difference anymore.
“You’re making the right choice,” I whisper to myself. “You’re protecting her. You’re protecting your father.”
But if I’m so right, why does every cell in my body scream that I’m wrong?
Inside, Sofiya stirs awake, cooing softly. Her voice draws me back to reality. I go to her, lifting her tiny body against my chest.
“Good morning, little troublemaker,” I murmur as I pepper her with kisses. “Did you sleep well?”
She gurgles in response, her blue eyes staring up at me with innocent trust that guts me completely.
“I wonder what your daddy is doing right now,” I say. “Probably tearing the world apart looking for us, if I know anything about him.”
My phone sits on the kitchen counter, dead and battery removed. The burner phone I bought lies beside it, used exactly once to contact Natalie after our escape. Even that feels like a risk too great. Vince’s network is vast, his resources limitless.
And his rage? Well, that’s infinite.
“We need groceries,” I tell Sofi as I strap her into the baby carrier against my chest. “A little normalcy wouldn’t kill us.”
The nearest grocery store is twenty minutes away, far enough to be inconspicuous. I drive there in the nondescript sedan I bought with cash, Sofiya babbling happily in her car seat behind me.
It almost feels normal for a second there.
“You know what I miss most about your daddy?” I ask her as we pull into the parking lot. I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “I miss the way he smelled. Like sandalwood and gunpowder and home. Nothing else smells quite like that, does it?”
Inside the store, I push a cart through fluorescent-lit aisles, tossing in essentials. Diapers. Formula. Coffee strong enough to keep me alert through the nightmares that plague me whenever I close my eyes.
Sofiya watches everything with wide-eyed fascination from her perch against my chest.
It’s in the produce section that the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
He’s good—I’ll give him that. But I spent too long living with predators not to recognize when I’m being hunted.
Six-foot-two. Athletic build beneath a casual jacket. The man’s eyes never quite focus on the apples he’s pretending to select. One hand rests slightly inside his jacket, ready to reach for what I’m certain is a weapon.
One of Vince’s men.
It was only a matter of time.
“Looks like Daddy found us after all,” I whisper to Sofiya, keeping my face neutral as I select an avocado, squeezing it like I’m interested in its ripeness rather than planning an escape. “Let’s see if we can’t lose Uncle Creepy over there, yeah?”
I abandon my cart and head toward the restrooms at the back of the store. I keep my pace deliberately unhurried. Inside, I check each stall—empty—then climb onto the toilet in the last one. A small window near the ceiling provides my way out.
“I’m sorry, baby girl,” I murmur to my daughter as I shimmy through the opening, careful not to bump her head. “Mommy promises no more bathroom gymnastics after this.”
We emerge relatively unscathed behind the store, near the dumpsters. I sprint to the car, strap Sofiya in with trembling hands, and peel out of the parking lot just as I spot Vince’s man rushing out the front entrance, phone pressed to his ear as he looks for me.
My heart thumps against Sofiya’s tiny back as I drive. I take random turns, doubling back, using every evasion technique Vince ever mentioned in my presence.
The weight of his absence crashes over me again—the irony that I’m using his lessons to hide from him.
Only when I’m certain we’re not followed do I pull over at a gas station with an ancient payphone. I fish quarters from my purse with shaking hands. The whole time, Sofiya fusses against me, sensing my distress.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” I soothe her. “Mommy’s just going to leave Daddy a message.”
The phone rings four times before his voicemail picks up. His voice hurts far worse than I expected it to, and I have to grip the metal booth to keep from collapsing.
“It’s me,” I say when the beep sounds. “I saw your man today. He’s good, but not good enough.” I pause, gathering myself. “I want you to understand something, Vince. This isn’t about punishing you. I wouldn’t— I can’t— Oh, fuck me. It doesn’t matter, okay?” Another pause. “Sofiya is safe. She misses you. And I—”
I cut myself off, biting back three words that would destroy my resolve.
Can’t say those anymore.
I hang up, my fingerprints smeared with tears I didn’t realize I was shedding.
Back at the beach house, I triple-check the locks, draw the blackout curtains, and set up the makeshift perimeter alarms—fishing line strung with bells around the property’s edge. Amateur hour compared to Vince’s security systems, but it’s all I have right now.
Eventually, night falls, bringing with it a symphony of ocean waves and crying seagulls. I feed Sofiya, bathe her, and rock her to sleep singing lullabies my mother used to sing to me. The mundane rituals of motherhood hurt so bad when they’re done alone like this.
“Your daddy would hate this place,” I tell her sleeping form. “Too exposed, he’d say. He’d flip a mattress over the window.”
I trace her perfect little features in the dim light—Vince’s eyes, my nose, cheeks that somehow belongs entirely to herself.
“But maybe that’s why I love it,” I continue. “Because for once, we’re making choices based on what we want, not what we fear.”
Later, I sit on the porch again, nursing a glass of wine and staring at the black expanse of ocean. The moon casts a silver path across the water, like a road leading back to him if only I were brave enough to take it.
Or perhaps too fearless to stay away.
The burner phone rings, shattering the silence. Only one person has this number.
“Tell me you’re okay,” Natalie’s voice comes through, tight with worry.
“Define ‘okay,’” I reply, taking another swallow of wine. “Physically unharmed? Yes. Emotionally functional? Not in the least.”
“One of Vince’s men found me today,” she says. “Asked questions. Pointed a gun at my head. The usual Akopov hospitality.”
My blood freezes. “Natalie—”
“I didn’t tell him anything,” she cuts me off. “But Rowan, they’re closing in. Vince is… I’ve never seen him like this. He’s gone nuclear. The entire Eastern Seaboard is looking for you.”
“Let them look,” I say.
“He’s suspended the operation against your father, you know. Completely shut it down.”
Hope flares in my chest like a match struck in darkness. “He did?”
“Yep. It’s dead quiet over there. Nothing happening. He’s just waiting.”
Waiting. The word echoes inside me, rearranging my organs into a configuration that makes breathing possible again.
“I have to go,” I tell her, suddenly desperate to end the call. Too many emotions are threatening to overflow, and I can’t afford to drown in them. Not yet.
“Be careful, Row. And maybe… maybe consider that he’s trying to change.”
After hanging up, I curl into myself on the porch swing, letting the ocean breeze carry away the tears I can no longer contain.
Vince suspended the operation. He’s standing down. The knowledge soothes me as much as it tortures me.
Because now, I don’t know what to do.
Stay away and hope his reformation sticks? Return and risk him reverting to the monster who would murder my father while fucking me under the stars?
Before I can decide, the sound of a twig snapping jerks me upright. One of my perimeter bells jingles softly in the distance.
Someone is here.
I move silently inside and grab the gun I keep wrapped in a dish towel in the kitchen drawer. My hands don’t shake as I check the chamber. Another gift from Vince—teaching me to shoot without flinching.
The bells ring again. Whoever it is, they’re closer now.
I position myself between the front door and Sofiya’s room, gun aimed at the entry point. Blood rushes in my ears and drowns out everything but my daughter’s soft breathing from the next room and the approaching footsteps on the porch.
A shadow passes by the window.
The doorknob turns slowly.
The door swings inward.
“I thought I might find you here,” a familiar voice says as the breeze carries the scent of aftershave toward me. “Your mother always did love the ocean.”
The gun wavers in my hands as Grigor Petrov steps into the beach house, moonlight illuminating the face that’s half-mine.
