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“If you need anything, just call the housekeeper, Polina. She’ll make sure you have whatever you need.”
“Can she give me some reassurance? A promise that I haven’t irreversibly fucked up my daughter’s life would be good, too,” Laila mutters. “Because right now, I’m fresh out of both.”
“Laila—”
The harsh ring of my phone interrupts whatever I was about to say. I want to ignore it and stay here with her. I want to make sure she’s okay, though I have no idea why. But it’s Rolan’s name flashing across my lockscreen, and I can’t avoid my responsibilities forever.
“I have to go.”
“Bodies to bury?” she bites out.
I ignore her because she’s not entirely wrong. “Try to get some sleep tonight. We’ll talk in the morning.”
I’m halfway out the door when I hear her gasp. I turn around, and she’s doubled over, clutching the arm of a chair so she doesn’t crumple to her knees.
“Laila.” I rush to her, slipping one arm around her waist so I can brace her against my body.
“It’s okay,” she winces. “It’s nothing… False labor. The doctor said it might happen closer to my due date.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods, squinting through the pain. “It should pass. I just… need to… breathe.”
I count her breaths as she labors through them, sweat forming across her brow. Little by little, her grip on my arm eases.
“Are you okay?” I ask when her breathing is back to normal. My own heart is racing.
“I told you I would be,” she mumbles, looking up at me. She has some of her color back.
She’s beautiful. Glowing, actually. Her lips part and her blue eyes widen. We’re a lot closer than I realized, but I’m in no hurry to back away.
Suddenly, she pushes away from me. “Ow.”
“Did I hurt you?” I don’t know how. I was barely even touching her.
“It’s… the baby. She’s a kicker.”
“She’s kicking right now?”
Laila studies me through lowered lashes. Something unspoken passes between us. Then, slowly, she takes my still-bloody hand and places it against her belly.
A second later, I feel it. A soft nudge against the palm of my hand.
My daughter.
“Jesus Christ. She’s real,” I breathe.
“She was always real, Arsen.” Laila gives me a melancholy smile. “You just weren’t around to see it.”
16
ARSEN
“What is my daughter doing here?” Rolan spits the moment I walk through the door.
Natascha’s body looks strange under the artificial glow of the shed’s light. Someone cleaned the blood away, but the gold chains are stained red and nothing can hide the gaping hole in her throat where the bullet tore through.
“This isn’t fit for her. This is where you bring criminals and rats to shake them down before you kill them!”
