Page 117 of Brutal Vows

I don’t know how long we stand like this, entwined as we shatter into pieces, but somehow also growing back together again—this time stronger. Whatever happens next, this night is our mutual heartbreak, triumph, and deadly secret.

“I’ve got you now, my love,” he whispers. “And I vow you’ll never have to shoot a gun again.”

Luca is a man who keeps all the promises he makes, and peace settles over me as I lean against him. This is home now. Wherever he is, it’s my home.

I let go of the weapon, but Luca takes it, his touch so soft as he takes this burden from me.

“We have to go,” he whispers after a few more minutes.

“Annushka—”

“No. No more Annushka. When we put flame to this cabin, that name dies with Masha, understand?”

“Yes.” I look up at him. His eyes are wet with tears, and in his gaze, I read what’s in that cooler box. Oh my God. Her final solution.

“It’s a dead baby, in the cooler box,” I say, my voice cold with horror.

“Yes. I don’t want you to see. Didn’t want you to know—” He breaks off with a shudder.

But now I see everything she planned. Masha is ending this once and for all by staging her death—and my baby’s death—so we can be free.

“Masha explained everything to me. I’ll tell you later, once I’ve made sure everything she told me is true. I don’t want this to come back to haunt us.”

He kisses me then, a kiss to my forehead, to my tears, to my mouth, and it’s as if he is breathing life back into me.

“Let’s go,” he whispers against my forehead. “I’ll grab what we need from here. I also need to find new pants.”

“Okay.” In the other room, I find Zoe awake but not crying. She’s staring into the dark, as if she knows an angel is hovering over her, touching her cheek with a soft caress, keeping her calm.

I go down to my knees, in awe of how my little girl is so quiet and happy, oblivious to the war that raged next door. Thank God.

“Come with us,” I murmur, as if Masha’s spirit is right there.

Then I close my eyes and pray for her soul and the choices she made to save us. I thank God for my daughter and that she’s safe. I pray for the baby taking Zoe’s place. For parents who have lost a child, but who don’t know her grave is empty, or that her body will be saving mine’s life.

I push down my tears as Luca walks in, a lit camp light and backpack in hand.

“Provisions for the next few days,” he says as he puts both on the floor.

“Perfect. Malsyh-malysh-malysh,” I coo as I pick Zoe up. She tracks Luca’s movements, bringing her little fists to her mouth.

“I need to change. I can’t walk around in these bloodied pants.” He has some clothes he must have dug out of the Russians’ backpacks.

I hug Zoe close, watching him strip. “Luca—” The bullet wound in his leg has started bleeding again.

“Later, princess.” He is wrapping a make-shift bandage—a white T-shirt that seems clean from here, torn into strips—around his leg. “As soon as we’re somewhere safe, we can deal with this. I’ll get Benedict to send someone to extract us. I can’t call him now though, because whoever is fetching us can’t make a detour here first.”

I get up and rock Zoe as I wait for him to finish.

“Can you hold her a minute? I need to put on my coat.”

“Sure,” he says, but there’s hesitation in his voice. “I haven’t— I’ve never… I mean, the last time I held a baby was Ben and I was only four, sitting down.” His eyes flush with a mournful look at a beautiful memory. “She’s so small.”

“She’s bigger than when I left, which makes me happy.” I hold her out to him, and in comparison to his broad chest, she seems extra small. “Here, like this. Just support her head a little.”

We change hands under her little armpits and his big hands circle her small back. I watch his face as he looks down at her.

“My perfect little princess,” he whispers, awe in his voice. “She’s so light.” He lifts her to eye level, and he breaks into a smile. “Papa’s little Zoe,” he murmurs, and then he lifts her some more, straightening his arms so she’s higher than his head.