Page 66 of Hush, Little Baby

“Their bonus was being able to leave without bullets in their skulls,” I grunted.

Constantine’s mouth twitched, but he had the sense not to argue.

Now, in the back of the car, with the airport receding behind us and the city drawing closer through the tinted windows, Charlie sits in my lap, watching the city in brief, uncertain glimpses through the window, lifting his head no farther than necessary before lowering it again. The late-morning light reflects off the tall glass towers, the metal ribs of bridges, and the elevated tracks.

Beside us, Constantine scrolls through his phone with one thumb, reviewing messages as they come in. He looks freshly composed after the flight, his tie corrected, his shirt cuffs fastened, not a hair out of place now that we are back in my territory.

“The doctor is already at the building,” he says. “Security sweep is complete. Staff besides Marta and Elise have been cleared out.”

Charlie tries to suppress a tiny shiver at the new names, so I cover his hands with mine and tell him, “It’s alright. They work for me, baby. Marta manages the household. Elise handles the kitchen and helps Marta in her free time.”

His eyes flick up toward mine, wide and tired.

“If you don’t want to meet them yet, you don’t have to,” I add. “But I just know they’ll adore you, Charlie.”

Constantine glances at me over the top of his phone, expression dry.

I ignore him.

“Okay,” Charlie murmurs quietly, like he’s still not quite comfortable with his words. He’s said a total of maybe four or five words since he woke up. It’s not like he’s refusing to talk to me out of resentment or anger or fear. No. It’s more natural than that.

I look back towards Constantine. “I assume they’ve prepared his room?”

He nods. “Yes. It should be ready for him upon our arrival.” A slow smirk slides across his lips. “The ladies were… surprised, to say the least.”

I huff out a short laugh. “I’m sure they were. But they were briefed on things, correct?”

“Yeah. Should be all good.”

The car crosses into Manhattan, and the city presses in closer around us. Charlie peeks out the window again as we move through streets, past glass storefronts, delivery trucks idling at curbs, and workers in suits with coffee in one hand and phones in the other.

He watches a woman walking two tiny white dogs in matching sweaters with more focus than he has given anything since we left the plane.

I lean down. “Do you like dogs?”

The question seems to startle him, almost like he forgot where he was for a second, then he looks back at me and gives the smallest shrug.

Constantine looks up. “Do not buy him a dog today.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“You just made a face.”

“I made no face.”

“Whatever you say, Niko.”

Charlie’s breath puffs against my chest, and as I glance down, I catch a half-smile that’s gone just as quickly as it appears.

I pretend I didn’t notice it, but inside, I celebrate the small victory for what it is, then bend and press my mouth to Charlie’s hair. “No dog today.”

His brows pinch, as if he doesn’t know whether he is relieved or disappointed.

“We’ll revisit the matter later,” I decide.

Constantine groans under his breath.

The building comes into view a few minutes later, rising over the block with the kind of quiet confidence that only truly staggering amounts of money can buy. It isn’t the tallest tower in Manhattan, nor the newest, nor one of those aggressively modern structures designed to dominate every skyline photograph taken within a mile radius. Instead, it possesses a more understated sort of prestige, the kind reserved for people who long ago stopped needing the world to know what they can afford.