Page 67 of Hush, Little Baby

Charlie follows its ascent with his eyes as we draw closer, his head tilting back to take in the upper floors disappearing into the sky. I can feel his uncertainty returning. New places always carry a certain mental weight, but this isn’t merely a new place. It’s an entirely different world from the one he leaves behind.

The driver—a lesser, but no less qualified, version of Alex, since he insisted on taking a different flight back—turns into the resident entrance beneath the building, leaving the noise and congestion of the city behind in favor of the quiet underground parking garage.

As the car rolls to a stop in front of the private elevator lobby for the penthouse, I feel Charlie begin to tremble. It’s such a minute tremble that I’m not even sure he’s aware of it.

“Time to get out, baby,” I whisper.

By the time I step out of the car with Charlie beside me, the elevator is already waiting, Constantine having used the access key card to call it.

Charlie sticks close as we ride to the top, and when the doors open, we’re met with the lower level of the penthouse.

The entry gallery stretches ahead in warm limestone and oak, opening gradually into the main living space beyond. Sunlight pours through walls of glass that extend nearly two stories high, illuminating the polished floors and casting long reflections across the room. Beyond the windows, Manhattan unfolds in every direction, the city appearing less like a collection of buildings and more like an endless sea of steel, glass, and movement.

When I glance down at the boy beside me to gauge his reaction, I find Charlie staring ahead with shocked disbelief. It isn’t too surprising, but I still have to hold back a laugh at how it looks like his brain has short-circuited at the sight.

The living area alone is larger than many apartments, arranged around a central sitting space anchored by a marble fireplace and surrounded by carefully curated pieces collected over decades. A floating staircase curves upward toward the second floor, while the far end of the room opens onto the terrace beyond.

Even from here, the water is visible in the rooftop pool, stretching along the edge of the building like a strip of liquid glass, reflecting the sky so perfectly that it appears to merge with the horizon.

His attention drifts from the windows to the staircase, then to the terrace, then back to the windows again as though he cannot quite decide where to look first.

The expression on his face is impossible to miss. He’s overwhelmed yet curious, and also intimidated; I find all three reactions deeply satisfying.

“It’s bigger than your old apartment,” Constantine observes dryly, to which Charlie actually lets out the faintest breath of laughter.

His face immediately reddens when he realizes he’s made a noise, his gaze dropping toward the floor as though he’s somehow embarrassed by the slip.

I place a hand against the small of his back, smiling. “Come on,” I tell him. “There’s more to see.”

We’ve barely crossed the living room when footsteps approach from deeper within the penthouse.

Marta appears first, with Elise following several paces behind her. The contrast between the two women has always amused me. Elise is nearly thirty years younger, soft-spoken and endlessly patient, the sort of person who worries about everyone around her, whether they deserve it or not. Marta, meanwhile, is more no-nonsense, able to make dangerous men clean up after themselves with nothing more than a look and a hand on her hip. Age has done nothing to soften her. Her silver-streaked dark hair is pinned neatly away from her face, and she carries herself with all the confidence of a woman who gets shit done.

The moment her eyes land on Charlie, I can tell she’s holding back a scowl.

“Marta,” I say.

“Mr. Makris.”

Her response is perfectly respectful. The look accompanying it is considerably less so.

Elise steps forward before either of us can continue. “Welcome home, sir,” she greets me, then Charlie, “Hello, Charlie.”

Charlie inches closer to me. It makes me want to puff up with pride.

Elise offers him an apologetic smile, while Marta continues glaring at me. “I’m Elise. You must be exhausted. If you need anything at all, you only have to ask.”

Charlie, now pressed against my side, replies softly, “Thank you, but I’m okay right now.”

Elise’s eyes light up at the sound of his voice. “Well, just let me know when that changes, okay?”

He nods, then turns his attention to Marta.

“It’s nice to meet you, sweetheart,” she says. “My name is Marta, and despite what he may have told you, I’m in charge around here. Both myself and Elise will be able to help with anything you need.”

Charlie looks genuinely startled by the kindness in her voice.

To be fair, so am I.