Page 99 of Hush, Little Baby

Constantine remains unshaken. “Yes.”

“Who the hell even is Artem Bogdanov?” I challenge, exasperation tickling my spine.

His eyes narrow. “He’s built a sizable operation over the last few years.”

“And now he thinks he’s ready to play with the big leagues,” I say dismissively. Every year, some cocky upstart tries to claim the throne of organized crime—most flame out in months, and a few become cautionary legends.

“And he wants an agreement,” Constantine repeats. “Considering what’s been happening lately…”

I lean back, recalling each recent snag in our operation. None were catastrophic, just pebbles thrown at my windows. “You think they’re connected,” I finish for him.

“I think we should hear him out,” Constantine replies.

I study him closely. He rarely pushes without cause—strategic where I’m decisive. If he’s advocating a meeting, there must be merit. Still, my pride bristles.

“I don’t negotiate with people I barely know.”

“You don’t have to negotiate,” he counters.

“Then what’s the point?”

“Information,” he says simply. “Maybe they’re a threat. Maybe they’re an asset. Maybe both.”

Regretful though I am to admit it, he makes sense. I tap my fingers against the desktop. Part of me wants to refuse on principle; another part recognizes that trusting Constantine’s instincts has saved me from countless quagmires.

Finally, I exhale. “I’ll think about it.”

His shoulders loosen just a fraction. “I think that’s wise,” he says, a small victory glinting in his tone.

I narrow my eyes, scoffing, a smirk tugging at my mouth. “Don’t sound so pleased with yourself yet.”

“I’ll try my best,” he replies, grinning back at me.

We shift into scheduling logistics—time, place, contingencies—but it isn’t long before my mind drifts upstairs, to Charlie. Here I am, negotiating shadow wars and shipping routes, while all I really want is to give him a birthday that he’ll love.

I will make Charlie feel celebrated—truly seen and honored—perhaps for the very first time in his life. And that, above every dossier and every clandestine alliance, is a mission worth everything on my desk.

20

Nikolaus

The night before Charlie’s birthday, I towel-dry his hair and lay him out on the changing table. A single lamp casts a warm glow over the nursery. Charlie’s adorably pudgy legs kick with restless energy as I fasten a fresh diaper around his hips.

Charlie’s been in and out of little space since early afternoon. Usually, when he’s deep in his own little world, words slip away, but tonight he looks up at me with bright eyes and just talks, talks, talks. And while I love all versions of him, I must say it feels rewarding to see him slip into a happy, excited, carefree state more often the longer he’s in my care. I saw the first glimpse of this more playful side when we swam the other day, and I’ve been hoping for a repeat.

“I know what I wanna do,” Charlie suddenly says.

“Oh, do you?”

He nods vigorously, a grin spreading across his face. “Uh huh.”

“Well, what is it, baby?”

He wriggles, lashes fluttering. “I wanna go to a craft store.”

I blink into the soft lamplight. “A craft store?”

“Yep!”