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“Mama, what happened? I heard a noise.”

Oh, God.

I rushed over to him, desperate to block him from this violence and to spare him the sight of dead bodies in our home.

7

NIKOLAI

“Mama?”

Fuck.

The boy stood near the bedroom door. Dinosaurs covered his pajamas as he blinked blearily. His black hair was mussed atop his head and the sleep clung to his face as he frowned.

Louisa didn’t waste a second, hurrying toward him.

If not to block him from me, then to hide the bodies of the Konstantin snipers in the living room.

“What’s going on?” he asked again.

Fuck!

Even though I knew she had a child because I’d been stalking her for a couple of days now, I was still surprised to see him up close. Or to find him in this apartment at all. I’d gotten it into my head that the boy probably slept over at the babysitter’s place further down the hall. I’d watched through the windows and as a passerby when I pretended to be a delivery man to scope out the layout of the building.

I hadn’t thought he’d be here, now, and it aggravated me that I’d have another contingency to count on.

“Nothing, Brady. Just, um…” Lousia’s voice held that note of fear, but she masked it as she shifted to hide Brady from looking further in the room.

I stayed back, nudging the legs of the dead man so the boy wouldn’t see him lying so close.

“I’m just um, talking to… a friend,” she said when Brady leaned to the side and spotted me. He instantly furrowed his brow, confused but also intrigued.

Friend?

How ironic.

I was a stranger to her, nothing more than the hitman who hesitated and ended up saving her.

I couldn’t blame her for trying to lie to the boy. She had to be out of her mind with worry and confusion.

“Hey, Brady.” I lifted my hand in a wave as I tossed out that gruff greeting. Standing here saying nothing would’ve made it worse. I didn’t need her screaming and panicking, but I also didn’t want to deal with a freaked-out kid.

Louisa did a double-take, her eyes opening wide.

Well, shit.

She probably was more bewildered and alarmed that I knew her son’s name. That was a nugget of intel I’d learned from looking into her.

“Who’s that?” Brady pointed, and I sidestepped to avoid him asking who the man was on the couch.

Louisa also pivoted, trying to block the view. While she stayed as an obstacle between her son and the dead man, I lowered to tug him down so he’d fall to the floor and not be so high and within his range of sight.

“What was⁠—”

“Brady,” Louisa said, cutting him off, “I need you to go back in your room, okay?”

“But Mama, who⁠—”