Page 68 of The Pakhan’s Hidden Heir

“Mommy, cartoon,” he mumbles, pointing at the television where the news broadcast is showing more crime happening in Moscow. It’s frightening every time I see it, how dangerous that city seems to have become. And it reminds me of Bastian and everything he stands for.

“Yes, baby, I’ll get some cartoons.” Leaving him there, I walk toward the TV and search for the remote, but I can’t avoid hearing the news glorifying the recent outbreak of drive-by shootings on the east side as “gang-related,” which I know means it has something to do with Bastian’s world.

That bomb going off still gives me nightmares, like the one I had early on in my pregnancy. I should’ve paid more attention to what my subconscious was telling me and listened to my best friend. It would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.

Lada hasn’t said anything about the recent violence either, but maybe she’s trying to stay positive. I hate that she lives there still. At any time Bastian could have or still could search for her and track me down.

I’d love it if she moved here, far away from that mess, and we could cut all ties with that city. But her parents live there, and her life is there.

I’d never convince her to come away with me and start over. Especially here in Siberia.

Towns are far apart and isolated, and there are far fewer people. She’s a city girl, lives and breathes the exhaust and congestion. That’s who I am too, but I’m finally starting to adjust to a more rural life.

When Felix screams I reel around to see him on the ground, having fallen off the chair.

His hand is scraped and he is crying, on his knees as tears drip from his face. It makes my heart jump and I drop the remote.

“Oh baby,” I gush, rushing over to pick him up. The scrape is small, only a tiny amount of blood, but I hurry to the sink to wash it off. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Mommy, it hurt,” he mumbles, sucking in a few stuttered breaths before sobbing again, throwing his head back. His mouth is wide open, displaying the two-year molars he’s growing now, which is another battle in and of itself. I’m not cut out for all this worrying. I need my grandmother.

“I know, baby. It’s okay.” I run his hand under the water and sigh hard. If this had been a real injury, I’m not sure what I’d have done.

Felix only knows his real name. I’ve never called him “Hector,” which is the ridiculous name Akim had put on the false papers. And now, he’s old enough to know what people are calling him and correct them.

If one person used the name and he challenged it, who knows what would happen.

Who knows where Bastian’s got men spying on me.

“Kisses,” he says, thrusting his hand in my face, so I kiss his palm and smile at him. He doesn’t need to see me worrying.

What he needs is for me to be strong and brave for him, showing him that this sort of thing in life is normal.

That news just got me riled up. Felix is fine. I’m fine. And life is going well. I need to stay out of my head and stay calm.

I can’t let little things rile me up so easily. Akim’s warnings just made me too paranoid.

Or maybe it was the look in Bastian’s eye that day in the nursery when I told him my son wouldn’t be raised like a criminal.

I know just what he’d do if he found me.

27

BASTIAN

The curtains are drawn when Ingrid comes in without knocking like she’s done for weeks now. I don’t bother lifting my head off the pillow.

I know why she’s here and I’m grumpy and annoyed by her mothering me.

This is worse than when my wife died. At least then I could get out of bed and the worst Ingrid had to do was force me to eat.

“You’ve been in this bed for two days now.” She crosses to the window and hauls the curtains back, throwing the sunlight in my face like acid. “Get up and let me run you a shower. You’ll feel like a new man once you’re clean.”

“Leave me alone,” I snarl, but my bark is worse than my bite.

My men leave me the hell alone now and things get done because I have a very competent man running them.

But Ingrid isn’t so content to leave me alone.