Chapter 10 - The Boy They Could Not BreakMikhail ran like a man outrunning death.
I followed before fear could stop me.
The stairwell smelled of gunpowder. One guard lay bleeding against the wall, alive but groaning. The apartment door hung open.
Inside, Misha stood on my kitchen chair with both hands wrapped around my cast-iron skillet.
At his feet lay a man in black, unconscious.
For a terrible second, nobody moved.
Then Misha burst into tears.
“He came through the window,” he sobbed. “He said he’d take me to Aunt Irina.”
Mikhail crossed the room and pulled him into his arms.
The boy hit his father’s chest with tiny fists.
“You lied! You said Mama’s accident was an accident! You said home was safe!”
Mikhail held him through every blow.
“I know.”
“You said nobody could get me!”
“I know.”
“You promised!”
Mikhail closed his eyes.
“I know, my son.”
The guard at the window cursed. “Fire escape. They had someone on the roof.”
My apartment, which had felt small and sad an hour ago, now looked like a battlefield.
Broken window.
Rain on the floor.
Blood on my cheap curtains.
A child shaking in his father’s arms.
Something inside me snapped.
“Enough,” I said.
Every armed man in the room looked at me.
I pointed downstairs. “Your enemies know this place now. Your family knows this place. Half the city probably knows this place. We cannot keep pretending the next locked door will save him.”
Mikhail’s eyes were black with fury. “What do you suggest?”
I laughed bitterly. “I run a diner, not a war.”
Misha lifted his head. “But Mama said trust her.”
That silence hurt.
I looked at the boy. His face was wet with tears and rain. He had eaten pancakes like a starving stray and fought off an assassin with my skillet.
No child should be brave like that.
I knelt.
“Misha, your mother didn’t know me. Not really.”
“She knew enough,” he whispered.
Mikhail stood slowly.
“Anya hid evidence here because your father was invisible to my world,” he said. “You may be the only person Roman and Irina did not prepare for.”
“I am a broke diner owner.”
“Exactly.”
Outside, sirens began to approach.
Mikhail’s men looked uneasy.
“Police?” I asked.
“No,” said Lena from the doorway, pale as paper. “Roman’s private security use the same sirens.”
The approaching wail grew louder.
Mikhail looked at his son, then at me.
“We leave in sixty seconds.”
“I’m not leaving my diner.”
He stepped closer.
“Clara, in sixty seconds, this building becomes a coffin.”
Downstairs, headlights flooded the windows.
May you like
Not three SUVs this time.
A dozen.
