Angel’s Cage

Chapter 5

5

Nikolai

Closing the door behind myself, I make a mental note to install some cameras in Chloe’s room, the way I have in Slava’s. Not because I feel compelled to watch her every moment of every day—though that need is definitely there—but because I’m worried about her.

I’ve had my entire life to come to terms with my f****d-up heritage, and there are days when I’m still tempted to slit my own throat. That or get a vasectomy, so the mistake I’d made that night with Ksenia can never be repeated. I wasn’t even aware that the condom was faulty, but it must’ve been.

That’s the only explanation for the existence of my son.

I was planning to go to my office, but my feet carry me to his room instead, propelled by the same compulsion I’m experiencing with Chloe.

Daddy, he called me when I returned home last night. I’d been too distracted by everything related to Chloe to take it in fully, but now I can’t help thinking about that word and the way my ribcage had filled with a strange, piercingly sweet ache. And it’s all because of her.

Chloe Emmons had not only discerned my deepest, most secret wish regarding my son; she’d made it come true.

Quietly, I push open the door to Slava’s bedroom and step in. As usual, he’s on the floor, diligently working on his LEGO castle. Lyudmila told me once that my son has a remarkably long attention span for a child who’s not yet five, and I suppose that must be true. From what I can recall of my younger brother, Valery, at this age, he was always running around and getting into trouble. Slava, on the other hand, is quiet and focused, much more the way Konstantin was as a child. I wonder if Slava has inherited my older brother’s aptitude for math and programming as well. I should probably introduce him to these subjects and find out.

At my entrance, his eyes—my eyes in miniature—shoot up to my face, the look in them equal parts quizzical and wary. My chest tightens with the usual discomfort, but I ignore the urge to back away, distancing myself from the unsettling feeling. Instead, I crouch in front of my son, giving his LEGO creation my full attention, the way I’ve seen Chloe do.

“That’s a very nice castle,” I say in Russian, studying the carefully assembled building blocks in front of me. Though Slava’s English skills are rapidly improving under Chloe’s tutelage, he’s far from fluent in the language of our adopted country. “Did it take you long to build it?”

He blinks at me for a couple of moments before a shy smile blooms on his face. “You like it?”

“I do.” I mean it, too. The castle displays admirable symmetry and complexity, especially given the fact that it was put together by such tiny hands. Even if math and computers turn out not to be Slava’s strengths, he might have a future in architecture and structural design.

That is, if he doesn’t take after me and Valery—and every other Molotov before us.

My mood darkens, but I force myself to maintain a calm, inquisitive expression as I ask again how long it’d taken him to build the castle.

“I worked on it in the morning and again after I came back from the woods,” Slava says, visibly more comfortable with me now. He’s still nowhere near as chatty and animated as he is with Chloe, but I consider this progress. Before, he’d reply to most of my questions with just a word or two, or stay completely silent.

For the next few minutes, he shows me all the ins and outs of the castle—there are turrets and towers and big windows, the latter similar to the ones in our house—and then he shyly asks where Chloe is and why he hasn’t seen her all day.

“She’s resting,” I tell him. “A branch injured her arm, so we had to have some doctors come out here and fix it. She’s all better now, but she’ll be staying in bed for a couple of days while it heals.”

As I speak, his eyes grow wide with worry. “Chloe is hurt?”

“Only a little bit. She’ll be better soon.”

He still looks concerned. “She won’t die, like Mama?”

It’s like a shard of glass goes through my chest. “No, Slavochka. I won’t let that happen.” Alina told me he occasionally asks her about Ksenia, but this is the first time I’ve heard him talk about his mother—and I hate it.

I hate her for hiding him from me all those years, and I hate even more that she got herself killed in a car crash, leaving him with her vile family.

At my words, Slava brightens. “Can Chloe stay with us forever?”

Now this is a question I’m happy to answer. “Yes.” I look my son square in the face. “She can, and she will.”

No force on earth is powerful enough to take Chloe away from me now that I have her back. I will do whatever it takes to keep her—both for Slava and for myself.

She’s asleep when I stop by her room on the way to my office, so I let her rest. That’s what she needs now. Her physical injuries will heal in a matter of weeks, but the emotional wounds are a different matter. I contemplated not telling her what Konstantin uncovered about Bransford and his relationship with her mother, but I decided it was important that she know—that she understand the full extent of the danger she’s in.

I didn’t tell her everything, though—like the fact that her teenage mother slit her wrists after she’d learned she was pregnant. Or that after that unsuccessful suicide attempt, she visited an abortion clinic twice, only to chicken out both times. None of that is important. What matters is that after Chloe was born, Marianna was able to power through her trauma and become the caring mother Chloe had known and loved.

The first thing I do upon stepping into my office is call Pavel and tell him to come up. The second is videocall Valery.

“I need you to send a dozen of your best men here,” I tell my younger brother in lieu of a hello. “I need them right away.”

“On it,” Valery says, as coolly emotionless as always. Konstantin must’ve already briefed him on my situation. “Anything else? Weapons? Explosives?”

“Yes. Everything.” I already have a large stash here at the compound, but more won’t hurt. “Also, send over some pharmaceuticals.”

“You got it.”

He hangs up just as a knock sounds on my door.

I walk over to let Pavel in.

My right-hand man’s gunmetal eyes are unblinking. “War?”

“War,” I confirm grimly.

I’m not waiting for Bransford to send more assassins after Chloe.

Now that we know who her enemy is, we’re taking the fight to him.