Chapter 2

Eva was one coffee and one nervous breakdown away from setting something—or someone on fire.

Sophia lay on the living room floor, nestled into a folded throw blanket like she’d claimed the apartment as her throne. Six months old. Silent. Her brown eyes were too still, too wide, too damn knowing. She didn’t babble or cry, watching them like she was trying to figure out if these two broken idiots were even worth trusting.

Eva had once held pressure on a gut wound while two men bled out beside her in a stairwell. That had been less stressful than this baby.

Then it came: two short knocks, followed by another, longer one.

Her whole body tensed like it remembered how to kill before it remembered how to breathe. A Bratva code. She hadn't heard it in a year—not since the last time she’d answered it with a pistol in one hand and a cake in the other.

She moved without thinking, muscle memory born of too many nights spent waiting for death. Her Glock was in hand before the creak of the second knock faded. Safety off. Barrel down. She moved carefully and soundlessly across the hardwood, heels barely brushing the floor.

Her breath came slowly. The kind you took before pulling a trigger, then she leaned toward the peephole, squinting… shit.

Two top bolts unlatched with a quiet scrape. She cracked the door open just enough to align her aim through the gap, finger on the trigger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Katerina Ivanova sauntered in like she owned the lease and the city. Black leather coat tailored to her curves, and her gloved fingers playing with the hem like she was bored already.

She smelled like expensive danger and unprocessed trauma. “Miss me, cousin?”

Eva didn’t lower the gun. Her grip tightened. “You have a death wish?”

Katerina’s gaze slid to the baby on the blanket. “Is that the little mafia messiah? She looks like she’s planning a coup.”

“Don’t touch her.”

“Please. I wouldn’t dare interrupt this sweet little hostage situation you’ve got going.” Katerina shrugged off her coat, revealing a shoulder holster under a sleek black blouse. “God, Yevgeniya . I thought you’d be running a kill squad by now. Instead, you’re… nesting?”

“I’m retired.”

Katerina laughed like Eva had just claimed to be a kindergarten teacher. “You quit. The Bratva doesn’t hand out pensions, sweetheart. You think the blood on your hands fades just because you stopped collecting paychecks?”

Eva’s teeth clenched. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

“To check on you,” Katerina said, unbothered. “And maybe flirt with your… co-parent. Is he here?”

As if summoned by pure chaos, the back door opened.

Alessandro Bianchi, sleeves rolled to the elbow, duffel bag in hand, paused mid-step. His eyes landed on Katerina, and he narrowed his eyes at him.

She turned toward him like a lion sizing up a rival apex predator. “You must be Alessandro Bianchi.”

He cocked his head. “And you must be… trouble.”

Katerina smiled like a knife sliding out of a sheath. “Flatterer.”

Eva groaned, holstered the gun, and moved to intercept. “Can we not?”

But Katerina stepped closer to him anyway, eyes roaming with slow appreciation. “You’re prettier than I expected. Cold and dangerous. But the bone structure? Criminal.”

Alessandro smirked. “You flirt like a threat.”

“I am one.”

Eva pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is a hostage situation, not speed dating.”

They didn’t get three more minutes of tension before the lights cut.

Everything blinked out: TV, lamp, overhead bulbs. The silence after was thick, felt wrong.

Then, one red sensor on the far wall pulsed once.

System breach.

Eva moved first.

“Alessandro—lights!”

He was already flipping the manual switch. Dim backup strips flickered on as motion sensors caught movement by the window.

He was tall, hooded, and very silent.

“Too smooth for street trash,” Eva muttered, crouching. “Too stupid for Bratva.”

Katerina grinned, already pulling a knife from her thigh holster. “Finally, some fun.”

The window exploded inward.

The man hit the floor and rolled, blade drawn. Eva was already there. She caught his arm mid-swing, twisted, buried a boot into his thigh, and shoved him against the wall hard enough to rattle plaster.

He staggered and drew another knife.

Eva ducked, swept his leg, and brought him down again. He grunted, tried to lunge—but Katerina was already behind him, blade pressed under his jaw so tight blood welled up.

“Say something interesting,” she whispered, eyes glittering.

“She wants the kid,” he said, breathing heavy. “Says… you’re in the way.”

Katerina tilted her head. “That’s disappointing.” She muttered before knocking him out cold with the hilt.

* * *

Twenty minutes later

The man was gagged, zip-tied, and stuffed in Alessandro’s trunk like a late delivery.

Sophia hadn’t flinched. She lay on her back now, one foot lazily kicked in the air, eyes wide and unbothered.

“Still not crying,” Katerina mused, crouching beside her. “This baby’s either a miracle or a demon.”

“She’s surviving,” Eva said, wiping blood from her palms. “That’s what we do.”

Katerina straightened slowly, gaze never leaving her cousin’s face. “You still got fight in you.”

“Don’t test it.”

A glance at the clock. “I should go.”

“That’s it?” Eva frowned. “You break in, flirt, stab a guy, then just… leave?”

Katerina grinned. “You forgot ‘look hot doing it.’”

She kissed Eva on the cheek, lingering and almost tenderly. She pulled back with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, turned on those black leather boots, and walked out with the same sinuous, catlike sway that made men underestimate her right before she slid a knife between their ribs.

Eva didn’t move or reply, but her hand twitched toward her Glock and didn’t let go for a long time.

* * *

Later Midnight

Eva stood at the kitchen sink, scrubbing blood off her hands.

Alessandro sat on the couch, arms folded, watching the baby who still hadn’t made a sound.

“She knows something,” he said.

“She’s six months old.”

“Yeah. And she still feels older than me.”

Eva reached for a towel, then stopped moving as her eyes landed on something: a book sat on the table. Not just any book, old Russian poetry. Obviously not something she owned when she was younger, but forgotten, but it was Katerina’s.

Her blood chilled, but Eva picked it up, then a note fell out. One line, in perfect Cyrillic:

We all belong to someone. Even you.

Eva didn’t speak at first. She just stood there, staring at the note like it was a detonator wired straight to her spine. Her fingers curled slowly around the paper, knuckles white, lips pressed into a line so tight it looked painful. She didn’t even seem to notice that her other hand was shaking slightly, but enough.

Across the room, Alessandro sat up straighter on the couch, shifting Sophia slightly in his arms like she might somehow absorb the tension. He watched Eva, his eyes narrowing.

“What?” he asked.

She didn’t answer immediately. Her mouth opened, then closed again. She turned the book over in her hand like she was hoping it would suddenly make sense—like it might prove she was wrong.

“She left a message,” Eva said finally, voice low, threaded with something that sounded a lot like disbelief but didn’t quite get there.

Alessandro stood now, slowly, deliberately, like one wrong move might set her off. “And?”

Eva didn’t look at him. She held the note out in front of her like it was diseased.

“She’s not here to help,” she said. “She never was.”

Alessandro frowned. “What does that mean?”

“She brought a blade to protect me,” Eva murmured, more to herself than him, “but she left something behind to warn me.”

Sophia stirred awake, rolling over the edge of the blanket, just enough to open her eyes. Eva saw her slightly smile, not a baby smile but a too-calm, too-knowing smile.

Eva’s breath hitched, and for the first time since they brought the baby home, she looked… concerned.

She turned back to Alessandro, her face shadowed in the soft kitchen light.

“This isn’t over,” she said. “Whatever game Katerina’s playing, we’re already in it.”

She unfolded the note again, stared at the sharp Cyrillic script like it was watching her back.

Alessandro stepped closer. “What does it say exactly?”

Eva didn’t blink. “We all belong to someone. Even you.”

Behind them, a low mechanical whine buzzed through the air — just for a second. Barely audible. But enough.

Eva snapped her head toward the window. Alessandro turned too, already moving to check the hallway feed.

The baby didn’t move.

But the camera in the corner of the room blinked once, then went dark.

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