Chapter 4

Eva had made it exactly six steps into her office building before the paranoia kicked in.

Not from a shadow tail. Not from a sniper sight.

From the six-month-old strapped to her chest like a live grenade.

Sophia hadn’t cried all morning. She also hadn’t smiled.

She’d just clung, small hands in a death-grip on Eva’s blazer, like something in her knew the world was about to shift again.

The elevator dinged and opened onto her floor. Eva walked out in what passed for “normal” — fitted blazer, boots, no visible weapons. The Glock was in the baby bag, zipped next to the pacifier.

Lyra was waiting by her desk, flipping between three tabs on her tablet and muttering about judges being above their damn pay grade.

She looked up, saw the baby, and froze. “Wow. That’s a real child.”

Eva arched a brow. “As opposed to what? A hologram?”

“I just… I don’t know. I thought when you said ‘guardian,’ it’d be, like, a knife-wielding teenager you adopted off a subway platform.”

Sophia shifted against Eva’s chest.

Lyra tilted her head. “She’s always that quiet?”

“She’s… observational.”

Lyra’s mouth twitched. “Creepy baby.”

“Don’t say that in front of her.”

“She doesn’t talk.”

“She understands.”

Jeremy popped in wearing a sweater that cost more than Eva’s rent and carrying two coffees. “I brought caffeine and chaos.”

He gasped when he saw Sophia. “Oh my God. I know we said no baby talk, but look at her. She’s not even chubby, she’s like an orphan raised by wolves.”

“She kind of was,” Eva muttered, moving past him.

Jeremy followed. “We should decorate the spare office. Paint one wall pink. Or black. Goth baby chic.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She’s not a pet, Jeremy.”

“She looks better brooding than you do,” he said just as Sophia shifted again — forehead pressing into Eva’s collarbone, tiny fists tightening.

Warm. Too warm.

Eva’s brain caught up to her body a second too late. Then came the sound — a stuttering, shallow breath — and the stillness that wasn’t rest.

“Jeremy,” she said quietly.

One look at her face, and he had his phone out, voice going nuclear at a hospital receptionist while Lyra pressed her wrist to Sophia’s forehead.

“She’s burning,” Lyra muttered. “How long has she been like this?”

“She was fine this morning.” Eva’s throat closed. “She was fine.”

The baby didn’t cry. That was the worst part.

The ambulance arrived in eight minutes.

Hospital waiting room

White tile. Harsh lights. Too much background noise.

Eva sat stiff, hands clenched so hard her nails dug crescents into her skin. Sophia was behind those double doors.

She tried to breathe like an assassin. Count. Control. Stay sharp.

Instead, she saw Luka’s hand on the wheel. Hanna’s voice told her it was teething. Then fire. Screams. And the baby, so small, crying in the wreckage.

Only now, she wasn’t even crying.

“Eva.”

She looked up.

Alessandro was there.

No call. No text. But of course, he knew.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, gripping her arms like he needed proof she was still solid. “What happened?”

“She—she didn’t cry. She was too quiet. Then the fever. She couldn’t breathe.”

His jaw worked once. “Where is she?”

“They won’t let me in.”

He didn’t waste time on empty reassurances. He just pulled her into his chest, one arm anchoring her, the other stroking her back with deliberate, grounding pressure.

God help her, she let him.

Jeremy, by the vending machine, whispered to Lyra, “Uh… is that the guy?”

“Guess so,” Lyra murmured, watching. “Never seen her let anyone touch her without breaking their wrist.”

“She’s crying.”

“I didn’t think she could.”

Eva pulled back. “I don’t do this. I don’t lose control.”

“You didn’t,” Alessandro said. “You’re here. That’s control.”

“I’m scared.”

“You should be,” he said simply. “That’s what makes you dangerous enough to keep her safe.”

The double doors opened. “Guardians for Sophia Ricci?”

They both stood.

“She’s stable,” the doctor said. “Fever spike. No infection. We’re keeping her overnight for observation.”

Eva’s knees nearly buckled.

“Go,” Alessandro said, guiding her toward the hall. “I’ll be here.”

* * *

Later — elevator to his building.

Guards straightened when they saw her. “Tripled surveillance. Checked the nursery three times.”

Eva didn’t slow. “Last time your triple security let a bug into the penthouse.”

Her driver caught up. “Ms. Ivanova—”

“I’m Russian. I don’t trust. Especially after your boss tried to get my uncle killed.”

By her floor, fatigue had curdled into ice. The hallway was too still — still air means someone’s waiting. Bratva rule number seven.

At the lock, she caught it — perfume. Sweet. Not hers.

Nursery: clear.

Bedroom: wrong.

Katerina leaned against the dresser in nothing but a towel, damp hair dripping, smirk in place.

“You redecorated,” she drawled. “Warm water. Clean sheets. And he’s in the other room. No wonder you’re staying.”

Eva’s Glock came up without thought. “Door locked, or did someone invite the snake?”

Katerina’s smirk didn’t move. “We’re family. Family shares.” Her gaze swept Eva. “You always fall for the wrong men. Bianchi turns those eyes on you, and you forget he used you — same as I did.”

Eva’s jaw tightened. “You think I’m easy to play?”

“I know you are,” Katerina said softly.

Eva lunged. The Glock hit the carpet. Hair yanked. A knee slammed into the thigh, buckling it.

“You’re still sloppy,” Eva spat, shoving her into the dresser.

Katerina laughed, twisting free, grabbing her hair, slamming her against the wall. “You used to be quicker. Maybe he’s slowing you down.”

Eva’s hand closed around her throat. “Say his name again and I’ll carve it into you before I cut it out.”

Katerina grinned. “Alessandro, mi amore.”

The door creaked. A man in a blue shirt leaned in, jacket over his shoulder, watching like it was pay-per-view.

“Was just stopping by to say hello,” he said, eyes flicking from knife to towel to tangled hair. “But this… is better.”

“Why are you here?” Alessandro’s voice cut through, sharp enough to freeze both women.

Eva straightened but didn’t step back. “Why is he here? And who the hell let her in?”

The man smirked. “You must be Evelyn Park… or Ivanova?”

Alessandro’s jaw locked. “Eva, this is my younger brother. And he’s leaving.” He yanked Giovanni out into the hall.

Katerina whistled, unbothered. “Hi. Katerina. Hottest Ivanova.”

“Shut up, Katerina,” Eva snapped. “You’re leaving. Now.”

Katerina rolled her eyes, reaching for a shirt from Eva’s closet.

Eva tore it from her grip. “Touch my things again and I’ll break your fingers.”

“Flat-chested chick,” Katerina muttered — but her smile was thinner now.

Eva stepped in close, yanking her wet hair so their faces almost touched. “You’ve already endangered Sophia once. You do it again, you’ll be breathing through a tube. I’ll make sure our uncle knows exactly why.”

Katerina’s smirk cracked. “Fine. I’m gone. You and he deserve each other.”

Eva shoved her toward the door. “Make me a promise, cousin — you don’t touch anything that’s mine.”

A voice came from the hall, casual but carrying. “Everything okay, ladies?”

Katerina froze, towel clutched tighter, eyes darting toward the sound.

Eva didn’t look away from her. “Say yes.”

Katerina swallowed. “Yes.”

Eva opened the door just enough to see Giovanni leaning against the wall, grinning like he’d been listening the whole time.

Two boroughs away, Katerina Ivanova stubbed out her cigarette with a bored twist of her heel.

A black car slid to the curb outside her cousin’s old apartment in Queens — the place Eva had abandoned, but where fools still came looking.

The back door opened.

Katerina slid in without hesitation, all legs and silk and quiet malice.

“Hello, Senator Grayson,” she said, flicking damp hair off her shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

The tall blonde beside her didn’t smile. Her eyes were polished ice; her lips, a thin line drawn with cruelty.

Katerina’s uncle had warned her once: Grayson’s the kind of poison that doesn’t kill you fast. She lets you rot.

“Miss Ivanova,” Grayson said, voice as even as glass. “Tell me about the girl.”

Katerina’s mouth curved into a slow, predatory grin. “Oh,” she purred. “Where should I start?”

She leaned back, eyes glittering, already savoring the moment Eva would realize how close this war had crept to her door.

Nothing, Katerina thought, was sweeter than proving she’d always been the smarter Ivanova.

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