Page 107 of Cinderella and the Daddy
"I understand," he whispers.
"Do you?" I ask. "Because I need to be very clear about something, Charles. This is the only mercy you get from me. Ever. If you come back to America, if you try to contact Cindy without her invitation, if you so much as send a postcard—I'll finish what we started tonight. Are we clear?"
"Yes."
"Good." I turn toward my car, then pause. "For what it's worth, she deserved a better father than you turned out to be. Maybe keep that in mind if she ever does decide to let you meet yourgrandchild. If she ever talks to you again, you'd better accept it for the gift it is. But Charles, you will never be welcome in my home."
I leave him standing there in the blood and gore. He’s a broken man with nothing left. Viktor is already calling in a cleanup crew. He’ll make sure nothing traces back to us. By morning, this pier will look like nothing more exciting than a routine drug deal gone wrong. The kind of violence that happens every night in a city like Miami.
The drive back to the compound gives me time to think. Yuri Kozlov is dead. His organization is scattered to the wind. The threat to my family is eliminated, at least for now. In a few months, there will be other enemies and new wars.
But tonight, Cindy and Leo are safe. Tonight, I'm going home to my family.
The compound is quiet when I arrive, guards nodding respectfully as I pass through the gates. Inside, the house feels like a sanctuary after the violence of the pier. Light spills from under the bedroom door. I know Cindy is awake and waiting for me.
She always waits.
I find her propped up in bed with a book. When she sees me, relief floods her face.
"Is it finished?" she asks.
"It's finished."
I don't tell her about the choice I made regarding her father. Don't mention the ticket to Moscow or the conversationabout grandchildren that will never happen unless she decides otherwise. Those are details she doesn't need tonight.
Tonight, she just needs to know that we're safe. That our family is safe.
31
CINDY
Iattempt to reach for one of the Lego pieces, but my giant belly gets in the way. Leo and I are building what he insists is going to be the most epic Lego castle ever created in the history of the world. We’ve combined several sets. I’m pretty sure the kid should own stock in Lego. Luka spares no expense when it comes to buying Leo toys he thinks will further his education.
"And this is where the princess lives," Leo explains seriously, placing a tiny Lego figure on the highest tower. "She's got magical powers and can defeat any dragon."
"Sounds like my kind of princess," I say, reaching for another block. The movement sends a sharp pain across my lower back. I pause, breathing through it.
"You okay, Mom?" Leo looks at me with concern.
He’s my little protector. And his papa is my giant protector. This poor girl is never going to have a boyfriend. Between her big brother and Papa, she’s going to feel like she’s living in one of those towers.
Mac lifts his head from his luxurious bed in the corner. His ears are up and his head tilted as he stares at me. He senses my discomfort.
"Just the baby being active," I tell him with a smile, though this movement feels different. Deeper. "She's running out of room in there."
It's true. At thirty-eight weeks, our daughter has been increasingly restless. But these aren't the usual kicks and rolls I've grown used to. She feels lower, heavier. Like she's burrowing down, preparing.
I've been having Braxton Hicks contractions for weeks—practice rounds, the doctor called them. But yesterday they changed. More regular. More... purposeful. I haven't mentioned it to Luka yet. He's already a walking ball of anxiety, checking on me every hour, watching for signs like I might spontaneously combust.
The pressure in my pelvis has been building for days. That bowling ball feeling everyone talks about. When I walked Leo to his lessons this morning, I had to stop twice, pretending to admire the garden while actually waiting for the pressure to ease.
She's dropped. I know she has. That thing everyone kept telling me would happen—suddenly I can breathe easier, but I have to pee every twenty minutes. And the backache that started three days ago hasn't let up.
My body is preparing for battle, and soon, very soon, I'll have to tell Luka. But for now, I'll let him think everything is normal. Let us have this quiet morning before our world changes forever.
The doctor assured me last week that everything was progressing normally, but first babies usually come late, so we probably have at least another week or two.
I’m so ready to meet her. I want my body back.
