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I hesitate, fingers curling around the strap of the bag.
“It was…” I search for the right word, something that won’t sound too pitiful or too strained, “…quiet.”
Mom gives me a knowing look, her lips curving just slightly.
“Quiet,” she echoes softly. “And?”
I let out a slow breath, sinking down onto the edge of the bed.
“He’s polite,” I admit quietly. “But closed-off. Hard to read. It feels like I’m knocking on a door he’s never going to open.”
My mother sits beside me, her perfume familiar and comforting.
She takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Give it time,mija,”she says softly. “You have a good heart. And sometimes…” her voice dips, warm with quiet wisdom, “…sometimes the hardest men fall the deepest when you least expect it.”
Her words have me on the brink of tears, but I swallow the sudden lump rising in my throat and lean into her, wrapping my arms around her tightly. Her arms come around me without hesitation, holding me close, steady, grounding.
For a moment, I close my eyes, just breathing in her warmth.
I’m not going to give up, I tell myself silently.
13
Chapter 12
Zasha
I drive through the city with the morning light cutting sharp angles across the windshield, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose on my thigh.
I should be thinking about the mission, about tonight’s operation — about the men we’re about to take down, the ground we need to cover, the pieces we’re moving into place.
But instead, my mind drifts back to her.
Mara.
Standing barefoot in the kitchen this morning, wrapped in that silk robe, her hair soft around her face, eyes bright with quiet pride as she flipped pancakes on my previously cold and untouched stove.
I hadn’t expected it.
Hadn’t expected to enjoy that quiet hour together — the way her laughter softened the sterile edges of my house, the way her warmth reached places in me I thought were long frozen.
I know I made her feel bad when I told her not to bother, that she didn’t need to cook for me.
But what else could I say?
She’s made it clear she’s only here for a year, only here to serve out an arrangement she never wanted, to bide her time until she can slip free and claim the life she really dreams of.
I remind myself of that as I pull into the underground lot, kill the engine, and step out.
Shoving these thoughts to the back of my mind, I stride into Viktor’s private office, the air thick with low conversation and the smell of black coffee.
The tall windows throw pale light across the room, cutting through the haze.
Viktor and Lev are hunched over the large table, maps and plans spread out, folders open, weapons lists scrawled across notepads.
Their heads snap up as the door clicks shut behind me.