Page 14

Chapter eight

No Diapers

Kira

T he Vasiliev mansion was, in a word, creepy . Just as Eoghan had said. It had spiraling gothic towers, was missing sentries, and flying gargoyles.

The fact that the sky was blue did nothing to the surrealism of this place.

When I saw Aoibheann at the top of the stairs, her flowing, deep purple gown lying gracefully over her protruding belly, it all made sense.

She belonged here. She smiled at me with a gentleness that put me at ease, even as the tension between Eoghan and I threatened to make me break down in sobs. I was so tired of crying.

Crying was an exhausting preoccupation.

Eoghan insisted on carrying Cillian, as if he was afraid I’d snatch him and run away at any moment. The trust, the bond, was broken, and yet the love was still there, devolving into nothing but pain and longing.

He didn’t grab my hand or touch my waist. He had opened the door for me, so that was something, at least.

“We have a full house today,” Aoibheann said, placing her hand on her round belly.

It almost felt like my C-section scar ached at seeing her round with a child.

I had enjoyed my pregnancy, mostly. I felt tired and bloated, of course, but I’d spent a lot of time talking to my belly.

There was something soothing about always keeping him warm inside of me that lessened how much I missed the man I had left behind. My husband. My Eoghan.

Though that was nothing compared to how much I missed him now, when he was standing right beside me.

“Cousin!” Dairo cheerily waved through the darkness of the front door, coming out into the sunlight. “What a delight to see you again, Kira.”

He came down the stairs, his feet moving like Marvin the Martian, as he grabbed Cillian from Eoghan and threw him into the air. “This must be my darling nephew, Cillian!”

My son laughed, his hair flying in the wind as he came back down.

“My God, he looks like a Green, doesn’t he?” Dairo said proudly, as he threw him up and caught him again.

Eoghan put his hands out to catch him, as though doubting Dairo would. But of course, he got him, then threw him back up again, with a high-pitched, “ Whee !”

“I’m your Uncle Dairo,” he said proudly, smiling at my kid, before finally turning his eyes to me. “I can’t wait until the twins are old enough to be thrown about as well.”

He leaned down, kissing me on the cheek. “How are you, Kira?”

He was acting as though I’d never been gone, his easy manner no different than when I’d met him years ago.

“How was the homecoming?” Dairo put his arm around my shoulders, holding a squirming and laughing Cillian with one arm as he led me inside. “Did the old sourpuss over there give you a hard time?”

He smiled over at Eoghan, who glared back at him.

When I didn’t respond, he took his arm off of me, and looked between the two of us, letting out a low whistle, as he said, “Oh, dear.”

Cillian reached his arms out to me, opening and closing his hands in a universal sign that he wanted me to carry him. He launched himself at me, and I oofed when I caught him.

“Are you alright?” Eoghan asked, and he touched me for the first time, his fingertips lightly grazing my lower back.

“Yes,” I said, with a forced smile. I was so eager to connect with him, it was maddening! I just wanted him back. I would curve myself into him, if he so much as just let me . “He’s just getting big. Almost too heavy for me to carry.”

“Come here, lad,” Eoghan said, taking Cillian under the arms, and pulling him back into an embrace. “Come tire out your Dad for a while. Give your Mum a break.”

I looked at the two of them, Eoghan bouncing the fussy child who had way too much energy to be kept still. They looked right together. Father and son.

“Have you met my wife? I don’t think so,” Dairo said idly, as he looked up at a woman with black hair, pulled into a crown braid around her head. Her skin was as dark as my own, and she had the distinctive features of a Pacific Islander, or maybe Asian? I wasn’t sure.

Her hazel eyes turned to me and she smiled, weakly, as two babies were swaddled in her muscular arms.

“This is Rose,” Dairo proudly said, taking one of the babies from her. “This is little Jericho, and that there is sweet little Jocelyn.”

They couldn’t have been more than a year old. I thought having one child was hard, but two? The difficulties were written all over Rose’s face.

“Hello,” she said, her smile a little forced. Not because she was rude—at least, I didn’t think so—but because she was tired. That postpartum tired, that I was more than a little familiar with. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Eoghan.”

“Oh, dear,” I said, mocking Dairo’s earlier voice. “That can’t be good.”

Rose’s smile became more genuine. “They do like to tell stories, don’t they?”

She turned away, and I assumed she was leading us to where we were supposed to have lunch as we conspired to murder the Durantes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dairo said.

Rose didn’t say anything more, as she just walked slowly down the marble hall.

Jericho stepped out of a door. When I glimpsed the small opening, it looked like he was coming out of a library or an office. As soon as he cleared the small passageway, my eyes widened at the man who followed him.

My mouth opened as I looked into two, familiar, snake-like eyes.

The man smiled politely, looking across all of us, his eyes not landing on anyone in particular. Not even me, or the man who held my son.

“Children? You let them bring children? Vasiliev, really?” Blink said, his English accent as thick as ever. “You couldn’t get a nanny or something as we plan the murder of your sworn enemies?”

Jericho approached us, coming to Rose, and picking Jocelyn out of her arms. He dipped his head and quietly said, “You need to eat first, before you start taking care of the little monsters.”

Rose simply nodded at him, as Jericho glared at her husband. Dairo rolled his eyes, lightly patting the bum of the twin in his arms.

“Of course, you know my father-in-law,” Dairo said to me a little too loudly. “Jericho Vasiliev. Dad, have you met Kira?”

Jericho bristled, and almost growled as he stared at Dairo. I couldn’t help but smile a little, looking at Eoghan, who was acting like this was a totally normal occurrence.

“We met yesterday,” I told Dairo, just to cut the awkwardness when Jericho ignored him.

“Well, that’s fine then,” Dairo said, as he bounced the child in his arms.

“Am I invisible?” Blink said, as we passed him, heading towards whatever we were heading towards. “Am I speaking, but somehow, unheard? Did someone press my mute button?”

“This passive-aggressive guest is Andres Lutkus,” Jericho said, with an almost bored expression. “Friend of the family.”

Eoghan acknowledged him, and my heart leapt to my throat. I had often envisioned bringing my two lives together, but never quite like this.

“So are the children going to participate in the war planning? Really, Jericho, are you going to let them in on battle plans now? Have you no sense of security—”

I couldn’t help myself. “The oldest one is two. The youngest is still in utero. Do you think any of them will be giving away sensitive Mafia secrets?” Then I cooed at baby Jericho, “Will you be giving away secwet war pwans to your Tickle Me Elmo?”

Blink lifted a single brow, repressing a gentle smile, before he coughed it away..

“Good lord, no,” Dairo said, pulling baby Jericho away from me. “We absolutely forbid toys that make noise. Anything that comes with batteries goes straight into the trash.”

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. I could relate entirely too well to that. Toys that made noise were obviously the invention of Satan himself.

“They shit themselves, don’t they? That seems counterproductive to any serious discussion.” Blink wrinkled his nose, sniffing, as if one of the kids had already pooped.

Or maybe one of the adults?

“Are you volunteering to change diapers?” I asked, repressing a smile.

“Absolutely not!”

“I take it you know each other,” Eoghan said, in a deceptively calm and quiet voice. But I knew better. I could feel the undercurrent of jealousy in his voice.

If he was jealous, then he still loved me. It was a ridiculous, but reassuring thought.

I almost wanted to slap myself. I had fallen into such ease, knowing that everyone here was Paradigm, or at least adjacent to it. And I still wanted to talk to Blink.

“Of course!” Blink said, surprised he was going to just let it all out at once— “I used to purchase paintings at Gallery Four.”

Then again, was Dairo also Paradigm? Was his wife? Why were they in on all of this planning? Or was it only the Mafia connection tying everyone together? No, that couldn’t be. Not if Blink was here.

But if he was here, what was he pretending to be? Mafia? Or something else? Shit…

Double doors opened to a room with a high ceiling. Wide and tall windows lined a single wall, with embroidered heavy drapes. The place was positively Baroque.

Intricate plaster and crown molding decorated the domed ceiling overhead, and Gothic-style furniture lined the walls.

This place was a time capsule. I lingered at the door as others walked past. Dairo and Rose went to sit beside two highchairs, only to have Jericho shoo them away, grabbing one of the highchairs and placing it by the head of the table.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Mr. Lutkus,” I said, referring to him by the name he would have used at Gallery Four. Namely, his own name, which was rather prestigious among some circles. “How do you know the Vasilievs?”

Blink’s steps stuttered for just a moment before he casually said, “Through a shared dislike of the Durantes, of course.”

Of course… He always said that so damn haughtily. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And also the Morellis,” he added. Giorgio Morelli, specifically.

I felt Eoghan tense beside me.