The sound of his name seemed to echo too loudly in the room.
His brows knit together. He glanced up at Seraphina, confusion flickering across his face before he looked back at me. “She knows my name?”
Seraphina’s thumb brushed the back of his hand, slow and reassuring, the gesture so practiced it made my stomach twist. “Perhaps she overheard your father when he brought her back,darling,” she said smoothly. “She wasn’t fully unconscious the entire drive, remember?”
Darling.
Vanya gently slipped his hand free and took a tentative step toward me, stopping just short of arm’s reach. Not close enough to touch. Not close enough to smell him, to confirm he was real.
“Hi,” he said politely.
“My dad and I found you in the backseat of his car,” he continued, earnest and unguarded. “You were all bloody and... um...” His cheeks flushed pink, embarrassment creeping in. “Not wearing very much. Dad thought it was probably an Albanian trick. He wanted to leave you there.”
My chest tightened.
“But I didn’t want him to,” Vanya added quickly. “You looked really hurt. So I begged him to bring you home. I’m really glad you woke up. Are you feeling better?”
Each sentence landed like a separate wound.
I glanced at Seraphina.
She watched me openly now, no attempt to hide the satisfaction glinting in her eyes. That same small, poisonous smile I’d despised since the day Dmitri first compared me to her.
I swallowed hard. “Vanya... it’s me. Your—”
“Penelope,” Seraphina interrupted gently, but firmly, the way one corrects a child—or silences a threat. “Vanya lost his mother many years ago. In New Jersey.”
Her voice took on a rehearsed softness, every word measured.
“After giving birth to him, her father attempted to kidnap both mother and child. Dmitri arrived too late to save her—but just in time to rescue the baby. New Jersey wasn’t his territory.” She sighed, shaking her head as though recalling a tragic inconvenience. “There were limits to what he could do.”
I felt dizzy.
“A few days later,” Seraphina continued, pressing on before I could breathe, “we received word that the mother—Penelope—had succumbed to her injuries.” She crossed herself delicately. “God rest her soul.”
I stared at her.
Then at Vanya.
Then back at her.
My fingers dug into my palm until pain sparked—sharp, grounding. This wasn’t a nightmare. This was the story they’d given him. The lie he’d grown up believing.
“That’s right,” Vanya said solemnly, nodding. “Aunt Seraphina told me. She’s taken care of me ever since.”
Aunt.
“She reads to me every night,” he added proudly. “Helps with homework. Buys me books and toys. She even learned how to cook my favorite foods.” He hesitated, then said, confused, “I don’t know why Dad still won’t marry her. She’s really nice. She’d make a great mom.”
Something inside me cracked.
Not loudly. Quietly. Like a bone fracturing under pressure it could no longer bear.
Seraphina’s smile widened just enough for me to notice.
I forced my lips to move. “I’m... glad you’re safe, Vanya. And healthy.” My voice sounded far away, like it belonged to someone else. “Thank you for helping me.”
He brightened immediately. “Of course! I was really scared you’d die on the drive home.”