Chapter 4 - The Collision of Worlds
Naomi backed away from her drafting table until her lower back hit the edge of the heavy wooden workbench. Her hands were shaking so violently she gripped the edge of the wood to steady herself, her dark eyes wide with a mixture of absolute terror and long-buried grief.
"How did you find me?" she gasped, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Did Julie... did Julie tell you?"
"Julie didn't have to tell me anything," I said, stepping slowly into the studio, making sure not to make any sudden movements that might trigger her flight instinct. "Your daughter sat beside me on a flight from Atlanta to New York, Naomi. She has my eyes, my chin, and a habit of asking uncomfortable questions."
Naomi flinched as if I had struck her. "You met Lily? Oh god... did you hurt her? Did you—"
"Hurt my own daughter?" My voice cut through the room like a whip, sharp enough to make her stop. I closed the distance between us, stopping just a few feet away. I could smell her perfume—the same vanilla and rain scent I remembered from five years ago. "Naomi, look at me. Do you really think I would ever harm a hair on her head?"
"I didn't know what you would do!" she cried out, tears finally breaking over her lashes, spilling down her cheeks in hot, angry streaks. "You walked out of my life, or so I thought! One day we’re laughing on a plane, and the next, men in black suits are standing in my apartment telling me that if I ever try to contact Dante Moretti again, my baby and I will end up in a shallow grave! What was I supposed to think?"
The words hit me like shrapnel.
"My uncle," I growled, my fists clenching so hard my knuckles turned white. "It was Viktor's men."
"I didn't know who was behind it!" she sobbed, sliding down against the workbench until she was sitting on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. "All I knew was that the man I fell in love with belonged to a world of monsters. I chose to run because I had to keep our baby safe. Do you have any idea what it’s like to raise a child entirely alone, terrified every single day that someone is going to kick your door down? Every time a black car drove down my street, my heart stopped!"
The sight of her breaking down—this fierce, brilliant, independent woman reduced to terror by the sins of my family—shattered whatever remained of my emotional detachment. I dropped to my knees right in front of her, ignoring the dust on the floor, and reached out to take her trembling hands.
She tried to pull away, but I held on, firm yet gentle, pulling her hands against my chest so she could feel how fast my heart was beating.
"Look at me, Naomi," I commanded softly, my voice thick with emotion. "Look at my eyes."
She slowly raised her tear-stained face, her gaze locking onto mine.
"My uncle is dead," I told her, every word heavy with absolute truth. "His faction was dismantled years ago. The men who threatened you are rotting in federal prison. There are no shadows hunting you anymore, Naomi. You have been safe for years, and you didn't even know it."
She stared at me, the confusion in her eyes wrestling with the crushing weight of five years of paranoia. "You... you didn't abandon us?"
"Never," I swore, pressing her hand against my face. "I spent five years searching for you in every corner of the country. I thought you left because you realized who I was and hated me. If I had known you were pregnant... if I had known you were carrying my child... I would have burned my entire empire to the ground to keep you safe."
Naomi let out a ragged, broken sob, finally leaning forward and burying her face in my shoulder. Her arms wrapped around my neck, holding on with a desperate, crushing strength as all the fear, anger, and exhaustion of the past five years poured out of her in a single, cathartic wave.
May you like
I held her close, burying my face in her dark curls, my own eyes burning with unshed tears.
We stayed like that on the dusty floor of the studio for a long time, two ghosts haunting each other across an ocean of lies, finally finding their way back to shore.
