“Not today. You and Rasmus are coming to work with me, and then I’ll drive you to school after lunch.”

“Why?”

“I can’t explain. But that’s just the way it is.”

“Does Mom know?”

“Mom already left. With Luiza. Headed to some parenting group—they won’t be back until tonight. And today you can’t stay home alone. Ten minutes. Then I better see you dressed and downstairs next to Rasmus.”

He pulled the blanket down until he caught a glimpse of Hugo’s forehead. He kissed it, then headed down two flights to the basement.

He wanted to scream it.

No.

Mom doesn’t know.

Because I won’t force her to have to deal with my past ever again.

Zofia was on maternity leave right now but usually spent her weekdays at the same school as the boys teaching Spanish, French, and—when it was needed—Polish. Zofia, who had wedged a new note with a big red heart into the doorframe of his workroom, just a little bit of love that slowly drifted to the floor as he opened and stepped in. He picked it up, kissed it as he kissed Hugo’s forehead, and put it in the chest pocket of his shirt. Close to his own heart.

The workroom consisted of a desk, a chair, and a small closet in one corner—which is where he headed now. It was there among the winter coats and dress shirts he never used that he stretched up to a shelf with some storage boxes. And when he reached a little to the right behind one of the drawers, he felt it. A lever. He pressed down and a faint hiss was audible as the back of the closet slid away to reveal another room. A hidden room. Daylight seeped in from a small crack near the ceiling, illuminating a space big enough for a weapon cabinet, a safe, a clothing rack with bulletproof vests hanging on it, and a row of filing cabinets.

A secret room left over from his days as an infiltrator and a liar. Which he should get rid of to prove it was truly over.

He’d hidden the hand grenade on the lower shelf of his weapon cabinet next to his Polish Radom gun. He closed his hand around it, just like Rasmus. A weapon designed to spread death. He opened one of the briefcases and slid it into an inner pocket. It wasn’t going to stay in this house.

Back to the ground floor and the hall. And only one son. Rasmus. Dressed, just like he should be.

“Where’s Hugo?”

“Don’t know.”

“Wait here.”

“I’m tired of waiting. The keys, Dad. I’ll go wait in the car.”

“You stay where you are! Do you understand? You don’t go anywhere alone!”