Chapter 21

"I didn't think about that part," Petter said slowly.

"Which part?"

"What would happen when one of us met someone. It's been so long, that it seemed as if we would go on this way forever."

"Are you okay with that? Not living with them anymore?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, it's not as if it's a real break-up where I end up being a weekend dad. I'll see them every day, or most days." He sighed heavily. "I just didn't expect to be faced with this so fast. I didn't know what would happen with us—you and me, I mean. I didn't look as far ahead as us planning some sort of future."

"Nor did I. We wouldn't have had to yet, if things hadn't gone the way they have."

"When we find where we're going to live, I'll buy a house for Monica and the kids. I want to make sure they'll always be okay," Petter said.

I nodded. My heart began to pound. I wondered what would happen with us. Would he want to live with me? We'd had one date. Only one. He'd spent the night with me a handful of times. We barely knew each other, but I knew I loved him. I knew I would move in with him in a heartbeat. But if we rushed it, would we really have a chance? I'd never lived with anyone, and it could be a disaster.

"Shit," Petter muttered, and rubbed a hand over his face. "How did this all get so serious? Okay, look. We had one date, and I don't know that I'm ready to—"

"Hey." I grasped his hand in both of mine, relieved he felt the same. "There's no rush here. We shouldn't just move in together and hope for the best. We both need to get set up in business first. And we need to get to know each other properly. Let's do that before we think about anything else."

Petter relaxed and smiled. "I'm not used to any of this."

"Me neither. So we'll figure it out as we go along. Go on some more dates and get to know each other."

"Just so you know, I, um—" Colour crept into his face. "I feel the same way you do."

I grinned. "That's good to know."

A few minutes later, the door opened and Monica came in. "It won't be long until room service arrives. Davor, you should meet the kids properly. They keep asking who you are."

"What do you want to tell them?" Petter asked.

"The truth. They've always known we're not a normal mum and dad couple. Maybe Oscar's a bit young to completely understand, but Per will get it."

"Okay." Petter nodded and pulled his hand free of mine.

Suddenly, I was terrified. Coming along for the ride and being some distant figure that the kids' parents knew was easy enough. But being introduced to them as their dad's—what? Boyfriend? What if they hated me?

"Don't look like that, Davor. They'll be fine," Monica said. She opened the door again and called out. "Per! Come through here and bring Oscar."

Petter and I glanced at each other. The children walked into the room, Per proudly holding his plastered arm across his chest.

"I told you about, um—" Suddenly, Monica faltered, and I realised we hadn't discussed what I would be known as. I could be Davor again when we got to Florida, if I wanted to.

"Alex," I supplied.

"Alex," Monica finished. "He's your dad's partner."

Per walked right up to me and held his hand out for me to shake. "Hi, Alex. Are you Dad's boyfriend?"

"Um—" I shook his hand and glanced at Monica over his shoulder, worried about saying the wrong thing. Monica nodded. "I am, yes. Is that okay?"

"Are you nice to him?" the boy asked.

"I think so."

"Okay. It's nice to meet you. This is my brother, Oscar." He beckoned the smaller boy forward, and he approached, head down, shy and reluctant. "My best friend, Lena, has two mums," Per added.

Immediately, I relaxed a little. Per didn't care or think it weird that I was with his dad.

"If Mum gets a boyfriend, too, we'll have three dads and a mum," he added with a cheeky grin that made him look even more like Petter. "We'll get extra spoiled. Will you write on my cast?"

"Sure." I smiled, and took the pen Monica held out to me. The cast was partly covered in colourful drawings including a couple of motorcycles, a dog, and the Mobsters logo that Petter had tattooed on his neck.

"Dad's friends drew them," Per explained.

I wrote in one of the gaps and handed the pen back. Then Monica drew the children away and sat down with them. She began explaining to them that we were going to America and that from now on, they must speak in English. They both shrieked with excitement at the prospect of going to Disney World.

"We should switch to English, too," I muttered. I'd been taught it, of course, from childhood, but having moved to Sweden as a kid and having to master Swedish instead, I was rusty.

"Yeah," Petter said in English. "I need to get hold of an unregistered phone. We can't go back. I want to tell Adam he can take my bikes."

"I have a couple in my bag." I led him back to my room and opened the large holdall.

Petter glanced inside and smiled. "You brought the leathers?"

"Of course. You bought them for me. Once we get settled in Florida and you get another bike, I'll be needing them." I located one of the cheap phones I had and passed it to him.

Petter called Adam, his second in command, and explained he and his family wouldn't be returning. I could hear Adam's loud voice at the other end of the phone, protesting that Petter's name had been cleared—it was on the news—so there was no reason why he couldn't go home.

"There's more to this," Petter said, and explained his family was in danger. He told Adam where the spare keys to the house were, and where to find the cash he had. Lastly, he told the other man to take his bikes and either keep them or pass them onto any of the other Mobsters who wanted them. When he ended the call, he looked exhausted and miserable. I was used to leaving everything behind but I could see it hurt for him to walk away from everything he and Monica had, without having the chance to take more of their belongings with them.

I took the SIM card out of the phone and broke it in half, then put a new one in and called Christian.

"Hello?" he answered after a minute.

"It's me," I said in English. "What's happening?"

"Blanka is okay," he told me first. "She's staying in your apartment. Majmun's been arrested for the three murders Petter was charged with. Zvnomir's dead—"

"What? How?" Zvonomir was our biggest threat, after Dubravka.

"My mother's colleague, Bjorn, killed him. They set him up to get him out in the open—unofficially."

"Thank God. What about Dubravka?"

"The cops haven't got anything on her. She seems to be carrying on with the restaurant. Pawel and Jovan are still there. Petter's name has been cleared. The fact that he apparently tried to kill himself wiped out the fact that he escaped jail. The cameras showed him being dragged out of there virtually unconscious by you and me, so it's you they want, not him. He could stay."

"No. My mother hates that I'm gay, and even more that I'm with Petter. He and his family would still be in danger. Do you know what happened with his lawyer?"

"Yes, my mother interviewed her. Dubravka paid her to blackmail Petter. She's terrified of your family but she cracked immediately when she found herself on the wrong side of an interview desk."

"Bitch," I muttered. "She'd get more than a slap on the wrist if I got my hands on her." I took a breath and focussed on what was important right now. "You'll look after my sister, won't you?"

"Of course I will. I love her," Christian said. "I always did but I kept my distance because of Stefan."

"That little weasel," I scoffed.

"You can't come back," he went on. "You're on that video of Majmun torturing Sven. As well as breaking Petter out of jail."

"I know that. I won't be coming back. Don't ask where."

"I wouldn't."

"Just tell Blanka I'll check in with her sometime. I'll find a way to do it," I said.

"Will do. Good luck. Oh, wait. Um, I have Petter's jewellery."

"What?"

"A bracelet and several rings. My mother got them from the station. I said I'd take them, you know, just in case."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Look, I'm calling from an unregistered phone. Get Blanka to call me on this number in one hour. Tell her to use the phone in my safe. It's another unregistered number."

"All right," Christian agreed. The line went dead and I put the phone in my pocket.

"Okay. We'd better look for some flights." I had an iPad with me, again set up with a fake name, address, and email. I switched it on and looked for flights from Oslo to New York. Flying directly to our actual destination probably wouldn't be smart, even with fake passports. "What names are your passports in?"

"I'll get them." Petter returned a few minutes later with four passports. His own was in the name of Magnus Ericksson. Monica and the kids' had the surname Jonsson. "I guess we're divorced," he said with a sigh.

"It's only until we get there. You can go back to your own names then."

"I suppose. What about you? You said Alex?"

"Alexej Markovic."

"Croatian?"

"Yes. Most of my passports are. When I speak English my accent is eastern European, not Swedish, so it makes more sense. Are you okay?"

"Better. Just tired."

I found suitable flights, although there were none available until the next day, meaning we would have to spend another twenty-four hours in the hotel. I arranged accommodation in a hotel in New York for one night, then onward flights to Miami.

"I should be paying for some of this," Petter said.

"Don't worry about it. It's only about forty thousand krona."

"Right."

The room service arrived then and we joined the rest of the family to eat. Monica had apparently ordered everything on the menu. She and the children all tried bits of each thing. I had bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee. Monica gave Petter a huge plateful of food, and he picked at it unenthusiastically but finished it. Then he went back to the other room. When I followed him, I found him asleep.

I watched him for a few minutes, hoping he would be okay. Monica had explained that physically he would feel weak and tired for a while until the blood he'd lost regenerated. But he seemed depressed, too. He was leaving more behind than me—a family home and years of memories with his kids; all of his possessions and beloved bikes. Me—I'd never collected anything that meant something to me. My apartment was just a bolt hole and a place to have sex.

I bent over Petter and brushed a light kiss across his cheek. Then I sat down and watched the TV turned down low and waited for him to wake up.