The Volkov Legacy

Maggie's Point of View.

I fed Jamie the last spoonful of mashed fruit, and he smiled—that toothless smile that lit up my day.

“All done, champ, that’s it for now,” I said, laughing when he made a face of discontent and banged on the tray of his high chair, demanding more. "Hey, buddy, you have to eat slowly," I added when he frowned as if genuinely offended.

That expression... it was impossible not to notice how much he looked like Dominic. I didn't know much about Jamie's father. Only that he had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. But that way of frowning when he was concentrating—or angry—I knew well. His father used to make that face too, one day I would tell Jamie that when he was older.

"You have his look... sorry, baby," I murmured, running my finger between his eyebrows. He mumbled something that sounded like "mama," and I smiled without realizing it. My little one was already trying to talk, even if everything still came out jumbled. I took off his bib and picked him up.

"Come on, come on. You've had enough to eat. Now it's time for lunch, okay?"

The answer came in the form of little hands banging on the high chair. Dissatisfied. To distract him, I made an exaggerated car noise.

"Vroom." Jamie laughed—and soon began to imitate me. I laughed along with him. Sometimes that was enough.

I wiped his mouth and hands with a damp cloth and we left the small kitchen. In the bedroom, I grabbed my bag and Jamie's, slinging them over my shoulders as if preparing for a mission. I glanced at the clock.

"Damn, we're already late."

My stomach growled as I crossed the living room. There was no time for breakfast, so I grabbed a banana from the kitchen. That would have to do. I stuffed the fruit into my bag and left the house. In the elevator, the yellow sign seemed to laugh in my face: Out of order.

"Fuc... Oh, great. Of all days." I almost cursed.

Almost, because I held back. I didn't like swearing—and Jamie didn't need to grow up hearing it, even if he was still learning to talk. You could never be too careful. I hurried down the stairs, Jamie securely in my arms. Each step was a small test of endurance: the heavy bag on one shoulder, his suitcase on the other, and the stuffed giraffe slipping through my fingers.

Why did babies come with so many accessories? I thought, laughing to myself as I tried not to trip.

We practically ran through the building's lobby. In the parking lot, I put Jamie in his car seat with the automatic precision of someone who had done it a thousand times before, secured the bags, and threw myself into the front seat. Everything was ready, I just had to start the car.

I turned the key, the car sputtered... and died. I took a deep breath and tried again, nothing.

"Seriously?" I banged on the steering wheel. "Please, please, please," I muttered. "I promise I'll fill up the tank later, just help me out today."

I tried again. The engine almost started... and died again. Frustration weighed heavily on me, I rested my forehead on the steering wheel, feeling my eyes burn, when I heard Jamie behind me.

"Mama... vroom vroom."

I lifted my head. He was watching me with those alert little eyes—and then he smiled. My heart melted instantly. How could someone so small hold me up like that?

"Okay, little one," I took a deep breath. "Let's go. Mommy is going to get this car running."

For a moment, I pondered: waste more time there and risk my shift... or spend too much money on a taxi across Las Vegas — home, daycare, work. I returned to the wheel, determined. God couldn't be that cruel to a single mother who had two jobs.

I turned the key carefully... And, like a miracle, the engine started. I let out a little scream of relief. Jamie clapped his hands, imitating me, excited.

"See? We can do it!" I laughed, feeling my chest ease.

I left the parking lot quickly, driving through the streets of Vegas with my heart racing, but grateful to finally be on the move. It was seven in the morning, and I already felt like I had lived a whole day, but there was still a lot ahead of me. Two hours later, I was back at the snack bar counter at a frenetic pace, feeling strange and weak—a predictable effect of hours without proper food and nonstop work.

"Are you okay, Maggie? You look pale," Jenn's voice pulled me back as I balanced the tray full of empty plates.

Lunch time was always chaotic. From ten to three, we barely had time to breathe. I hadn't stopped since I arrived, and with only a banana in my stomach, I didn't even know how I was still standing.

"I think I'm going to pass out, but who has time for that?" I joked, leaving the tray at the kitchen window.

Jenn didn't laugh, she looked at me with concern as she picked up two trays at once.

"If you pass out, you'll stop anyway. You'll ask Clyde to make you something to eat. I'll hold the tables for twenty minutes. It won't be the end of the world." I sighed, too tired to argue.

"Thanks," I muttered, taking off my apron and heading for the kitchen.

Clyde saw me as soon as I walked in. He was making sandwiches, but he dropped everything and came over to me.

"You look like you're going to collapse any minute," he said, serious and concerned.

I let out a snort.

"Thanks."

He ran his hand through my hair, which was tied back in a messy bun, tucking a strand behind my ear.

"You need to slow down, Maggie. You look beautiful as always... but exhausted."

I took a step back. I knew how Clyde felt, and I didn't want to encourage it, not because he was a bad guy—he was amazing—but because I simply didn't have room for it. Jamie's father had already been more than I could handle. Something casual, unpretentious, that ended in pregnancy and the responsibility of raising a child alone, and as much as I loved Jamie above all else, doing that on a waitress and dog walker's salary was anything but easy. Clyde understood right away. He took a step back, respectful, with an understanding smile.

"I'll make you something to eat before you go back to the tables. I won't be long."

"Thanks," I said again, now more sincerely, sitting down on a stool near the counter.

Around me, the chaos continued—pots clanging, orders being shouted—but my mind began to wander. Almost two years ago, it was me standing where Clyde was now, making sandwiches for two, and where I was sitting at that moment was Dominic—that mysterious man with the most intense eyes I had ever seen. He watched me as if I were the most interesting thing in the world, silent, carrying a presence that threw me off balance. At the time, I believed Dominic would be just a temporary distraction, something that would pass without leaving a mark.

I remembered it well: it was the third night in a row that Dominic had appeared at the diner, always occupying the same table, near the window, where the neon lights of Las Vegas pierced through the worn curtains and spread across the old tile floor in colorful reflections. I knew he would be there—almost as if he were already part of my routine. Three nights in a row, and I still didn't understand what he was doing.

When the clock struck eleven and the diner began to empty, he didn't leave. He stayed until the last customer left and helped clean up—not that I thought he had ever done anything like that in his life. So, not wanting to seem ungrateful, I offered him a sandwich, and he accepted. We both went to the kitchen; he sat at the table while I prepared sandwiches for us.

"That smells good," he commented.

I gave a short laugh, shaking my head.

"Look, I'm not as good at this as Clyde. He's the master of sandwiches, I'm just a waitress filling in... But it should be edible."

"I'll take anything you make," he replied.

His smile widened, sincere, almost provocative, and his eyes... oh, those eyes. They sparkled in a way that made my cheeks burn. I carried the plate to the table and placed the sandwich in front of him. Dominic watched me so intently that it made me want to look away—and at the same time, it pulled me like a magnet.

"I really don't understand," I began, crossing my arms, trying to look uninterested, even though my heart was racing. "You're here, eating cheap sandwiches and helping clean a diner... when you could be anywhere else," my tone was light, trying to break the awkward tension. "Didn't you say you came to Las Vegas for a farewell to a life without responsibilities? Because, honestly, you're doing it all wrong."

He shrugged, the smile still there, now softer.

"I wouldn't rather be anywhere else."

I should have laughed, made a joke, but I couldn't. Something about the way he said it hit me. It wasn't just the words—it was the way he looked at me, as if I were the only thing in that place that really mattered. I took a deep breath and went back to the square, finishing making my own sandwich. When I returned, I sat down across from him, placing my plate on the table.

"You're not going to give up, are you?" I asked, shaking my head. Any other guy would have given up at the first no, but not Dominic.

He smiled confidently.

"You don't know me very well yet. One of my most striking characteristics is persistence," he leaned forward slightly, without breaking eye contact. My heart raced. "And when I want something, Maggie... I go after it... And I wanted you from the second I laid eyes on you."

My cheeks burned.

The heat rose through my body like fire, and I looked away, fiddling with my sandwich, trying to hide how those words had shaken me. Dominic could have been anywhere else in that city. Drinking, dancing, laughing with another woman. That was why he was in Las Vegas—a farewell to a life without ties, without responsibilities. And yet, there he was, spending his nights in a cheap diner, cleaning tables with me, just for the chance to be close.

How long could I resist someone like him?

He spoke to me in a way no one ever had before. It wasn't empty compliments; it was as if he really saw me—beyond the tired waitress.

"Why do you do this?" I asked, almost without realizing it. "Why do you come back?"

He looked at me for a moment, the sparkle in his eyes that I was beginning to recognize.

"Because it's worth it."

I laughed nervously and turned my attention back to the sandwich.

Maybe... just maybe... I was willing to find out how far his persistence would go.

"Here you go."

Clyde's voice brought me back to reality. He placed a simple sandwich in front of me.

"Eat this and take a breather, okay?" I nodded and took a small bite. It was delicious—and I was hungry.

"Thanks, Clyde. Really."

He smiled and went back to work. As I ate, I couldn't help but smile as I remembered that night with Dominic in that same kitchen. The beginning of an incredible week, the moment my heart ended up in a place it had never been before. Dominic was right... It was worth it, and I had confirmation of that every day when I saw Jamie's smile in the morning.

After an eight-hour shift at the diner, followed by four more hours walking dogs, I was completely exhausted. My legs felt like lead, every muscle begging for rest, but with Jamie sleeping in the back seat of the car, rocked by the gentle movement of the road, I could finally breathe. The end of the day, despite the fatigue, was always my favorite time, when I had Jamie with me. When the silence of the night and the tranquility of having him close made the weight of my responsibilities disappear.

I looked in the rearview mirror at his serene little face, his cheeks rosy from sleep. My son was all that kept me going. In the morning, before leaving for work, I already knew I would spend long hours away from him, so I enjoyed every second we had together. I prepared breakfast as if it were the most important event of the day, laughing at the new words and sounds he invented, even though I was racing against the clock, because as soon as I walked out the door, I began to miss him. At night, when I finally got him back, that longing was overwhelming. All the fatigue in the world was replaced by a love that exploded in my chest.

Sometimes he was already asleep — like now — and I was content to watch him. Other times he was awake, and I would shower him with hugs and enjoy the moment.

As I parked in front of the house, I let out a long sigh — relief and exhaustion mixed together. I got out of the car with Jamie in one arm and the bags in the other. The cold night wind hit my face as I closed the door and adjusted the blanket covering him. The parking lot was deserted, the pale light from the streetlights doing little to dispel the feeling of isolation. With the baby nestled against my chest, I walked toward the building entrance, trying to reach for the key in my jacket pocket.

Then I heard footsteps, several of them. Behind me.

My body froze, and before I could react, something cold and sharp pressed against my lower back.

"Don't even think about screaming," whispered a low voice with a thick Italian accent.

I froze.

The baby stirred in my arms, my maternal instincts screamed louder, and I held him tight.

"Please..." my voice came out shaky. "What do you want?"

They appeared in front of me. Five men in suits, well-dressed, without masks. All with the same cold, calculated expression, they seemed to be in no hurry, nor did they hesitate. They knew exactly what they were doing. Panic hit me hard, and before I could react, firm hands snatched Jamie from my arms.

"No!" I screamed, trying to pull him back. "Please! Don't take my baby! He's just a baby! Please!"

My vision blurred with tears. I struggled, but my legs wouldn't respond, my hands trembled, despair consumed everything. One of them held Jamie with absurd, almost cruel delicacy, as if dealing with something too valuable to be mistreated. The others calmly pushed me away—firmly, without emotion.

"Are you sure we shouldn't take the woman too?" one of them asked casually. "Or at least knock her out?"

My heart stopped. The leader thought for a second before answering, with the same coldness.

"No need. She's worthless to us. Only the baby." The words tore something inside me.

When they started to walk away with my son, my legs gave way, and I fell to my knees on the cold floor.

"Please..." I begged, sobbing. "Do whatever you want with me, but don't take him. Please!"

They didn't look back. They got into a black car parked a few yards away. The engine roared before I could get up. I crawled across the floor, my hands scraping, screaming with a strength I didn't know I had, but the car disappeared into the night.

Taking what was left of my life with it.