Ava stood there for a full minute, her mind cycling through a thousand impossible scenarios. An ambush? A sick joke? A dream? But the baby's chest rose and fell in a gentle, real rhythm. Ling's exhaustion was palpable even in sleep.
Slowly, quietly, Ava approached. She reached out, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from Ling's forehead. "Ling."
Ling's eyes flew open. For a split second, there was the usual predator's alertness. Then, her gaze dropped to the warm weight in her arms. Confusion, then a dawning, staggering shock washed over her face. She looked from the baby to Ava, her red eyes wide.
"What…" Ling's voice was a dry rasp. She tried to sit up straighter, her arms instinctively tightening around the baby, who made a soft, snuffling sound but didn't wake.
"That's what I was going to ask you," Ava whispered, sinking onto the sofa beside her. "Who is this? How is this?"
Ling took a sharp breath, the memories of the night crashing back. "I heard crying. She was in a basket. By the elevator." She nodded toward the console. "There's a note. In Russian."
Ava fetched the note and the hundred-dollar bill. She stared at the Cyrillic script, a language barrier that felt more profound than ever. "What does it say?"
"'She is all yours. I am sorry.'" Ling's translation was flat, emotionless, but Ava saw the turmoil beneath.
"Yours? What does that mean? Who would…" Ava's detective mind was already spinning. "The security logs. The cameras—"
"Have already been checked and wiped by whoever left her," Ling said, her voice regaining some of its usual steely control. "It was a professional ghost. This wasn't a random act. It was a delivery."
"A delivery of a baby?" Ava's voice hitched. She looked at the tiny, sleeping face. "To you?"
Before Ling could answer, the baby stirred. Her face scrunched, her little mouth working. Then, her eyes opened. They were a startlingly clear, light grey, wide and unblinking. She looked up, directly at Ling's face looming above her.
For a moment, there was only silent, infant assessment. Then, a tiny frown appeared. A wobble of the lower lip. The beginning of a cry of fear or hunger.
Ling froze, a look of pure, unadulterated helplessness flashing across her face. It was a look Ava had never seen.
Then, something shifted. Ling's expression softened by a fraction. She adjusted her hold, bringing the baby a little closer, her thumb stroking the impossibly soft cheek. "Тихо," she murmured again, the Russian a soft, rumbling vibration in her chest.
The baby's grey eyes locked on Ling's. The wobble stopped. The fear seemed to recede, replaced by a profound, curious stillness. She just stared.
Ava watched, her heart in her throat. The most dangerous woman she knew was being disarmed by a newborn's gaze.
Then, a small, unmistakable gurgle came from the baby's stomach. The spell broke. The baby's face reddened again, this time with a more demanding urgency.
"She's hungry," Ava said, the practical need cutting through the shock. "We need formula. Proper bottles. Diapers. Everything." She stood up, already in motion. "I'll call Viktor. He can get it discreetly. And a doctor. A pediatrician we can trust."
Ling just nodded, her attention wholly on the baby, who was now beginning to fuss in earnest. Ava hurried to make the calls, her voice low and urgent.
While they waited, Ava warmed the last of the regular milk. She took the baby from Ling's arms, feeling the surprising, solid weight of her. "Here, let me."
But as Ava brought the makeshift dropper to the baby's lips, she turned her head away, fussing harder. Confused, Ava tried again. The baby let out a frustrated wail.
Ling, hovering close, held out her arms. "Give her to me."
Ava handed the baby back. The moment she was settled in the crook of Ling's arm, the cries lessened to whimpers. Ling took the dropper from Ava. She brought it to the baby's mouth, and this time, the little girl latched on immediately, sucking with a desperate, trusting focus.
Ava's breath caught. "She… she knows you."
"She knows I fed her last night," Ling corrected, but her voice was thick with an emotion she couldn't name.
Viktor arrived within the hour, his face an impassive mask, though his eyes widened a fraction at the sight. He brought bags of supplies, everything they could possibly need, and the discreet doctor arrived shortly after. The baby—a healthy, approximately six-week-old girl—was checked, pronounced in good health, and fed with a proper bottle by Ava under the doctor's guidance. This time, she took it.
When she was fed, changed, and drowsy again, they laid her in a portable bassinet Viktor had brought. She fussed for a moment, then her grey eyes searched until they found Ling standing nearby. She stared for a moment, then her eyelids fluttered closed, and she slept.
The silence that followed was heavy with the enormity of it all.
"We need to call your father," Ava said softly.
Ling nodded. She took her phone and walked to the window. The call to Sicily was brief. She explained in terse, factual Italian. There was a long silence on the other end, then a burst of rapid-fire questions. She answered them all. Then, simply: "I'm on the next flight."
Enzo Rossi arrived at the penthouse that evening, jet-lagged but radiating a fierce, focused energy. He dismissed the bodyguards and walked straight to the bassinet, which was now in the living room. He looked down at the sleeping infant for a long, long time, his face unreadable.
Then, he turned to Ling and Ava. "The note?"
Ling handed it to him. He read the Russian, his lips thinning. "This is a message. Not just an abandonment. 'She is all yours.' This is someone from the old country. Someone who knew your mother, perhaps. Someone who knew you would understand the weight of it." He looked back at the baby. "She has the Rossi eyes. The grey. Like your grandmother."
A shiver went through Ling. A biological claim she hadn't dared to consider.
"And the hundred dollars?" Ava asked.
"An insult," Enzo said coldly. "Or a pathetic attempt at providing. It means nothing." He looked at his daughter, his gaze piercing. "What will you do?"
Ling didn't look at the bassinet. She looked at Ava. A silent question passed between them. This wasn't just Ling's decision. It was theirs.
Ava looked from the powerful, intimidating old Don, to her fierce, vulnerable partner, to the tiny, innocent life that had been thrust upon them. She walked over to the bassinet and looked down. The baby sighed in her sleep, one tiny fist curling.
"She needs a name," Ava said, her voice firm. "We can't just call her 'the baby.'"
Ling came to stand beside her. She looked at the child, at the shock of dark hair, the grey eyes hidden behind lids, the absolute trust in sleep. A name, the first act of claiming.
"Anya," Ling said softly. The Russian form of Anna. Grace. "Her name is Anya."
Enzo Rossi nodded once, a gesture of profound approval. Ava reached out and took Ling's hand, lacing their fingers together over the edge of the bassinet. They were no longer just a Don and a Detective. They were parents. And their world, for the second time in as many days, had irrevocably, terrifyingly, beautifully changed.