“Good. Now, I was serious about that cake. I’ve been eyeing it all night.”
Looping her arm through hers, they started out of the restroom, but the good mood that had risen inside Mariya died a quick death as Feliks stood on the other side of the door, his expression a careful mask with so many looking in his direction.
Either he had heard them, or he had an idea what they’d been talking about.
“Let’s dance,” he said, his tone brokering no argument, and before Klara could even release her, he was pulling Mariya toward the center of the room.
The guests smiled fondly at them, with Alexey looking on with a nod of approval. Twinkling lights shined above them before the lights dimmed and a spotlight fell on them.
As the music started and Feliks drew her closer, she had to bite back a wince as he squeezed her a little too tight.
“What is there to run from, hmm?” he asked in her ear. “I offer you everything, and you spit in my face.”
Balling her hand into a fist, she kept her face serene even as she forced words out between gritted teeth. “I don’t want anything from you.”
Feliks blew out a breath, turning them carefully until her back was to Alexey. Then he smiled the coldest smile she had ever seen on him.
The sight of it made her blood run cold.
“Understand me, girl. If you run from me, I will hurt you in ways you could only imagine.”
He kissed her then, a harsh press of his lips against hers, and when she tried to push him away, he sank his teeth into her lip, hard enough for her to taste blood and tears to spring in her eyes.
Once he released her, she shoved him away, sickened by the look of glee on his face. “I’m not afraid of you, Feliks. I never will be.”
“You should be,” he said, “but I’ll show you the error of your ways, just as I have shown others.”
As Feliks smiled down at her with blood-stained teeth, she didn’t get the chance to question his words.
Not when the sharp crack of bullets sounded.
Not when the screams of women and children echoed as people dived to the floor, shielding themselves from the raining glass and debris.
The vory didn’t hesitate in fumbling to pull out their own guns and return fire.
But even as the shots echoed in her ears, Mariya couldn’t just bury her head in her hands and wait it out. She needed to make sure her family was okay.
In the chaos, she could just see Klara and Ana huddled beneath a table, Akim using his body to shield theirs.
Turning in the opposite direction, she scanned the floor, searching … searching … not even ten feet away, she saw Inna, her eyes wide and unblinking, a line of red spilling from the side of her mouth.
Her chest rose and fell with each breath she took, but it was moving too fast, as though she wasn’t breathing properly.
Everything around her, the chaos and screams drowned out as Mariya crawled across the floor, dragging the heavy weight of her wedding dress as she went.
She didn’t care about the shards of glass cutting into the palms of her hands as she went—she didn’t feel the pain.
At that moment, she didn’t feel anything anymore.
Inna hadn’t died that day, though it was a miracle she hadn’t. By the time she’d arrived at the hospital, however, she’d stopped breathing more than once and had to be put on life support.
Even then, they hadn’t been optimistic.
Even then, Mariya knew her mama was living on borrowed time.
She could still taste the gunpowder in the air, and the acrid, coppery scent of blood in her nose. It didn’t fade despite the time that had passed.
And now, with her phone to her ear, it all came rushing back, fear blooming to life inside her as she was reminded of the one day of her life she wished she could forget.
No.
No, she didn’t want to forget. She didn’t need to forget.
She needed the reminder so she could make things right because she was the only one who could.
“And Dedushka?” Mariya asked, forcing her attention to the present and not the memories that still haunted her.
Inna hadn’t been the only victim that day.
“He’s still stable,” Klara said, still sniffling.
Trying not to let the flood of tears building in her eyes break free, Mariya squeezed her eyes shut. “When is the funeral?”
“Mari. I can’t tell you that.”
Confused, she shook her head, even knowing her sister couldn’t see her. “Klara—”
“If I do,” she said gently, sadly. “You’ll come back.”
“It’s Mama,” Mariya said, feeling the lump in her throat growing. “I have to.”
This wasn’t a friend or even a distant family member. Inna was her mother. Even if she had to stand yards away, far enough that she could only see their vague impressions, she had to be there.
She had to say goodbye.
“You know what he’ll do if you show up. You know. We promised you wouldn’t come back, remember? We can’t go back on that. Even now. Mama, if she were here, she would understand. I’m sorry.”
Sinking down onto the steps, she sat, ignoring the cold, damp concrete beneath her. It didn’t matter, though, not when she felt torn to pieces. “I’m sorry too.”
Even hundreds of miles away, Feliks was still destroying her life.
A commotion sounded on the other end of the phone and a muffled masculine voice spoke quickly. “I need to call you back.”
Mariya wanted to argue, wanted to keep her on the phone longer, but she knew she couldn’t. “Take care of yourself, Klara.”
“You too. I’ll give Mama a rose for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Love you, Mari.”
She sighed. “I love you too. Give Ana and Akim my love.”
She ended the call before Klara could say anything more, but as she sat there, listening to the music filter out from the door she sat next to, going back to work was the last thing she wanted to do.
Being here, in this city, was the last place she wanted to be.
But what choice did she have?
By the time she walked back into the bar, Christophe had disappeared, his seat and the one next to it occupied by a pair of men in basketball jerseys watching the game.
Pretending had come easily to her after the months she had spent with Feliks.
She could pretend for a little while longer.
Chapter 4
July 8, 2017
Mariya hardly spoke to anyone as she left the bar to walk the short distance home. But the last thing she wanted to do was sit locked in her apartment, another reminder that she was stuck here. Instead, she headed to the roof.
It had been a little easier when she was working to follow the routine of making drinks and delivering orders. She could occupy her mind that way and not focus on the reality of her life.
Everything was going to change, but she had no idea how.
She had barely taken a step outside before her phone was ringing again, Klara’s name flashing on the screen.
“Yeah?”
“I promised to call back as soon as I could,” she reminded her, sounding breathless.
“Where are you?”
“We just got home from the hospital,” she said, the click of a lighter loud in the background. “There was paperwork to fill out and all that.”
“And Dedushka?” she asked as she heard Klara blow out a stream of smoke. “How is he?”
“They said his vitals are better,” she said, her voice sounding a little more optimistic. “They’ve been discussing gradually bringing him out of the coma.”
Unlike her mother, Alexey’s coma was medically induced. At his age, it had been necessary to aid in his healing.
But it was still a waiting game, even once he was awake. With the information she had, she needed him of sound mind to understand the gravity of what she had to tell him.
Her life depende
d on it.
“But, Mama, she’s …” Klara didn’t finish as she sniffled. “How are you?”
“Fine.” She couldn’t complain. Brooklyn wasn’t home, but it was better than the alternative.
“He’s still looking for you, but at least he’s looking in California for now.”
Mariya laughed, the pressure in her chest easing a bit. “Why’s he looking there?”
“Akim bought a phone with a Los Angeles area code. When he’s away on business, I call him on that phone instead.”
And since he was away often, Feliks might have thought she was talking to her instead of her husband. They had spoken only twice since she’d left Chicago, and it was unlikely he’d think the number suspicious. “That’s smart, but is he really checking your phone records?”
“Akim thought it best to offer them to show I’m not hiding anything. For now, it seems to be working.”
“Thank him for me.”
“He loves you about half as much as I do,” she said thoughtfully, “so it’s the least he could do.”
He’d quickly become the brother she’d never had, and though he could be stoic sometimes and he followed the rules set out for him by Alexey, he still easily bent to anything Klara wanted.
“I’m sorry about this,” Mariya whispered, looking up at the night sky.
“You shouldn’t be the one to apologize. None of this was your fault.”
But she could have been more careful with who she asked questions of and the way she searched for the truth.
In her carelessness, though, Feliks had discovered the truth and sought to make her pay.
Now, here she was with no way to go home.
“Mama would have been glad you were safe,” Klara said after a moment.
The thought made tears bloom in her eyes, but Mariya found herself nodding all the same.
Inna would have been proud she’d run in the first place.
“You are safe, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Finding trouble was hard when she made it a point to keep her head down.
“Stay that way. I would hate to lose you too.”
Her fingers tightening around her phone, Mariya nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
“Khorosho—Good. I’ll call you in a few days.”
The day of the funeral, she meant.
Mariya didn’t remember saying goodbye before she was ending the call and pocketing her phone.
She wouldn’t break down. Not now. Not after she had spent this long keeping it together because she knew, one day, this would all be worth it in the end.
But when was the end?
“Rough night?”
Mariya quickly wiped away her tears, making sure she had gotten rid of the evidence of her sadness before she turned to face him.
Most nights, the roof was vacant, and she could be alone with just the glow of the moon and the stillness of the city at four in the morning.
Absorbed in her conversation with Klara, she hadn’t bothered to verify she was actually alone.
Christophe perched on the corner of the roof with his legs dangling over the side. With the way the shadows fell on him, it was easy to see why she hadn’t noticed him, but now that she had, the sight of him caused her stomach to lurch.
“How long have you been out here?” she asked, glad her voice hadn’t wavered despite the way she felt.
She had been very careful to make sure no one knew where she was from or the family she belonged to.
His expression was almost apologetic as he said, “Long enough.”
“Has anyone ever told you it’s impolite to eavesdrop?”
“Not in my line of work,” he said oddly, “but if it makes any difference, your secrets are safe with me.”
But secrets never remain secret when more than one person knew. It was, for this reason, she’d had to run in the first place.
“Thanks. I’ll, uh, see you around, Fang.”
The last thing she wanted to do was prolong her embarrassment, but as she opened the door to head back inside, his next words made her pause.
“Want to talk about it?” When she looked back at him, he held up a frosted bottle, giving it a little shake for emphasis. “I have vodka.”
Though she worked in a bar, Mariya rarely drank—the taste of alcohol, especially without anything to pair with it was far too much for her—but the desire to escape her reality was too strong to ignore.
Clearing her throat as she walked over, she grabbed one of the three chairs left on the rooftop and walked over to him, careful to remain a good distance away. He seemed perfectly content with where he sat, but she was deathly afraid of heights and just the mere idea of sitting that close to the edge nauseated her.
Christophe watched her over his shoulder, a smile growing once she stopped and sat. “Scared?”
“I would prefer not to plummet to my death.”
His answering chuckle made her smile. “Fair enough.”
Unlike the last few times she’d seen him, Christophe seemed more at ease tonight, his shoulders relaxed, his mouth not set in that mulish line she had grown accustomed to.
Taking a long swig from the bottle, he effortlessly got up, making her heart skip a beat until he was back on the rooftop, rocks crunching beneath his feet as he walked closer.
As he passed her the bottle, his fingertips brushed hers, and he dropped down to sit next to her, long legs stretching out in front of him with his booted feet crossed at the ankle.
She hesitated for only a moment before tipping the bottle to her lips, coughing near instantly as the burning taste made her think she was swallowing gasoline.
“First one’s the worst,” he said, watching her with an absent smile. “The second is smoother.”
As she took another drink, it was easier going down but still unpleasant. “I don’t understand how you drink so much of this. Especially with nothing mixed in it.”
“If I want soda, I’ll drink that shit, but when I want vodka, that’s what I want. Besides, this should be nothing for you, being Russian.”
Rolling her eyes—it wasn’t the first time she’d ever heard that—she shook her head. “My grandfather didn’t approve of us drinking—my sister and me, I mean.”
He’d always thought of it as a man’s drink.
Wine and champagne, he could deal with, but if they ever wanted something stronger—Klara more than her—he would get this notch between his brows, and that was enough to make his displeasure known.
“And you went along with whatever he wanted?” Christophe asked, not realizing just how close to the truth he was.
“Not always.”
“But enough.”
Mariya tucked strands of her hair behind her ear before taking the bottle he offered again, and this time, she didn’t hesitate to take a swallow.
It was never a choice of following the rules he set out for them. They rebelled in small ways by pushing curfews or Mariya going to a public university as opposed to the one Alexey wanted her to attend.
Sometimes, they got lucky because Temuri would run interference or Inna would talk him into letting them have some things.
But no one had talked him out of his decisions once her father was gone. So when he presented her to Feliks as though she were a gift, there was no changing his mind.
No matter how much she begged.
Ignoring his comment, she asked a question of her own. “What brought you out here?”
“I like the noise.”
Funny that she came up here for the opposite. She tried to imagine what he heard when he came out here.
“It’s a nice way to escape.”
Christophe shrugged. “All depends on what you’re trying to escape.”
He didn’t push her to tell him what was on her mind, though he surely was curious, as she would be if it were him. Even as they sat in silence, watching lights in the apartments across the street flicker on and off and the cars driving down the street, he didn’t rush her ei
ther.
“My mother passed away today.”
She could practically feel his eyes on her, but she couldn’t look at him, not wanting to face the pity she knew she’d find there.
Christophe didn’t apologize, though, like so many others would have. Instead, he asked, “Are you okay?”
The initial pain had been overwhelming, to the point she was sure she wouldn’t make it through the rest of her shift without breaking down, but now … now, she just felt numb.
“She was in a coma,” Mariya said, forcing herself to keep going. If she couldn’t be there to remember her, she could at least share her memories here with someone else. “The doctors said there had been a slim chance she would ever wake up from it, but I hoped she would. We all did.”
But a part of her had always felt this was inevitable; that they were only prolonging the goodbye.
Alexey, on the other hand, it was only a matter of time before he woke up.
And a matter of time before he knew the truth.
The haunted look she had grown used to seeing on him crossed Christophe’s face. “Hope is a dangerous thing.”
Glancing at him, she asked, “Have you ever lost someone close to you?”
“More than I want to remember.” Turning the bottle over in his hands, he glared down at the label. “So I drink to forget.”
“Does it help?” Because with the way she was feeling now, it wasn’t helping at all.
“There’s not nearly enough in the world to help it go away.”
“What does make it easier?”
She was willing to try anything to make the helpless feeling curling inside her let go.
The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed, a moment before his answering grin made a chill run up her spine, the low light glinting off the silver in his mouth. “Revenge. Nothing’s better than that.”
How wonderful that sounded. “What if that’s not possible?”
She couldn’t take on Feliks, even if she wanted to. The last time she’d tried she’d almost died. It just wasn’t possible. Now? After what she’d done? It wouldn’t just be Feliks she’d have to answer to if she failed.
“Then find someone else who can take care of it.” He seemed to be studying her more now.
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