I hear the sounds of people approaching, her parents I assume.
“It’s all right,” I whisper.
“Now that’s interesting,” a male voice says.
“Give her,” I hear myself say, but it’s not me speaking.
When I turn my head, it’s my turn to stare in shock. The face is older and rougher, and his hair is buzzed, but otherwise the likeness is striking. I’m looking at a more sinister version of myself. We’re the same height and the same build. He’s wearing almost the exact same black shirt.
The little girl squirms, and my gaze returns to her. She’s holding out her arms to him.
“Give her to me. Now,” the man says to me in Russian, his expression deadly.
I extend my arms, offering the child, and he takes her, cradling her against his chest with his left arm. She climbs to a standing position on his forearm and puts her small hands on his face, peering at him. And then she looks back at me, the imposter.
The man’s right arm comes up so she’s encircled and protected, but his eyes never leave mine.
At the edges of my vision, I see a group of people assembling behind him.
“Who are you?” he asks me, continuing to speak Russian. He may not realize I speak English, but I don’t correct his assumption.
“Alexei Vesenina.”
“Vesenina. Your father’s Vasily then? Who’s your mother?”
“Her name is Anna Luss.”
He nods. “I’m Stroviak. Sasha. Everyone calls me Anvil.”
I know that nickname. This is one of C Crue’s infamous founders. The right hand of its leader.
“‘Vil?” This question comes from a man I do recognize from pictures. It’s C Crue’s deadly assassin with the movie star face. The one called Trick, whose brain is like a computer.
“Yeah,” Stroviak says, reverting to English. “Apparently, I have a half-brother.”
CHAPTER9
Natalia
It’s as exciting as an opera. Long-lost brothers meeting for the first time. Incredible.
Upstairs, I join Alexei at the fireplace of our room where he’s burning wood.
“Are you so happy about your new brother?”
“We’ll see. I don’t know him.”
“To have family is very important thing. I wish I am the one who finds a brother.” Chewing on my lip, I think about the people who took care of me while I was growing up. My mother was dead. My father gone. I was passed around to my mother’s distant relatives, but it was hard on them to have another person to take care of. When my last great-aunt died, we were living in an abandoned apartment building. There were seventeen families there. We all helped each other. Many times, they shared food with me when I had none. When I thought I had a rich American father who wanted me, it was like a fairytale. He would pay to bring me to him and would give money to my friends who helped me. I should have known life is never that easy, but I wanted to believe it.
“The way your brother is with his daughter, it tells a lot, I think.”
Poking at the logs to strengthen the blaze, he nods. When he turns, his expression tells me he’s deep in thought. “She’s cute. Really small though. I’m not sure she’s really his. Maybe she’s his stepdaughter.”
“No, did you not see she has your family eyelashes? So very long and overlapping. Very distinguished. No, this is not right word. It is like original?”
“Distinctive?”
“Yes,” I say, exhaling. It’s helpful to have a language tutor.
