“So you have no idea why she left?” This came from Ion, and my eyes slid over to him. He knew this was my show.
“No. I wish I did, but she always kept that from me, telling me the past was the past and our ancestors were leading us to survival.” Survival. There was that word again.
Strands of kinship started forming, trying to knot themselves into my soul, but I shook off those reaching threads that again hardened my heart. “Since it seems like your mother discussed it, you must know who your ancestors are. Where do you come from?”
Her eyes scanned the table, taking in a deep breath before answering. “I know I come from a Romani tribe in Armenia, but that's it. Growing up here, I wanted to blend in, to be like everyone else,” she winced, eyes filled with regret. “I didn't take what my mom taught me seriously, thinking it was superstitious, but now…”
She trailed off, but I wanted to know. “But now?”
“But now I’m beginning to think there was something to all of it, but I still don't know.”
As the self-designated caretaker, Cezar scooped up some of each main dish and put it on her plate. “Eat. You’ll feel better. Eating makes the world go round.”
She laughed, forking some of the food before putting it in her mouth. Her eyes lit up in delight, and I was glad that I had looked through her phone records and seen that she had ordered a lot of Italian food. It was the first time I saw someone not try to correct Cezar’s butchering of a traditional saying or laugh at him like an idiot.
“Do you know why your mother would have any association with our father, Arek Azadian?”
Again, she shook her head, covering her mouth as she swallowed her bite. “I have never heard that name. Honestly, I don't think she associated with anyone from back home as soon as she left.”
“Do you know why she used a fake name instead of her real name, Martrice Lee?”
Her eyes sliced towards mine, and I found the kernel I sought. She put her fork down, voice strong as she asked me, “How do you know that?”
Leaning forward, I kept pressing. “And why would she give you her old world last name?”
This time, she glared at me; if she had fangs, they would be showing, and my heart skipped a beat. “It looks like you got all the information, so I don't understand why you need me?”
“Nicu?” Ion asked, but I couldn't look away from the woman before me. That familiar strength I felt from her while she was under the desk came wafting out around me, and I wanted to suck it down, savor it.
“Last question, and I’ll tell you what I know about your mother and her people.” This time, her eyes lit up with curiosity before she nodded. “Did your mother do anything you thought was weird or out of place? Something not normal?”
Her mouth pinched as her hand went up to her chin, eyes unfocused as she thought. “I mean…” she tilted her head in doubt.
“Anything. Anything at all.”
She bit her lip, eyes searching before they settled on me. “When she was with Mike, she said his energy would protect us from the evil eye. Then after…”
“You killed him.”
She flinched at my words, but still nodded. The sooner she accepted the facts, the better she would feel.
“A-after that, she would make a protection spell every morning at dawn. She would never miss it. She said it was the only way we would be hidden from evil.”
I knew it. I knew they had known each other. Picking up my glass, I took a sip just as she asked, “Now it's your turn. What do you know?”
My brothers looked at me expectantly, which I expected, but her desperate, sad expression caught me by the throat. “I only know a few stories because all the people who were involved or would have an eye account are dead.”
That made her sit up, her full attention on me with questions simmering in her gaze. “It looks like your mother and my father knew each other, so much so that she fled her homeland with you in her belly.” Taking a breath, I finished what I knew with a straight face. “Your tribe, the Lee tribe, was the strongest, largest Romani tribe with decades of traditions. They had worked with the Azadian family for years and had a long-standing partnership with them. Your grandmother was the leader; you come from a long line of Romani royalty. After your mother fled, my father went into a rage and killed all of your tribe. You are the last of your tribe, a Romani princess.”
She went still, her fork clanged against the plate as her eyes went distant, not making a sound as she digested what I had just said. Keeping my eyes on her, I leaned forward just a fraction, waiting to see the outcome of the information I told her.
The thing that I didn't tell her was that not only did my father kill the whole tribe, but he also killed a whole subgroup of our organization and a lot of the civilians who ever talked to her mother. My father wanted to ensure that no one knew what happened.
For a blip of a second, I thought maybe she was our half-sister, and her mother was the only woman who could get away, but if that were the case, my father wouldn't have kept it a secret. He would’ve told everyone to get her back here and to have the child, another tool in his tool chest. A Romani princess who would come with a tribe of loyal followers was a valuable tool, and he wouldn’t squander it. No, the fact that he looked for her for years in secret and killed anyone who knew of her meant that she somehow slighted him, disrespected him, and he couldn't let anyone know that she got away.
“Y-your father… who is he?” Now, she was asking the right questions.
My face fell as I answered her, “He’s one of the three leaders of the Armenian mafia. One of the most powerful, vicious men I know, and he wants your mother badly.” Her face went pale as she gulped. Finally, she understood the depth of our problem.
