1
Konstantin
The silence is perfect.
I sit in my leather chair, feet propped on the coffee table that cost more than most people's cars, and savor the rare peace of my penthouse. The city glitters below, Vancouver's nighttime sprawl stretching to the water. It's past midnight. Most people are asleep.
No footsteps in the hallway. No running commentary on my life choices. No accusations that I work too much, eat too little, and will die alone without giving her grandchildren.
My mother has been gone for exactly four hours and twenty-three minutes.
The vodka in my glass catches the city lights from the floor-to-ceiling windows. I take one sip—smooth, expensive, perfectly chilled—and set it down with the satisfaction of a man who has finally reclaimed his kingdom.
My phone rings.
I stare at it. The name on the screen confirms what I already know: the universe has a sense of humor, and it's cruel.
Mama
I could ignore it. I should ignore it. She's visiting Severny Harbor for a few days—some Christmas gathering she insisted on attending even though I told her the roads would be terrible. She's probably calling to tell me about someone's baby or someone's engagement or someone's excessive happiness that she believes I should replicate.
The phone continues ringing.
If I don't answer, she'll call seventeen more times, then contact Andrei to confirm I'm not dead in a ditch somewhere. Then she'll call again.
I answer. "Yes."
"Kostenka!" Her voice explodes through the speaker with enough force to make me reconsider my earlier appreciation for technology. "Synok, finally you answer! I call and call—"
"You called once."
"—and I think maybe you are dead, but Andrei says no, you just ignore your mama who only wants to hear your voice—"
"I'm hearing it now." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "What do you need?"
"Need? Need?" She switches to rapid Russian, her preferred language for guilt delivery. "A mother cannot call her only son just to talk? You think I need reason? Bozhe moy, what I did to deserve such cold child—"
"Mama."
She switches back to English, barely pausing for breath. "Fine. Fine! I call because we have... situation."
The way she says 'situation' makes my jaw tighten. In my line of work, situations involve blood, money, or federal investigations. When my mother says it, I'm somehow in more danger.
"What situation."
"Well." She draws the word out like she's savoring expensive wine. "You know how I come to Severny Harbor for Christmas gathering, yes? With Dimitri and Anya and family?"
"Yes." I didn't know she was invited, but this isn't the time to mention that.
"And everyone is here—all the family, the wives, even the children, such beautiful children, Natasha is so big now, and Natasha—"
"Mama. The situation."
"Oy, you rush me! This is important part! So everyone is asking about you, where is Konstantin, why he don't come, such successful man but always alone—"
My hand tightens on the glass. "I'm working."
"On December twenty-first? Is not even Orthodox Christmas yet! American Christmas is in four days!"
