When I tuned back in, Jordyn had an arm around Simona. Though she didn’t have the pale skin or blond hair of your typical Russian, Simona took one thing from our paternal side of the family. She hated touches.Except for now,I guess?
Wounded women find each other. I didn’t fit in, though. Jordyn only knew about Adrian Chelomey. I buried the shame and hurt of having my body used for times when I was alone.Couldn’t stomach the pity, and I wasn’t about to live through another of my father’s revenge schemes.
“Okay, Simona,” Jordyn said, a conspiratorial smile on her face. “If he’s always in selfie-mode, it’s Rory.”
Oh. Jordyn was giving my cousin the lay of the land. I hadn’t finished pointing out each brother when Lachlan’s and Enzo’s voices had escalated.
“If he’s a broody Scot in prescription glasses that screamI can see your soul and it’s questionable”—Jordyn nudged her chin to the furthest picnic table—“yeah, that’s Baby Jake.”
The future therapist, and youngest MacKenzie brother, sat by himself. Reading. Would be my kinda guy if the cover wasn’t dark, dramatic. The imagery hinted at a psychological thriller.
Simona said, “Jake, a baby?Pah.” Again, the Russian in her sounded nonchalant, but I could readmypeople. And shereadthe same intense, brain screwing thrillers.Ah-ha. Jake intrigued her.
“Calm down.” I snorted. “Ifmydad hates, yours is the Hater-in-Chief.”
On Monday,I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and glanced at Lachlan’s text.
LACH: We gotta go public.
Was this how he threw his weight around because of Lorenzo’s impromptu appearance? Days ago, I’d have loved the sound of that. Well, if my father’s name weren’t Vassili Karo Resnov.
Considering my threadbare relationship with Pop, how did I respond?
Dang. I sipped my iced coffee. My answer would be …let’s take my parents to dinner first. Buy Pop a gift, sit him down with a bottle of kvass.In the bratva, that was how an opposing faction might make amends.
“Lach hasn’t done anything wrong …”
ME: How about Valentine’s Day?
Lachlan hadDodger spring training the week after. That way, if Pop ordered a hit, my man would be in Glendale. The Dodgers practiced in Arizona. Too many people around. While he was gone, I’d squash the beef by sitting down with my dad. Instinctively, I touched my cross pendant at my neck. It was too big for me, but I’d had my eyes on it ever since I watched old UFC videos with Pop. He was dripping in sweat, blood, and fisting a UFC belt above his head.I missed that.Me and Pop.
LACH: Ok. V Day.
Inside the building,I finished my chat with Dr. Ghannam and picked up my ringing phone as I passed by high-tech gadgets on the way to the laboratory’s exit, when a call came through.
With the scientists busy, I quickly answered. Mistake of my life. “What is it,Junior?”
“Do not call me that.”
I rolled my eyes. He let me call him Vass, but refused the American “Junior,” insisting on the Russian patronymic endingin -ievich. Yet he couldn’t stand Pop. Go figure. I still called him Boobie, so there was that. “Forgive me,Vassilievich,my Boobie. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
“Can I just check on my sis?”
“No. Because you’d convince me to visit you at UCSD. I wind up at a frat party, playing beer pong with my young brother, who shouldn’t be?—”
“Hey,” Vassilievich barked, his slight Russian accent thickening, “I’m not that young.”
“Nineteen is too young. Then you vanish with some random hoe, and I rush away before your frat bros get handsy.”
“Whodidwhat?” Vassilievich growled.
I let myself out of the laboratory. “Don’t worry. Apparently, the sight of my Shadow sobers grown men.”
I leaned against the wall, eyes on the dome safety mirror on the ceiling fixed where the hallways crossed. It helped nurses avoid collisions—but it also hid security cameras. This past Sunday, after my apology for the racist comment, Pop and I made a pinkie promise. I begged him to fire my Shadow. He’d agreed. Yet somehow, I still felt eyes on me.
Enzo, dressed in fatigues and a black Henley, appeared in the reflection, strolling down the hall. “Gotta go,” I muttered while mybabybrother barked out a request for names. Hanging up, I pressed my back against Dr. Ghannam’s laboratory again, not wanting the pressure or temptation. Blind, I reached for the knob. It didn’t turn.
Lorenzo turned the corner, thick brow lifted. “Natasha?”
