“No.” It was a one-word answer. I did not owe him any explanation.
Kostya just laughed, as if that was the answer he was expecting.
“Okay, I’ll let it go for now.”
“You will let it go entirely, because there is nothing there.” The words sounded false even to my own ears.
“A brief word to the wise, Uncle. Be careful.”
I scoffed.
“You think that you’re running the board. That you’ve got Gregor and Artem right where you need them, and maybe youdo. You see this girl as just a little pawn. Her only purpose being to threaten the queen into doing your bidding. And maybe she is. Maybe I’m wrong and everything’s exactly as it should be. But be careful that the game doesn’t start controlling you.”
His warning lingered like a hand on my shoulder I couldn’t shrug off.
When did my nephew become so observant? It had to be his wife’s doing.
The vote was tomorrow. After that, I planned on going back to London, and none of this would matter.
It had to stop mattering.
CHAPTER 25
ANNA
The second I closed and locked my apartment door, I ran to find my cell phone.
It was still in the same place on the floor, one long crack running across the top of the screen. That didn't matter.
What mattered was that when I swiped the screen and looked at my new notifications, there were a few Google Alerts with my name, my daily affirmation, and my horoscope.
But nothing, absolutely nothing, from my mother.
No missed calls.
No text messages.
Nothing.
She watched while a known violent mafia figure carried me out of the Kennedy Center, and she did absolutely nothing. She actually accused me of fabricating the event for attention.
I didn't know why I’d still hoped this time would be different, that she would reach out, say something, or at least check in on me. I knew better than to think she had a single maternal bone in her body. But the rejection still stung.
I couldn't help it.
It was like the little girl desperate for her mother’s approval, for someone to love her, was still there inside of me and still heartbroken every single time that woman failed me.
No wonder my fractured psyche found something so twistedly comforting in Darius's attention. Of course I fell for his bullshit, for his sweet touches and soft words. It was the only time I had ever experienced anything like it. I knew it was an imitation of the real thing, but it was still the closest I had ever had.
I was the embodiment of emotional starvation, the walking result of weaponized parental neglect. I grabbed one of the empty notebooks, the ones that I never touched because I didn't think my thoughts were important enough to record, and I started scribbling.
Words filled the pages. Some lyrics, some random thoughts; I just needed everything out.
When I was done, there was nothing left. Just that cold, aching, empty feeling inside of me that I was terrified of never filling.
When I looked up from the notebook, convinced that “Emotional Starvation” would be the greatest name for an all-girl indie rock band ever, I looked at the time and saw that it was a quarter to ten.
I was supposed to stay put. To be a good little girl and do as I was told. I was to sit and wait for instructions.
