I look up to see Eliana at the bar. She’s laughing at something Yasmin said.
But even from here, I can see that her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
I step outside the bowling alley with Eliana’s hand in mine. The late April air is warm and balmy. Spring is finally here after what felt like an endless winter.
But a sudden chill races through me anyway.
Because when I look around, I realize with a start that Iknowthis street. The bodega on the corner with the faded Cyrillic lettering. The liquor store two doors down that’s never bothered to fix its broken neon sign. A rotting apartment building across the street with a fire escape that sags in the middle.
I know all of it because I used to stand on this exact corner every Sunday afternoon when I was a teenager, waiting for Aleksei to finish conducting “business” in the back room of Tolstoy’s.
We’re in Aleksei’s territory. Right in the heart of it.
My hand tightens around Eliana’s. She notices immediately. “Bastian? What’s wrong?”
Behind us, Zeke and Yasmin emerge from the bowling alley, laughing about something. Zeke takes one look at my face and his smile dies. “Everything alright, chief?”
I force myself to wipe the pallor off my face and grin. “Yeah. All good. I just remembered that I left something at the office. You mind running Eliana home for me?”
Eliana frowns at me. “Are you sure? I don’t mind taking the ride with?—”
“No, no.” I wave her off, keeping my voice light. “It’s just some paperwork I need to sign. Won’t take long, and it’s already past your bedtime. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
She doesn’t look convinced. Her hand lingers in mine for a beat too long, like she’s trying to read me through touch alone. “Promise you’re okay?”
I stoop down and kiss her forehead. “Promise.”
Zeke claps a hand on my shoulder as he passes. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe,” he says. There’s a question in his eyes, but he doesn’t ask it.
I nod once. He understands enough not to press further.
I watch the three of them pile into Zeke’s car—him behind the wheel, Yasmin riding shotgun, Eliana in the back. She waves at me through the window as they pull away. I wave back.
I wait until the taillights disappear around the corner.
Then I start walking.
47
BASTIAN
fin·ish·ing salt: /'finiSHiNG sôlt/: noun
1: specialty salt added to food just before serving.
2: the last bit of sting needed to finish things off.
Tolstoy’s is gone, but the building that housed it remains. These days, it’s a nightclub called The Caged Bird. The façade has been updated—sleek black paint, purple lighting, a maze of velvet ropes stretching outside the entrance. But I can still see the bones of the old restaurant underneath. The bloodstained bricks are exactly how I remember them. I remember how they got the stains, too.
I stand across the street, hands shoved in my pockets, and stare at it.
This is a monumentally stupid idea. Aleksei might not even be here. And if he is, walking in there voluntarily is like sticking my head in a lion’s mouth and hoping it’s feeling merciful.
But I’m tired of looking over my shoulder and wondering when the next shoe will drop. It was fine as long as Eliana and I werepretending that this would end once our contract did. I can’t fucking do that anymore, though. It’s becoming increasingly and painfully clear that there is no expiration date that I’ll let take Eliana away from me.
She’s mine now.
For better or for worse, in the light and in the dark, now and in the future, she’s mine.
