There are no stupid questions, especially when considering the stakes. “I just want to make sure everything is crystal clear.”
“Orlov can go fuck himself. He’s no concern of mine.”
Okay, so Orlov and Smirnov were not working together. She was dealing with rival Russian mobsters, a money-laundering finance bro, and an elite branch of the CIA. Last week, she had thought the bake sale was too much. “No, I really can’t add cookie making to my life, Barb,” she’d said.
“And don’t even think of trying anything. Do your job, clean and simple, and I will give you the cut we agreed on.”
A cut—she squashed her impulse to ask how much it was. Horse camp was expensive, and college was coming up. Even state schools cost a lot these days. With a gasp, she stopped herself from free-falling into a life of crime to pay for horse camp.Get a hold of yourself, Gabby!
“Like I said, don’t fuck with me.”
She nodded. “No plans to. Sorry I didn’t tell you in advance about the nose surgery.”
He blew out a breath in annoyance. “I have someone on the inside watching you.”
Someone on the inside… It couldn’t be Markus. Valentina?
“Don’t forget to check in this time. I’ll kill Phil first. I don’t want to start with the babies, but I will take out your family, Gabriella.”
Why did men always call her Gabriella? They said it like she would inhabit the role and become Sophia Loren before their eyes.
“Mischa, take our guest home. Be nice this time.”
“No zip ties?”
“No. She will behave herself.”
As she walked out of the office, Smirnov called after her, “The nose looks good, by the way.”
Tuesday, crack of dawn, Avocado Avenue
The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the goons dropped Gabby back home on Avocado Avenue, just the faintest hint of pink brightening the horizon, the blossoms on her orange tree fragrant in the cool night air. It looked like the perfect neighborhood, the perfect life, a place where nothing could go wrong, not the kind of place where you get hauled away by Mafia guys in an unmarked van.
The driver hit the button to automatically open the side door, the same as she did for the kids. When he realized she was still zip-tied (he hadn’t followed instructions), he walked around, helped her out of the van, and cut the ties off her. “Good luck,” he said.
She tightened the belt on her “MOM” robe. “Thanks, you too.”
He gave her a fist bump, a strange gesture of truce after a truly weird night.
It was the first time she had really looked at him, partially because he wasn’t wearing a ski mask anymore. Why would he? They were both Mafia employees. With some remaining teenage acne and a patchy beard, he was probably in his early twenties, akid basically. “Do you like your job?” she asked, standing in the driveway shooting the shit with a guy who had just kidnapped her.
“Does it matter?” he said with a shrug.
“I guess not,” she said with a matching shrug. Who knew the Mafia could inspire such ambivalence?
Normally, she’d advise a guy his age to follow his dreams, not get trapped in a situation he didn’t like. Not into kidnapping and murder? Do something else. But Smirnov would probably just off him. Better to keep her mouth shut.
They both stared out into nothingness for a long minute, the freedom of a sunrise and the false promise of a brand-new day. They were both in deep.
A moment later, he started the van and backed out, leaving her standing in the driveway like nothing had happened. Did he have to start work again, or was kidnapping the night shift? Suddenly, she didn’t feel as bad for him. That twenty-year-old kid was going back to an apartment to sleep it off. He’d probably wake up at two in the afternoon and order a pizza. Tomorrow night, he’d be tossing someone else in his van.
Gabby slipped on the blinged-out Croc that she had lost in the scuffle earlier, and shuffled back to the house. Her wine from last night was still on the counter, and the dishwasher was almost fully loaded and ready to be started.
Mr. Bubbles padded down the stairs. He wagged his little tail, and Gabby bent down and gave him a vigorous ear scratching. “Thanks for watching the kids, buddy.”
Upstairs, Kyle was sprawled out in a tangle of covers, the stuffies on her bed a reminder that fourteen wasn’t all grown up. She was still Gabby’s baby. As soon as Gabby had a free day, after she’d somehow wriggled out of her current predicament with the EODand rival Russian mobsters, she’d schedule a hair day. Helping Kyle maintain bright purple hair was Gabby’s way of saying, “I got your back. Be whoever you want.” Maybe there was something deeper she should be doing, but it’s all she had.
Lucas’s face was softened by sleep. He might talk a big game, but he had three nightlights on, and his Nerf gun was at the foot of his bed so he could shoot bad guys. That was kind of concerning on a regular day, but now that there really were bad guys, it was even worse. Her heart squeezed, and she bit the inside of her cheek to stifle tears.
