That’s both ominous and strangely soothing. It also shuts me up. I don’t have an answer to that response.
The drive back doesn’t take long, thankfully. As we pull onto the estate, the first thing I notice is men walking the grounds holding assault rifles. They see Ares and nod as we pass them by. As we get close to the house, I catch glimpses of people on the roof, watching us as they hold sniper rifles.
Well, shit. I guess he wasn’t kidding, was he?
Ares helps me with my bag and we walk back into the house. As soon as I walk into the living room, Sasha appears, walking down the stairs. She’s dressed in jeans and an old T-shirt with a cap over her curly red mop of hair.
“Hi Uncle Ares,” she says, then to me, she goes, “Hey.”
“Hi.” I wave. “Interesting outfit.”
“Gotta go clean up at the club,” she says with a wan smile. “Punishment from Dad.”
“Don’t worry about that today,” Ares says. “Your Dad’s got a full plate this morning so he asked me to take you to school. Go change.”
She blinks in confusion. “Wait, what? But Dad?—”
“Just do as you’re told, all right? I don’t need you to give me a hard time.”
She nods cautiously, giving me a look of question before turning around and walking back upstairs. I’ve got to wonder what it’s been like to deal with this her whole life. She seems to get when and where to question things and who to try stuff with. But I wonder if she really knows the danger of defying the brotherhood.
She gets about halfway up the stairs before pausing as her glance out of one of the windows turns to a full-on stare. It’s only a few seconds that she stops, but long enough for Ares to prompt her with, “Sasha.”
“I’m going,” she mutters and walks the rest of the way up the stairs.
“Where is Roman, anyway?” I ask Ares once she’s gone.
“He’s taking care of a few things. Just some business at the club.”
“Business at the club? Shouldn’t I be there?”
“If he wanted you there, he would have had me bring you there,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Just sit tight and make yourself at home until he comes back.”
And with that, he walks off, back outside, probably to wait for Sasha. I watch him go and for a few minutes, I just stand in the middle of the living room with my suitcase at my feet.Make yourself at home.I look up at the chandelier above me and the high ceilings of the mansion. I’ve never had anything close to a home like this.
I carry my bag up the stairs toward Roman’s room but stop as I pass by Sasha’s bedroom. Her door is half open and I can hear her moving around beyond it. Maybe I should check in with her.
I drop my bag and knock on Sasha’s half open door. “Hey, Sasha,” I say. “Mind if we have a little chat?”
A pause, then, “Sure, come on in.”
I open the door. She’s standing by the window, still in her T-shirt and blue jeans, one hand holding her curtain to the side as she looks outside. Her forehead is creased with worry and she’s biting her bottom lip. Is this a sign that I should be more worried than I am? If she’s clearly worried, shouldn’t I be?
“Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?”
“Yeah,” she says listlessly. “You know, the last time there were this many Bratva on the grounds was after my fifth birthday party?” She looks over at me, a question in her eyes. “Did Dad tell you about that, yet?”
“He told me that your mother was killed,” I say. I’m taken by surprise a little. Despite the little bit of time I’ve spent with her over these few weeks, I haven’t taken into account how much Sasha may or may not know about my relationship with her father. Then again, she’s had to notice how much I’ve been around the house lately.
She nods in acceptance of my answer. “I was standing right next to her when it happened,” she says. “I think Dad thinks that I forgot all about it because I was too young and I don’t really talk about it much to him. But how can you forget a bullet going through your mom’s chest?”
“Maybe he thinks you blocked it out,” I respond, and she shrugs.
“I guess that makes sense. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished that I had.”
How awful. I can’t imagine what that must have been like. When I think of my father being shot to death, it’s all in my imagination. No one ever went into any detail about how it happened or where the bullet entered or anything like that with me. Who would do that to a kid?
Sasha didn’t have the luxury of ignorance. She had a front row seat. Suddenly, the innocence in her eyes doesn’t look so innocent at all. It looks weary and old.
