Behind me, I hear Janice whisper, “What the hell was that?”
Silence. Even Stephanie, for once, has nothing to say.
The afternoon stretches ahead of me, full of possibilities I never dared imagine. A gala. A mission. A life that suddenly feels bigger than deposit slips and overdue bills. For the first time in my entire life, I feel like I could take on the world. And win.
19
Anton
Ray’s house is locked up tighter than a casino vault. Twelve-foot walls, iron spikes, cameras disguised as lawn ornaments. Inside, though, it’s straight suburban postcard: blue pool, trimmed grass, dog chasing sprinklers, kids screaming like that’s their job.
I sit at the patio table with Lev, Boris, and Dima, all of us dressed for a funeral in the middle of summer. We look like we don’t belong here. Because we don’t.
Emma—Ray’s youngest—climbs out of the pool, dripping wet, curls sticking to her cheeks. Marches over to us without hesitation, like four men in black aren’t the least bit intimidating.
“Are you my daddy’s work friends?” she asks. Her gaze lands on Boris, who hasn’t touched sunlight in years.
“Something like that,” Ray says.
She ignores him, eyes locked on Dima. “Do you draw pictures on your neck?”
Dima freezes. The man who can field-strip a rifle blindfolded has been undone by a three-year-old’s question.
“Emma,” Ray warns gently.
“It’s okay,” Dima says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “They’re… stories. From when I was younger.”
“Can you draw me a story?”
“Maybe later,malyshka.”
She grins like she’s just made a new best friend and runs back toward the pool, where a six-year-old boy with the same curly hair is attempting to teach Zeus the golden retriever how to swim.
Lev leans back in his chair, smirking. “She’ll have you doing princess tattoos before the week’s out.”
Dima glares. Zeus barks like he agrees.
I watch the chaos—kids, dog, water everywhere—and it lands sideways in my chest. A life with no blood on the ground. No enemies circling. Just sunscreen and popsicles.
And for one stupid second, my head goes there. Mary. What it would look like if she were in that pool chair, rolling her eyes at me while some kid with her curls and my temper demanded another round of cannonballs.
I cut the thought off hard. That’s not my world.
Ray cracks open a beer, doesn’t bother offering us one.
The can hisses loudly over the sound of splashing. He drops into the chair at the head of the table, kicks back, eyes on the pool where his daughter’s trying to boss the dog into floating on a noodle.
He pushes a plate of watermelon wedges closer to the edge of the table. Pink triangles dripping juice. The kids swarm it like sharks in a feeding frenzy.
“Sorry Sarah’s not around,” Ray says, still watching the pool. “She’s got back-to-back classes at the studio. Helper called in sick this morning. So—” He gestures at the chaos. “You get the circus.”
Lev picks up a wedge of watermelon and grins. “Best security I’ve ever seen. Anyone gets too close, we unleash the toddler.”
Emma screeches in delight and cannonballs back into the water. Zeus howls like he’s the one drowning.
Ray doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look away from the pool when he says, “You’re not here for small talk. What the hell are you planning for Friday?”
I glance at Boris. He’s already sliding his laptop out of its case. The glow from the screen makes him look even paler than usual.
