“Alexander, good to officially meet you.” My eyes shifted to the door. “Your son seems—”
“I will get you your money,” he cut me off.
“It’s a bit late for that, I’m afraid,” I hummed.
“Look, it was nothing personal,” he grunted. “Where I come from, we do not simply hand over our money to the leader because he says so.”
“I’m familiar with communism,” I quipped, and he scowled.
Ah, that sterling Russian sense of humor we’ve all heard about…
“I will work with you,” he went on. “Help you in Vegas. Cyril says that is what you want, yes?”
My eyes held his. “Yes, that is correct. But how do I know I can trust you?”
“The same way I know I can trust you…” He grumbled, turning away. “You can’t.”
He strode back up the steps to his house while I chuckled at the cojones on thiscomrade.
“Tell Mateo I will have your money for him at the shop tomorrow. With interest,” he said, opening the door. “Oh, and Mr. Ivory?”
“Yes?” I sang, rolling my eyes.
“If you want the deal in Vegas to work out, please do not ever speak to my son again.”
“No promises.” I shot him a wink, spinning on my heel and marching toward the car.
And there you have it.
Now, I can’t say forsurethat there are no coincidences in this life. But what Idoknow is that sometimes even the most random of occurrences feel staged. Like whoever is controlling the narrative is having fun at our expense, making us think things are just happening, when in reality, it’s all leading us on a very specific and pre-planned course.
I don’t believe that Dascha Reznikov recognized me as he sat, chained up in front of me in Alabaster Penitentiary, roughly fifteen years after that day, when I met him briefly in his front yard. Knowing what I now know about him, it’s highly unlikely.
Though who could blame him? The last fifty-six hours of his lifehavebeen quite stressful.
Still, I can’t deny that seeing him again, after all this time, in person—as the newest inmate added to my collection of special little monsters—was a bit of a trip.
Poor Dascha. Honestly, I feel for the kid, I really do.
First, his dad leaves him, then his rather lucrative career in bank robbing is cut short when he’s dimed on by some rat he never should’ve trusted in the first place…
Thenhe’s framed for killing Russo’s niece by the police and sentenced to life on this island under lock and key.
And to top it all off, the one person I’d assumed wanted to stay here and protect him just freaking took off!
I mean… what in the hell was that??
Kellan Kemper isobviouslyobsessed with the kid. He’s been stalking every mention of the kid for years at this point, and yesterday, he flew in here like a bat out of hell the literalsecondthe article about Dash’s robbery came out, asking all kinds of questions, like this is some kind of equal partnership.
The way he reacted to even being in the same room with the kid…
It was reminiscent of the way I reacted occupying the same oxygen as—
Okay, we’re not going there.
This is aboutKellanfuckingKemperand the fact that he justquit. After ten years on this island. AftereverythingI’ve done for him…He just quits??
Nobody quits. It doesn’t happen.
