The message marks as delivered.
Then read.
But there’s no response.
I delete the message, check my reflection in the mirror one more time to make sure my face doesn't betray what I've just done, and unlock the door.
But Alessandro isn’t asleep anymore.
He's sitting up in the bed, those gray eyes fixed on me, watching. In the dimness, his gaze carries his father’s intensity, and I wonder if he’ll see straight to the truth of what I’ve done.
"Who were you talking to?"
I force myself to smile. "A friend."
He considers this with the innocent trust of a seven-year-old who hasn’t been lied to in his entire life. I wait for him to challenge me, to call me a liar, and to let me know that he heard everything.
But he just nods.
"Okay," he says, and lies back down, and closes his eyes.
I stand there for a moment longer than I need to, and then I walk out to rejoin Slava in the seat by his side.
My hand finds his before I'm fully settled, and he gives it the lightest of squeezes.
I curl up on the seat beside him and nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck so he can’t see the tears clinging to the edge of my eyes.
45
BELLA
Anthony barrelsinto me like a cannonball, arms wrapping around my legs as soon as the door opens.
“Aunt Bella! You’reback!”
I drop to my knees when he releases me, and then I wrap him up in a bear hug that I wish could last forever. He smells like he’s been running around all day, his hair is sticking up in three different directions, and there’s dried yogurt on his lips.
It’s messy and perfect.
“I missed you so much, peanut.” My voice comes out rough, scraped raw by something I refuse to examine. “So, so much.”
“I made you a card,” Anthony is saying, pulling back to look at me with those enormous brown eyes that destroy me every single time. “Aunt Lydia helped. Do you want to see?”
“I’d love to.” I stand up, taking his hand in mine, and follow him into the apartment.
It’s surreal stepping back into my apartment. The last time I was here, Slava had been in the midst of stripping me out of that wildly inappropriate bikini. I look down at the wall just inside the door and half expect to find the two pieces of navy fabric there.
But they’re not.
Lydia is inside, a dish towel slung over her shoulder, her green eyes warm and smiling.
“Welcome back,” she says. “You look like shit.”
“I feel like shit.”
“Bad trip?”
Ilearned my brother was a monster. I fell in love with the man I swore to destroy. I betrayed him and nearly got his son killed. And I’m pretty sure I’ve just sent a lot more people to their graves.
