Her mother served herself bacon and eggs, then sat across from Adria.
“What is it Xander does down here, exactly?” Adria asked, taking a bite of her waffle.
Her mother pushed the bacon to the far side of her plate. Parsing the items so each had its own quadrant. “He is head of the Sombras da Selva. A large organization down here, encompassing all of Brazil and most of Argentina.”
Adria’s eyes widened. “That’s quite the accomplishment.”
The Nine were aware of the Sombras de Selva and their power. What they were not privy to was the name of their leader. So far, the gang had stayed out of the Nine’s affairs and hadn’t drawn any undue attention their way. Now Adria knew why.
“Xander works hard,” her mother said. “And he has me.”
Adria gave her mother a smile.
“Work is something we all should be doing. You slept half the day away and now we are getting a late start on things,” her mother said, pushing her plate away with only a few bites of food taken.
The sun hit her mother’s hair and Adria remembered the mornings where the two of them would sit on the sundeck watching the sunset. A grin spread across Adria’s face. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”
Her mother smiled softly. “Let’s talk about tomorrow, not yesterday.”
“But the past feels so close,” Adria said, brushing her mother’s hand. “This ring, your necklace, your scent—it brings it all back.”
Her mother laughed gently. “Adria, don’t be silly. You barely remember me.”
Adria decisively shook her head. “I worried about forgetting you every day. But I never could.”
“More coffee?” Sophia offered.
“Just tea,” Adria replied.
Her mother’s lips pressed together as if tea annoyed her. Adria continued, “You used to drink tea, too.”
“People change,” her mother mused.
Adria gestured at her mother’s choice in breakfast. “But Saturday breakfasts stayed the same. You always loved waffles.”
Sophia’s expression darkened. “That was the one day your father refused to work.”
Adria gripped the counter, not wanting Ivan to invade her memories.
“I had a dream about you last night,” Adria said.
Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Adria said. “You were making breakfast, and Alexey was dying in the pantry.”
Adria laughed at the silliness of it. “Dreams are so interesting. I mean, you, I get, but why in the world would I be dreaming of Alexey? Whatever happened to him anyway?”
Sophia finished her coffee and waved away the waiting servant. “I don’t remember Alexey.”
Adria blinked. “You don’t? He made all our meals—cookies, pão de queijo, even cuscuz.”
Sophia snapped, “It was a long time ago. I said I don’t remember.”
Adria’s mouth fell open.
Her mother’s voice softened. “Let’s focus on what matters.”
Adria bit her bacon, hurt. Her mother leaned forward. “Did Bryson talk to you after dinner?”
