“I had six years with you and Yarik. Six years of being a mother, of singing you to sleep, of watching you grow. Those were the happiest years of my life. I loved both of you so fiercely. And then Ruslan’s men found me.”
I steel myself. My memories were only fragments, but hearing her story gives them a shape that my fragmented memories never did.
She looks away, staring at the wall.
“It happened in the middle of the night. I woke up to men in our apartment—all of them marked with the cathedral dome on their forearms. The Kupola Network. Some had worked for my father but now they answered to Ruslan. They knew my real name, but they weren’t taking me home to Saint Petersburg. They were dragging me to New York, to him.”
I have my own terrifying memories of that night, flashes of shadow and violence that branded themselves onto my young soul.
“Your father was working late, and you were sleeping, thank god. I begged them to spare you. To spare Yarik. I convinced them if they allowed me to write a letter to Yarik that I was leaving him, he’d buy it. I wrote that I was going back to my wealthy family and he shouldn’t try to find me because I didn’t love him anymore. Every single word was a lie. My hand was shaking so hard I could barely hold the pen. But it was the only way to keep both of you safe.”
An ache blooms in my chest. She loved us. She protected us, even when it cost her everything.
“And that’s when they took you to Velour?” I rasp.
“Ruslan locked me in Velour’s basement with the other women waiting to be auctioned. He visited once in the weeks I was there to tell me my family was dead, and his wife would be killed soon, and I’d take her place. And if I ever stepped out of line…” She swallows hard. “He’d allow his men to take turns with me.”
Nausea rolls through me, my stomach turning as I imagine the sheer terror of that threat.
“But the best thing Ruslan did was lock me up in that basement with four other women who were going to be sold. Most of them were Russian, but one was from Mexico. She’d been there longer than the rest of us and had been collectingthings—pieces of metal, broken tools, anything the guards overlooked.”
A cold smile crosses her face. “We banded together, determined to escape. One night when the guards came down, we offered them sex in exchange for extra food and warm blankets. They thought they were getting a great deal. The second they got close, we killed them. Stabbed them with the makeshift weapons we’d hidden. It was us or them, and not one of us hesitated.
“We escaped that night, and the Mexican woman, Isabella, knew of a place we could hide. A brothel in Brooklyn owned by a cartel she had connections to. It wasn’t freedom; the cartel used us as prostitutes and drug mules. But it was survival.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, the words sounding pathetic and small against the scale of what she endured. My mother doesn’t look at me, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere in the past.
“I started working for the cartel, running drugs between New York and Mexico. But I was smarter than they expected. I could read situations, anticipate problems, negotiate when things went wrong. I proved myself valuable beyond just carrying packages, and I rose through the ranks.
“It took years. I spent more time in Mexico than the States, building connections, proving my worth. When the time was right, I staged a coup, killed the top brass, and became what I am now. La Madrastra. The Stepmother. A nod to being foreign-born. And not a day has passed in eighteen years that I haven’t thought about how to destroy Ruslan and everyone who helped him build his empire. Yes, I tipped off the feds and managed to get the Network shut down, but I wanted him to die knowing I’ve taken everything from him, including his legacy and heirs.
She seems to transform into La Madrastra before my eyes. Her face hardens, her entire posture turning to stone.
“But the one thing I didn’t plan on was you being here.” She meets my eyes and brushes a piece of hair from my face.
I manage a weak smile. “I came looking for you. Memories from the night they took you came to me in dreams. Dreams I couldn’t ignore. The only thing I had to go on was the cathedral dome tattoos, the mark of the Kupola Network. I learned women were taken from Russia and sold through Velour. I figured coming here was my only chance. Maybe it was stupid, but I lied to everyone, including Papa, to move here.”
She stands and walks to the window. “Your father knows everything now. I called him last night and told him all of it. He’s on his way here with Pavel and his family.”
My heart stutters. “Papa’s coming? What did you—how did he react?”
My mother turns back to face me, leaning against the windowsill. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again they’re bright with unshed tears.
“It was the most difficult conversation of my life. He was devastated, furious, heartbroken, all of it. But I think it gave him some peace, even if it came far too late. You’ll have your own explaining to do. But he’s incredibly relieved that you’re okay.”
I nod, and despite the exhaustion pulling me under, I ask, “When did you learn about me? That I was in New York looking for you?”
“Later than I would have liked. Not until Ruslan attacked the taco shop and tried to make it look like it was the ‘Ghost.’” She smiles and uses air quotes around the word. “My people pulled security footage of the attack, and even though it was shitty and grainy, I knew it was you. We look alike.” She crosses back to the bed and trails a hand down my face. “And if I recognized you, Ruslan would as well. That’s when I figured out what was happening. Ruslan didn’t want you digging into old business,especially not with the son he was trying to marry off to Varvara Morozova.”
“Why didn’t you approach me? If you had, none of this would have happened.”
“I was so close to getting everything I wanted. To take down the Baronov Bratva and all the men involved in his cruel world. I decided to watch over you and wait for the right time to make my move. But he forced my hand.”
“The Newtown Creek operation,” I say slowly, pieces clicking into place. “Did you actually fall for it?”
“It was very good work, you’re obviously brilliant, but because we had eyes on you, I let it go on so I could kill or capture all the heirs of the New York underworld in one night. It would have worked, but then Ruslan abducted you, and we had to pivot quickly.” She sinks back into the chair, suddenly looking exhausted. “I spent eighteen years building walls around my heart, Dinara. Telling myself you were better off without me.” She reaches for my hand again, gripping it tightly. “It took nearly losing you to understand that I can’t live like that anymore. I don’t want to miss any more of your life.”
My heart swells, pressing against my ribs until I think it might break. It’s a violent, beautiful pain. It’s the kind of hurt that means you’re finally healing.
