Oscar enters moments later with tea and a neatly folded change of clothes. He sets the clothes next to me, the tea on the side table—chamomile.
“Thank you, Oscar,” I say, barely able to talk.
He nods. “If you need anything else, Miss Thea, please let me know.”
Then he’s gone, closing the doors softly behind him. The fire crackles as rain patters on the tall, arched windows.
“Change,” Gabriel says, “your clothes are soaked.”
I open my mouth to argue but quickly realize I don’t have the energy for it. Gabriel turns his back, as if he’s the consummate gentleman and not a murderer.
Then again, maybe he’s both.
I stand up and strip out of my clothes. The fire is warm on my bare skin, and I enjoy it for a brief moment before putting on the comfy loungewear and slippers that Oscar brought. Once dressed, I plop back onto the couch. Between the tea, the rain, the clothes and the fire, I’m feeling more normal, almost cozy, even.
Gabriel turns when I’m done. I wrap my hands around the mug, taking a slow sip as he eases onto the couch next to me.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Then, when I’m ready, I set down my tea and turn to face him.
“I need answers,” I demand. “No more secrets. No more protecting me from the truth. I deserve to know.”
He’s quiet. Then he nods.
“You do.”
“So tell me. Who am I really?”
He leans back and runs a hand through his hair. “Your name is Teodora Fetisov. You were born in Brooklyn. Your father was Lev Fetisov—pakhanof the Fetisov Bratva. Your mother’s name was Masha. You had an older sister, Ana, and an older brother, Dmirtri.”
My throat tightens.I don’t remember much about my earliest years. I vaguely remember my siblings, but it’s a blur.
Had.
“What happened to them?”
“Twenty years ago, Kolya Sokolov orchestrated a coup. He wanted control over the Bratva, and the Fetisovs stood in his way. With them out of the picture, he could assume leadership. So he killed them. All of them. Your parents, your siblings, anyone who was loyal to the Fetisovs. It was brutal. Efficient. And it worked.”
I sit back; my gaze fixed on the fire. I had a family. But they were killed, taken from me before I could even make memories withthem.If this is true, then the trauma from that event could be why I can’t remember a whole lot about them. My inner defense mechanism wiped it out.
“But I survived. How?”
“You were at a sleepover,” he explains. “Liza. Your mother’s friend. The woman who took you in but abandoned you when you turned eighteen. You were spending the night with her daughter, Sissy. And that’s the night Kolya sent his men into your home to murder your family as they slept.
“Liza and your mother were close. When she learned what happened, she agreed to take you in. My associates and I were the ones who helped create your new identity, your last name of Andrin. We gave her money to keep you hidden, to raise you, to provide you with whatever you needed.”
“But not enough money for her to pretend to like me,” I say bitterly.
He nods somberly. “She took you in out of obligation to your mother, yes. But she took you in all the same. That counts for something.”
I think of the way Liza treated me during my childhood, how she never passed up an opportunity to make a comment about my body, especially compared to Sissy, who didn’t seem to be able to put on weight, even if she tried.
It all makes more sense now. She raised me because she wanted to do right by my mom. And because she was getting paid.
“I played a role in this,” he continues. “Not just paying Liza but making sure you were kept safe. You see, the men who killedyour family, they lied to Kolya, told him that you died along with the rest of them.”
“And he believed them?”
