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But I never thought they’d happen in front of me.
The sound of the gunshot replays in my head. Over and over and over until I clutch my skull, crouching on the sidewalk in a manic mess. Yet, when I close my eyes, it’s not the murder I remember. I don’t think about the blood or the dead man’s red-stained smile.
I see the handsome killer.
And the prayer beads around his wrist.
3
GALINA
“What’s wrong with you, Galina? You look awful. Are you sick?”
I stare blankly at my mother and try to make sense of her question. My world feels sluggish, like I’m moving through petroleum jelly. It’s been like this since I woke up from my fitful sleep.
“I’m fine,” I insist.
Her narrowed eyes tell me she’s not fooled. “Well, get it together. The buyer will be here any minute.”
The reminder is as good as a shot of espresso. I stand taller and smooth my palms over my hair, pulled back in an elegant bun today. Partly to look professional, and also because I didn’t have the energy this morning to do anything more elaborate.
My hangover has turned my guts into knots. But it’s the sickening memory of what I witnessed last night that churns my stomach the most.
Will it be on the news today? Should I have reported it to someone? Deep down, I’m sure it’s dangerous to get involved. Still, the idea that someone died and their friends and family don’t know what happened … That doesn’t sit well with me at all.
“Galina, please, snap out of it.” Mom shoves a roll of paper towels into my chest. “Go wipe down the front desk, then make sure the mirrors are spotless.”
“Do you really think this person won’t buy the studio if it’s dusty?” I chuckle. “If it was that easy, I’d walk around dropping trash everywhere.”
“Galina! Bozhe moi!” She’s aghast, her hand touching her collarbone in her high-neck black dress. “If you’re going to cause trouble, just go somewhere else.”
“Relax, I’ll be good.” I’m not childish enough to cause havoc. I don’t need to; I’ve made my own plans. Once I meet the buyer, I’ll quiz him about his intentions. If I’m not satisfied, I’ll put my foot down. In my heart, I believe my mother will listen to reason if faced with the right information.
After all, it’s not the buyer’s mind I have to change. It’s hers.
There’s a knock on the front door of the studio. It’s a crisp, solid triple tap. Mom and I exchange a look at the sound. I throw the paper towels into the office and smooth down the front of my red blouse. She checks her hair in the many mirrors before motioning for me to go first. “Let him in, Galina.”
But when I enter the front room, I see that he has already let himself in. I’m furious at the cockiness this stranger has. Who the hell just walks into a business without waiting for permission?
Then he turns toward me.
And it’s … hard to feel angry.
He towers over me, his figure cutting a perfect triangle in his cobalt suit. The black belt around his middle gives him a taper, hugging his thick trunk to show off how fit he truly is. When he angles his chin down to gaze at me with his light blue, nearly silver eyes, my hangover vanishes.
In its place, heat slips through my blood and leaves me dizzy.
I’ve never seen someone as sexy as him. Not this close, anyway. He lifts a large hand, his long fingers scrubbing lightly over his chin as he smirks at me. “You’re not Katya,” he says.
“Oh, uh, no.” Clearing my throat, I offer him my hand. “I’m Galina, her daughter.”
He grips my palm, the warmth and power traveling through my skin until my scalp tingles. Oh, dammit, this is bad. I’m supposed to hate this guy’s guts. That’s what I was ready for.
Not … this.
“Mr. Isakov!” Mom weaves between us, taking his hand, giving it a few excited shakes. “I’m so glad you made it! I hope parking was all right? These streets, sometimes people just leave their cars without any consideration. If there’s trouble, tell me. I know a man who will tow?—”
“No, no. It’s fine.” He surveys the room after he withdraws his hand. “So, this is your studio. It’s smaller than I thought it would be.”
