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Here we go.
“Da,” I reply. “Pravda.”
She unrolls some shirts, stroking the arms flat. “When did it happen?”
“Three days ago.”
“I see.”
Torquing the ring on my finger until my skin is raw, I hang my head. “Mom, please don’t be mad. It’s a long story.”
The shirt she was folding falls from her hands and onto the bed. “I’m not mad, Galina.”
“I—” Wait … what? “You’re not?”
“No.” She turns just enough so I can see her face. The fine lines by her mouth are screwed up like she’s trying to keep any sounds from escaping. Her eyebrows couldn’t be more furrowed unless I plucked them off and rearranged them. “Let’s forget about it for now. There are other things that are more important which we should be discussing.”
“Okay,” I say warily. She doesn’t look mad ... but it’s obvious she’s not happy. The longer I muse on it, the more I begin to realize what my mother is actually feeling. She’s sad.
God, that’s a million times worse than her being pissed at me.
Is she sad because Dad wasn’t here to see me get married? Is she sad that she didn’t see it? Guilt washes over me again. If you only knew, Mom … This isn’t even real.
Ah! An annoying little voice pipes up in my head. But some parts were real.
Sitting on the bed, she pats the space beside her. Obediently, I join her. When I’m situated, she takes a deep breath and speaks.
“Galina, what is really going on?”
“What do you mean?”
Her frown grows wider. “You vanish from my life. You convince Arsen to alter the deal so that he purchases the studio but allows it to remain as it is. Astana Bukharova herself walks into my lobby, in the flesh, explaining she’ll be teaching classes … And then, for no discernible reason, the building is riddled with bullets.” She leans closer. “Don’t take me for a fool, malyshka. You are hiding something.”
Pushing my fingertips into my eyelids, I groan softly. “Arsen didn’t tell you anything? Not even on the drive over?”
“The man was as silent as a statue.”
Why did he leave this task to me? Ugh! Dropping my hands into my lap, I twist my ring again. It hurts, but I keep at it. I need something to focus on to get my words out. “I don’t want to scare you, but … You should know that someone has been stalking us.”
Her eyes darken. “Is it Simon?”
“No! No.” I shake my head quickly. “I mean, he might be, sure, but this is someone else. How much do you know about …” I hesitate to say the word, but I can’t keep this from her forever. “About the Bratvas?”
“Galina Stepanovna, no!” She jumps off the bed, cursing something under her breath. “Do not tell me that you’ve gotten involved with the Bratvas!”
Her reaction surprises me. I stand slowly, holding my hands up to indicate she should sit, but she doesn’t. “Mom, calm down.”
“Answer me! Have you?”
Wincing at my inability to lie to her face, I go silent. Then, slowly, I dip my head ever so slightly in a nod.
She gasps and her hand twitches. Wincing, I close my eyes in anticipation of a slap that never comes. When I open them, Mom is glaring at the bedroom door. I wait for it to combust from her fury. But it doesn’t.
“So,” she starts, and I can detect the faintest tremble in her voice, “Arsen is Bratva. Now I understand where all his money comes from.”
“Don’t be upset at him.” I’m struck by how funny it feels to defend him after everything he’s done. “He’s not the one that’s threatening us. He’s doing his best to protect us from Yevgeniy Grachev. That’s why I’m here. That’s why he brought you here! To keep us safe!”
“Chto?” Mom snaps around, eyeballing me with her lower jaw trembling. “Did you say Yevgeniy Grachev?”
