His fingers tighten around my knee. His expression hardens.
“I did.”
An ache builds in my chest. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Artem.” I lean forward, covering his hands with my own.
“When I was sixteen, my sisters—twins Anya and Natasha—were nine. After school they would go to the cafe to work on their homework until her shift ended, and then they’d all walk home together.”
His expression darkens. Like he’s facing a storm and daring it to crash down over him.
“There was a robbery. Two men.” His eyelids slide lower. “My mother was alone with Anya and Natasha. No customers that afternoon.”
I squeeze his hands as though I can transfer more strength to him.
“My mother offered the money if they would leave, but they wanted more than cash.”
Heaviness sinks into my chest.
“Artem.” I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to say anymore, but I think he does. Sometimes giving voice to the ghosts gives them a way to find their way to freedom.
“They locked the doors and took all three of them into the kitchen. They killed the cook right away. But they took their time with my mother. Both of them raped her with my sisters only a few feet away. They promised her they’d leave my sisters alone if she didn’t fight them. But when they were done, they shot both of them before killing her. Then they took the two hundred dollars in the cash register and my mother’s thirty dollars in tips and left.”
“They were caught? By the police? I mean if you know all that…” My words trail off when I see the small shake of his head.
“I found them myself.”
“But you were only sixteen.” At sixteen, I was sneaking out of the house to go to house parties.
“I worked at a butcher shop owned by Vladimir Volkov.”
“My grandfather? You worked for my grandfather?”
“Not directly. He split his time between Russia, Chicago, and Boston. I never met him face to face. When the guys I worked with found out what happened to my family, they helped me track down the two men, and then they let me find justice for my family.”
He doesn’t go into any details, and he doesn’t need to. My imagination can fill in the blanks. I didn’t grow up around my brothers and not learn how violent retribution can be.
“Is that how you started working with my brothers?”
A dark smile crosses his lips. “Word got back to your grandfather, and I was sent to Chicago. I was given a job and a place to stay.”
I lean back in my chair. “You must think I’m the biggest spoiled brat in the whole world.”
His gaze jumps to mine. “Why do you say that?”
“Artem. Your family was stolen from you in the most violent way possible. I’m surrounded by my brothers and complain about it constantly. And then I betrayed them.”
He grabs my chin, dragging me forward until he’s only a breath away from me.
“Did you start seeing Tony DeAngelo as a way to get back at your brothers?”
“No.” I pull my brow together. “I didn’t know about his family for a while. But once I found out, I didn’t break things off.”
“Did you tell him anything about your brothers?”
“Of course not.”
“Did you tell him you loved him?” His question knocks the wind from my lungs.
It’s not a question to determine if I betrayed anyone. He wants to know in order to see how far I went with Tony. I’ve already said I didn’t love him, but did I say the words to Tony?
