“And Niki told me the truth about what happened.”
Her tone tells me I’ve failed. But I have to ask. “The truth?”
“Katie, you’ve been out of control from the day you learned your first word. But honestly, when Niki told me what you did… I’ve never been so embarrassed.”
My voice turns to ice. “What I did.”
“The way you touched Pyotr. The things you said you’d do for him. What child even knows those words?”
I can’t summon a reply. I’m too busy fighting to swallow the vomit in my throat.
“Are you even capable of feeling shame, Katie? Your lies kept the Canton Crew at war for decades. After your da fell ill, it’s been all I can do to make things right.”
“Right,” I say. Or maybe I only imagine my lips forming the word.
“Pyotr and Breagha—our families could have been joineddespiteyour bad behavior. But then the poor man got taken out by the Colombians.”
This is the first time I’ve heard Nikolai Tarasov’s lie about how his son died. Of course, he can’t admit a rogue mob princess killed his brigadier. He has to spin the truth. “Thank God for that,” I manage to say.
Mam’s shriek echoes in my ear. “You vicious, spiteful child! It’s been all I can do to put this deal together. Your sister will marry Ilya Danilov. That will build one link. And Nikolai Tarasov, proving he has more mercy than any other man alive, has agreed to marry me.”
Exhausted, I can only say, “You’re married to Da.”
“Niki has promised your father will always have the finest care. Even after the divorce.”
“Nikolai Tarasov doesn’t want you to divorce Da. He wantsmeto divorceCole.”
“Katie, you’re mad. Niki warned me about this. He said you were sick. He said you always wanted Pyotr. You’ve spent your entire life working to smear the Tarasov name. If you hadn’t had your da wrapped around your filthy little finger all these years, this war could have ended years ago.”
“Da never listened to a word I said!”
“Niki says you’re a pathological liar.”
“Nikolai Tarasov is an evil, scheming shitehawk. He’s been trying to conquer the Crew for years. And you’re handing him the clan like a fucking gift-wrapped present!”
“Niki says?—”
“Were you dropped on your head as a baby, Mam? Or are you just so eager to get your cunt filled, you can’t even think straight?”
She screams—a single note of pure, unadulterated rage—before she ends the call.
So much for my attempt at getting Mam to save us all from the Russians. I take a moment to breathe deeply, settling my thoughts before I head out to monitor the fortress my house has become.
17
COLE
Lying in bed with the door finally closed and the curtains drawn, I can almost believe my Georgetown refuge is the same as it’s ever been. I don’t have to think about Nilsson and Anna in the room off the kitchen, although I hope they’re sleeping well after the uncounted burdens they shouldered on this never-ending day.
I no longer hear Breagha, tiptoeing down the hallway, sneaking toward the stairs and the kitchen and another serving of the peach cobbler she couldn’t get enough of at dinner. I’m not waiting for the gentle raising of the head or feet on Granny’s hospital bed, proof that the equipment made the journey across the street without damage. I’m not worrying that Mrs. Watson will feel banished in the den at the end of the hall.
In retrospect, the soundproofing I had installed in this master bedroom suite was the smartest decision I ever made about home ownership. It’s not that Kate and I have doneanything louder than whisper tonight. We barely kissed each other before I turned out my nightstand light. But the quiet surrounding us allows me the illusion that we aren’t a family under siege.
My hands are clasped behind my head as I stare at the ceiling. The only way today’s visit to the Andersons could have gone worse is if Nikolai Tarasov actually launched a direct attack while I was standing on the porch. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more I could have done, some magic words I could have said that would have made everything better.
But lying here in the darkness, I can see a roadmap of the past thirteen years. Early on, there were dozens of off-ramps, places I could have called a halt and admitted to the truth. The options became fewer and fewer over the years, but some still remained. Even yesterday, I could have forced an exit from the lies. I could have sat the Andersons down, admitted all my wrongdoings, explained my mistakes, and begged for their forgiveness.
That option evaporated the instant my name hit the press. Every headline since is another brick in the wall between us. Every time my name is linked to the wordbillionaire, the wedge drives deeper.
