“Stop overthinking, Leo,” Dad said, driving into the church lot and parking in one of the empty spots. Facing me, he patted my upper arm in a supportive gesture. “Just follow your heart, and don’t let your head get in the way. You have a knack for doing that.”
“Tell me about it,” I muttered.
We entered the church and enjoyed the service. I tried to spend time with Dad each weekend if I could. He’d never remarried after Mom, nor really dated a lot that I knew of. They had been soulmates in the truest sense of the word, and I figured his heart just wasn’t into finding someone else.
After the service, we swung by the local bar where all the cops, firemen and EMS workers hung out. It was one of my favorite places, especially when the Jets were paying on Sundays in the winter, and I caught myself wondering if Katia would like it.
The atmosphere was divey, but it also had a hometown bar feeling. Still, it was quite different from the flashy world of late-night dance clubs and house music. You were more likely to hearBilly Joel or Springsteen in my bar, and it was a reminder of the different worlds Katia and I inhabited.
“Bring my son one more beer before he thinks himself to death,” Dad called to the bartender as he sat beside me.
“Sorry, I’m not super-talkative today.”
Dad grinned. “Leo, if you were super-talkative, I’d call a damn doctor. You never got your mother’s or my gift of gab.”
I squinted one eye. “Am I grumpy?”
“Lord, yes, son,” he responded with a cackle. “But not everyone can be a damn comedian. You’re fine just the way you are.”
I took the fresh beer and focused on enjoying the rest of our day together. He was in his late seventies and had slowed down quite a bit over the past few years. I knew we wouldn’t have forever, and I always tried my best to cherish our time together.
Eventually, we settled up at the bar, and Dad dropped me off at my house. I’d bought it years ago, and it was a small two-story, two-bedroom house that was my sanctuary. It was an escape from the murders and mafia bosses I dealt with in the city, and I always loved returning to it at the end of each day.
Once inside, I changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt before calling Katia. I opened one last beer and settled on the couch to call her.
It rang twice before she answered in a sultry voice. “Hello, agent. How was church?”
Chuckling, I told her about my day and spending time with Dad at the bar afterward.
“Ohhh, the bar sounds fun. Do they have darts?”
“They do,” I said, arching my eyebrows. “Do you play?”
“Better than you know, my friend. I’ll eat you for lunch.”
“Damn, I need to sign you up as my partner for the next tournament. I stopped playing years ago, but maybe you’ll make me reconsider.”
“I’m a shark. Sign me up anytime.”
A knock sounded in the background, and I could hear her shuffling around.
“I ordered delivery,” she said, her voice echoing a bit as she walked into her foyer. “Let me just grab it. I always tell them to leave it in my lobby, but sometimes they come to my door.”
The sounds of locks clicking traveled over the phone, and a feeling of unease washed over me. Time seemed to slow as I heard the jangle of the doorknob turning.
“Katia, did you check the peephole—?”
A loudthumpsounded, followed by her sharp gasp.
“Katia??” I yelled, jerking to my feet.
“Don’t struggle, bitch,” a low-toned voice with a slight Russian accent said, and the phone made a clanking sound as it hit her hardwood floor.
“Let...me...go!” Katia grunted, the sounds of her struggle evident over the phone.
My heart threatened to pound out of my chest as I stood in my living room, helpless, as the woman I was obsessed with was being attacked.
“Katia!” I screamed.
