I hear things at the bar sometimes—before the Kopolovs do—but not always.
He looks away and blows out a breath. "We're not entirely sure yet."
"Is it the Irish?"
The Irish mob, Keenan McCarthy’s Clan, were the ones who killed my sister. They're not welcome in the bar anymore. None of them. As soon as I hear the accent, I look for the tattoo that marks them as McCarthy—but no one's come in for months.
"Yeah."
But when he doesn't offer any more information, I don't push. "Tell me if you need me."
I can at least spy—though not from the bar.
"Of course."
Then he's gone—without a backward glance or a word. Just gone. And again, it feels like I pick up the weight of my grief.
But when I go to find Luka, Grandfather is in the kitchen too. Savva Kopolov is everyone's grandpa. I'm happy to see him.
"Ruthie," he says with a bright smile that makes his eyes twinkle at the edges. "It's adelightto see you. How are you?"
God, he’s so cute.
He asks in a way that isn’t fake but shows genuine concern.
I smile at him. "I'm great," I lie. "Better since I spent a little time with this guy." I ruffle Luka’s hair.
He nods softly. He understands.
“It's hard—seeing the people who remind you of the ones you've lost.”
I answer quietly, "I know."
"But I heard you stayed at work, sweetheart. That’s brave of you. I’m not sure I could’ve done that myself."
I shrug. I’m not sure how “brave” I am.
"Yeah, I did. But I have a home there. And, you know, I can do hard things and all that."
He lays a heavy, bony hand on top of mine.
"I know. I know you. And I'm proud of you."
Proud of you. There's a shortage of people in this world who have said,I'm proud of you. And it makes me feel damn good.
I lean in and kiss his papery cheek. "Thank you." He smells like mint toothpaste and aftershave.
"Zoya and I were just looking over these nannies who are applying to work with Luka," he says, frowning.
“Vadka asked me to take a look.”
"We had four people," Zoya says, "but one canceled, so now we have three."
"You think they got the memo about what happened to the other nanny?" Grandfather asks.
"Yeah," I say softly.
"I wishIcould…” Zoya begins.
