“Thank you. But it’s far from over.” I sip my coffee thoughtfully.
Anissa’s eyes grow a little misty as she sips her mug in turn. “And that feels familiar too. Whatdoesn’tfeel familiar is knowing who I’m meeting tonight. You’ve got your Aunt Irma and Uncle Eduard, who, unfortunately, I know all too well…”
I nod. “The six of us. Vadka, who you’ve met. My cousin Gleb and his brother Matvei.”
“Are they Eduard and Irma’s boys?”
“Mmm.”
Anissa frowns. “Your grandfather?”
I nod. “My grandfather, yes. Maybe a few other cousins.”
“Good. I love your grandfather, even if he wipes the floor with me every time we play chess, and one day, Iwillconvince him there’s more to the world of music than Tchaikovsky and Prokofiev. One day, I’ll introduce him to composers who aren’t Russian—and he might even like it.” Her eyes twinkle before she sighs. “There’s so much to remember,” she says. “How will I keep track?”
I lean forward and squeeze her hand. “As long as you remember what’s most important, baby.”
She winks at me as I settle the tab, oblivious, her back turned to the door. It's always my way—situated to see everything, to make sure nothing slips by me.
But then the door opens, and every alarm bell in me clangs. I sit as still as possible and watch.
Three men. I recognize them from somewhere, though I can’t quite place it. The first is tall and stern, his skin golden, his light brown hair slicked back with military precision. The second is a shadow to his light—dressed the same but even taller, with dark hair and a sharpness in his gaze that cuts straight to me. And the third, looming behind them like a storm, is all muscle, so massive he nearly fills the entire doorway.
Everything in me tenses. They’re not here by accident.
I don’t know who they are. I’ve never seen them before in my life. But for some reason, every instinct in me tells me to hide Anissa because other patrons in this place know exactly who they are. They give the trio a wide berth, and as the men approach the counter, the owner comes to the front, wiping his hands on a tea towel.
“Let’s go,” I tell Anissa, leading her to the door. I open it for her, my heart beating faster. I can’t understand what the fuck is going on, but every hair on the back of my neck stands up as one of the men growls something in Russian to the owner.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t worked the counter. I haven’t seen anyone who looks like that. Have you?” In my peripheral vision, I see the barista scrutinizing a cell phone the man holds up, presumably with a picture on it.
“I… wasn’t she just here?”
The door shuts behind us.
Chapter Twenty
“Anissa”
Our car is waitingfor us, and as the door shuts, I hear a commotion where we just left. Voices shout, and I swear… the voices are vaguely familiar.
My husband looks as if he’s seen a ghost.
“What was that?” I ask Rafail.
“I have no idea.” He shakes his head. “Trouble.”
But he doesn’t meet my eyes. The feeling that he’s hiding something from me intensifies as memories of my past that don’t resonate with what he’s told me leave me feeling confused and bewildered.
“Rafail—” I don’t know how to continue. I don’t know what to say.
Leaning in closer to me, he wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Maybe it was too much, taking you out like this, especially when we’re meeting up with my family.”
But no. It isn’t. I don’t like being sheltered and made to feel like I’m too fragile to handle whatever happens. I hate it, and there’s something about it that triggers a similar memory.
“What is it?” he asks. “You’re pulling away from me.”
I am, in more ways than one. I know I am.
