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I endure the worst night of sleep I’ve ever had and show up for work looking like I had way too much fun last night. My coworkers eye me. I know they’re curious as hell after seeing Nikolai yesterday, and I’ve no doubt they snuck a peek out the window and saw me talking to Dima, but none of them say anything, and I’m extremely grateful for it.
As soon as the day is over and I’m back in my room, I scroll through my phone, hoping like hell there will be a new message from Dima that I somehow missed, but there’s nothing. The silence is driving me crazy. I pace my room before finally giving up and going downstairs.
“I’ve almost got him, Steph. I can feel it.”
My dad’s excited voice stops me right before I walk into the kitchen.
“How?” my mom asks.
I strain to hear over the sounds of her starting supper and take a step closer so I’m almost hovering in the doorway with my ear angled in their direction.
“A guy was picked up today, a young thug someone called the cops on because he was hanging around some businesses downtown and making everyone nervous, anyway, we found some drugs on him. It’s not his first offense, so he started freaking out, telling us he’d give us information in exchange for a slap on the wrist. Turns out there’s going to be a big fight coming up between the Russians and the Irish, and rumor has it that Dmitri Volkov is the fighter and that he’s out for blood, some personal vendetta or some bullshit.”
I slump against the wall, stunned by the news. Why didn’t he tell me he set up a fight? I know the answer, though. He knew I’d try and stop him, tell him it wasn’t worth it. I can’t just stand by and let him get in trouble for me. If my dad catches him, it will be all my fault. I count to ten, trying to not make it seem like I was just eavesdropping, and walk into the kitchen with a bright smile on my face.
“Hey,” I say, going to the fridge to grab a drink. I stop and lift the lid on one of the pots and peer in. “That smells amazing, Mom.”
“Thanks, honey,” my mom says, wrapping an arm around me in a quick hug. “Have you lost weight?” Her fingers probe my side, trying to gauge if I’ve gone slightly underweight since she last saw me.
“Mom, I’m fine,” I say, wriggling out of her inquisitive grip. It’s true I haven’t had much of an appetite since yesterday afternoon, but I’m hardly at risk for starving to death. I hop on one of the stools at the counter and look at my dad. “So, what were you talking about?”
Smooth, real smooth, I tell myself. I’d make one hell of a private investigator.
“Nothing,” he says, going back to the magazine laid out in front of him. He looks tired and worn out and like he’s carrying more stress than is good for him. His usually clean-shaven face is covered in several days’ worth of growth, and his shirt is straining against his stomach worse than usual. He always was a stress eater.
“I thought I heard you mention Dmitri Volkov.”
When my dad doesn’t say anything, I let out a frustrated sigh and tug his magazine away, ignoring the shocked, angry look he gives me.
“Dad, this is insane. You need to leave him alone. He’s not a bad guy. He has nothing to do with the Bratva.”
He arches a brow at me and narrows his eyes. Oh, fuck. He’s giving me the cop look.
“And you know this how, Gina?”
I look to my mom for help, but she’s staring at me, looking just as curious, even if it looks a lot softer on her. I swallow and try like hell to backpedal.
“Because if he was guilty, you’d have had him by now.” I give him a sweet smile and add, “You’re too good of a cop to have missed it, Dad.” I don’t mention that Dima is in fact balls deep in some illegal betting, because as far as I’m concerned, it’s not hurting anyone, so who gives a fuck? I either didn’t inherit my dad’s extreme moral compass, or I’m just too blinded by love, but I figure I’ll unpack that some other day.
My dad’s grunt and the way he’s still studying me let me know he’s not buying my line of bullshit at all.
“Have you seen him since that time at the police station?” he asks, not taking his cop eyes off me.
I fidget in my seat, knowing I better not ever go into a life of crime. I give things away as easily as Adam’s face.
“I think I’d rather not answer that,” I say with as much bravado as I can muster, which means my voice comes out as more of a squeak and I sink a bit more into the stool.
“Gina,” my mom says, and I look over at her, relieved to see she’s not looking at me in anger.
She’s the calm to my dad’s storm, and so I keep my eyes on her and say, “I love him. I’m sorry I kept it from you, but I love him, and I can’t change that.”
My dad’s face turns a frightening shade of red, and he clenches his jaw so tightly that the vein in his temple pops out, and I seriously worry about him having a heart attack or stroke. I haven’t seen him this angry since Adam and I snuck out when we were both young and thought it would be fun to take our bikes on the busy, main road to get some ice cream. He had been too angry to speak then, too, just dragged us home and grounded us for a month. In his defense, it was an insanely dangerous road for a couple of kids who were barely out of the training wheel stage.
But he can’t ground me now, and he knows it, so instead, he slams his magazine down on the counter and walks out of the kitchen without a word. The sound of the front door slamming makes me give a startled jump, and when I look back at my mom, she sighs and goes back to cooking.
“This is not going to be easy for him to accept, Gina,” she says, mashing the hell out of the potatoes. “I’ve been hoping you’d find someone, but your dad’s nemesis was not first on my list of candidates. How about that cute boy you went to school with who comes into your work every once in a while?”
“Larry?” I say with a laugh. “He comes in to have his braces tightened, Mom, and I’m not interested in him anyway. I’ve only ever been interested in Dima.”
