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I shake off those feelings and splash some cold water onto my face as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Sometimes, on days like today, I don’t recognize the man staring back at me. What would my mother think if she could see me now? I close my eyes as a sharp pain lances through my chest. It’s a pain that never goes away. No length of time or distance from her memory can spare me from this ache. She would certainly disapprove of my choices, but she isn’t here to tell me so. She isn’t here because someone took her from this world, and now the only recourse I have left is to find out who. At any cost. This is what keeps me going as I continue to show up and fall in line. Nothing can come between me and my revenge. Her death cannot go unpunished.
I shut the bathroom door behind me and consider heading down to the bar to dilute the blood in my veins with some good quality vodka. But before I get the opportunity, something on the sofa catches my eye. A piece of fabric peeks out from between the cushions, and I recognize it as the scarf Katerina was wearing last night. Sure enough, when I retrieve it and bring it to my nose, I can still smell her.
The beautiful, tragic woman continues to haunt me long after her absence. As I thread the fabric between my fingers, I wonder what it is about her that draws me in. She is exactly what I don’t need in my life right now. Or ever, for that matter. Women are a vulnerability. But even as I consider it, I’m already making plans to return the scarf to her. Because now I’m curious about where she lives, and I need to see it for myself. I need to know that she made it home safely.
I stuff the scarf into my jacket and retrieve my phone as I head for the elevator. Pulling up the image of her license from last night, I type the address into my navigation app. It looks like she lives in an apartment complex about twenty minutes away. It’s in the low-rent area of Philadelphia, which means it’s also the highest crime district. Naturally, I have become well acquainted with these streets, but I can’t imagine her living there.
Tightness lingers in my chest as some of the Vory brothers try to intercept me on my way out the door. The meeting has not been finished for more than thirty minutes, and already Andrei is displaying his drunken stupidity.
“Where are you off to so fast?” he demands.
“Good night, Andrei,” I answer him dismissively.
He slips off his barstool in his attempt to stand and falls flat on his ass. Laughter erupts from the men around the bar, and I seize the moment of distraction to make a swift exit. Out on the street, I slip into my Audi and start the ignition, aiming the car for Katerina’s apartment.
At least ten times during the drive, I consider turning around. Or dropping the scarf in a mailbox. Perhaps leaving it in front of her door. I could handle this at least a dozen other ways without actually seeing her because I know if I see her, I won’t be satisfied with simply giving her back the scarf. I’ll ask her questions, and she’ll become human to me. And then I will be royally fucked.
Regardless, the decision is made for me when I pull into the parking lot of the Shady Grove apartments. It’s even more of a dump than I anticipated, and I think I must have entered the address incorrectly somehow. But one glance at the picture confirms that I’m in the right place. The decrepit brick building squatting on fractured concrete looks more suited to a prison than a residence. Several scrawny children kick a sun-bleached ball around the front courtyard, eyeing me curiously as I get out and shut the door behind me. They look at my car, and then my clothing before they skitter off into one of the complexes. I can’t say that I blame them. If I saw me, I would run too.
I walk around the front and get a feel for the layout before I figure out Kat is in Building Two. Her apartment isn’t difficult to find. It’s on the ground level, and there’s a sad-looking lawn chair and a wilted plant just outside the front door. At least she tried to decorate the place, I guess.
I hesitate at the door, considering whether I should cross that threshold. I’ve already come this far, but it wouldn’t be hard to dump the scarf in the chair and leave, never to look back. I know that’s what I should do, but before I can force myself into action, a feminine voice startles me.
