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“Hm. I know it can’t be permanent, but what if you were to come visit me? Just for a weekend or a week. Or a month! Whatever you want,” he says. “We’d love to spend time with you and Yuliana. I can give you a bit of a parenting break. You can take a breather and then you’ll be recharged when you get back home.”
That sounds incredibly tempting. Having someone else handle the million different tedious chores there are to do in a single day as a parent sounds amazing. God knows I could use the break.
“Yuliana is struggling with routine right now, so I don’t think it would be a good idea to take her out of her rhythm,” I say. “And I can’t afford to lose the money. I just started a new job, so—”
“Really? Where at?”
Dad doesn’t know everything about Kirill, but he might recognize his name. I decide not to open that can of worms.
“It’s just another maid gig. The other one fell through, so I signed on at a new house. I shouldn’t take off so soon after starting. It wouldn’t look good.” Kirill wouldn’t stand for it, more like it. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
I’ve been meaning to visit Dad for years. I saw him at a dinner at Lana’s house a couple years back. We video chat from time to time. But in terms of real quality time spent together, there hasn’t been much.
Part of it is practical, a matter of time and money and never having enough of either. The other part is that no matter how often Dad says I am, I don’t feel welcome. It’s hard to imagine Yuliana and me bunking with him as anything other than an unwelcome intrusion.
“That makes sense. Anytime you want somewhere to crash, you know who to call,” he says. “I may not be useful when it comes to advice, but I can give you a bed and warm food. Plus, I can play a mean game ofMonopolywith Yuliana.”
I chuckle. “That one might be a bit over her head right now. How aboutUnoorCandyland?”
“I can learn the rules. Anything for you two. You know that.”
I try to let his words sink in. I try to let myself believe him. But as I lie down for the night, the same old doubts creep in.
Maybe, no matter how hard I try, I’m just not capable of healthy relationships. Something in me is dysfunctional and always will be. The only solution is to get used to it.
Either that, or give up altogether.
25
KIRILL
German and Avel are arguing about how we are going to deal with the latest bullshit from Stefano, but I can’t take my eyes off the door.
“Stefano has always been and remains a low-level threat,” German says. “None of our allies are going to switch sides, so why should we care?”
“You aren’t out on the streets the way I am, German,” replies Avel. “Stefano may not have the power or money we have, but people still like him.”
Stupid people, I think.
Stefano Corleone is a lot of things, but he sure as fuck isn’t a threat. He’s a petty nuisance. He’s still trying to get back at me after I severed his ties with all of the major motorcycle clubs in the city years ago.
He was my tentative ally for a short spell, but he went after Rayne the moment he knew I was interested in her. He wanted to pretend he was more powerful than I was, so I cut him off at the knees. The son of a bitch is lucky I didn’t do it literally.
I could say as much to my Vors, but again… I’m staring at the door. Waiting.
“Liking someone is not a good enough reason to blow up your life and lose money,” German says.
“Liking someone was a good enough reason for Kirill to blow up his alliance with Stefano in the first place!”
Avel’s comment is met by stunned silence from German. It’s debatable whether I’d even let German talk to me that way. Avel is far enough down the food chain that he should know better.
Before I can remind him, she walks through the door.
Rayne comes in carrying a lunch tray and a pitcher of water. She’s in a pair of baggy jeans and a fitted long-sleeved shirt. I have to wonder if covering herself from neck to ankle was on purpose. As if a layer of shapeless clothes could end the yearning I feel in my chest.
“Lunch is here,” German says a bit too loudly. “Finally. We need a break.”
He’s trying to distract me before I can remember what Avel said. I’m assuming he just doesn’t feel like scrubbing Avel’s blood out of the carpet.
