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“Who told you?”
“Better question: why didn’t you?”
I rub my forehead, eyeing Roman. He’s my best guess at oversharing. “Everything with Dmitriy just went down yesterday. Then, Bianchi called to cash in his favor. I’m dealing with a lot.”
“Avoidinga lot, you mean.”
“You’re overstepping, Alex.”
“This isLyla, Nikolaj. You’ve been hung up on her since you were eighteen, and you know it. You fuck women and forget about them. You haven’t gotten married even though you need an heir and you could have anyone you want.”
I stare at the dreary gray landscape. “They’re better off without me.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“They werekidnappedyesterday. My son had a gun to his fucking temple!”
“Life has risks. You know that better than anyone. They could get in a car accident. She could get mugged one night. Do you have any idea how many school shootings happen here each year?”
“At least it wouldn’t be my fault.”
“And that would make it easier to deal with?”
No, it wouldn’t. The thought of anything happening to either of them while I’m on the opposite side of the world carves a pit of fear in my stomach. But… “She chose to leave. She doesn’t want anything to do with this life. There’s no future between us. I knew it when we left Philadelphia years ago, and it’s still true now. Leo isn’t old enough to make his own decisions, and even if he was…I’m not going to fucking fight her for custody.”
Alex sighs. “I still think—”
“We’re about to meet with Callahan,” I state. “If you call me again, it had better be about business.”
Roman glances over at me once I’ve hung up. We’re still a few minutes from the pub where I’m meeting with Liam, but he doesn’t call me out on the lie. He apologizes instead. “Sorry. We meant well.”
I slip a hand into my pocket, turning the silver lighter over and over. “Just keep your opinions to yourself.”
Roman nods before looking back out the window.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
LYLA
Philadelphia looks the same. Smells the same. Sounds the same.
ButIfeel different.
The apartment where we live now is in Rittenhouse Square, one of Philadelphia’s nicest neighborhoods. There’s a park across the street and no sound of sirens at night. The building is old but tastefully refinished, exposed brick walls, crown molding, and shiny appliances. All the furniture is fancy and color-coordinated. The Volvo SUV that was waiting in the heated garage retails for sixty thousand dollars. I looked it up.
I can’t pretend the time in Russia never happened.
I miss the drafty castle.
I miss walking through the snowy yard.
And I miss Nick. A lot.
It’s funny how right and wrong can become nuanced.
Maybe it’s because I grew up seeing the way people looked at my mom, looked at me, but I always thought they were clearly defined. Obvious. That it was easy to tell what you should do and what you shouldn’t. Of all my worries about being a single parent, setting a good example for Leo was never one of them.
I pay my taxes on time. I hold doors for strangers. I don’t speed.
