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She pats my hand. “Don’t be sad, Paige. I’m certainly not. We had seven years together. And for me, that was a lifetime.”
I don’t even want to ask; I’m that afraid of the answer. “Seven years? What happened after that?”
“He asked me to run away with him,” she explains. “He said he wanted more than the half-life we were living. He wanted to be able to kiss me in public. Hold my hand when we walked down the street. He wanted to marry me. I could have run away with him, and if I’m being honest, there was a split second when I actually considered it. But I would have had to take the children with me or leave them behind. The first was a life sentence that we would never outrun for good. The second was never a real option for me.”
“You chose them. Your children.”
She smiles and nods. “And I have never regretted it for a moment.”
I shake my head, completely in awe of this woman. “I’m not sure that any of your children know how lucky they are. My mother would have sold me to the devil if it meant getting a fraction of what she wanted.”
Nessa winces. “Well, I’m more than happy to fill that void for you. If you’ll have me.”
Nessa has treated me like her own daughter since day one. But hearing her say those words out loud makes my eyes well up with tears. I swipe at my eyes. “I’m pathetic. I’m sorry.”
She squeezes my fingers. “Never apologize for letting yourself be vulnerable. It’s the best part of being human.”
I laugh through my tears. “You’re amazing, Nessa. I already think of you as my mother.” Sniffling, I ask, “What happened to Anisim?” I’m hoping to God his story didn’t end in death. With the Bratva, you never know.
“He retired from the Bratva shortly after I gave him my answer,” she admits. “He left the country, went to Russia for a bit. I heard he moved to Chicago about fifteen years ago. After that, I lost track of him. I think it was probably for the best. He has a wife now and a couple of kids. He deserves that life.”
“So do you.”
“I had it for a time,” Nessa says. “And I got to be a mother. That’s enough for me.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure if that would be enough for me.”
“That’s the beauty of life, isn’t it?” she says gently. “We all get to decide what’s important to us. What’s worth fighting for and what we need to let go of.”
“Niki and Misha should know this story, Nessa,” I tell her.
She smiles and pats my hand. “I’m happy to keep this our little secret.”
I nod. “Okay. Our little secret.”
She gives my knee a reassuring touch and heads back around to the stove. “I’m making a special porridge that my grandmother used to make in Russia. It’s supposed to give you strength for your pregnancy.”
“You’re making it for me?” Her story distracted me enough that I almost forgot about the smell. But now, it is invading my nostrils, impossible to escape.
“Yes,” she says. “How about a taste?”
She brings over a spoon dripping with something thick and lumpy and gray. Because I don’t want to make her happy, I hold my breath and taste it.
“Well?” she asks, looking at me hopefully.
I give her a sympathetic smile. “Nessa, it tastes… awful.”
We make eye contact. And then we burst out laughing.
59
MISHA
It’s been more than a week since the dinner party and there has been no word from the Babai. They’re picking off the Ivanov trash one by one, which isn’t nothing.
But Petyr is still a ghost.
I’m halfway home when my phone rings. I accept the call on the car speaker when I see Konstantin’s name on the display.
