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“And here we are,”says Diadia Tolia when I take a seat on a folding chair at the far end of the warehouse he brought me to.
I shiver. It’s cold here and dim.
Pallets stacked with boxes line one wall. The other one has double-high racks of fur coats. I’m used to thrift store clothes, but I know good stuff when I see it—minks, sables, chinchillas, most in breathable clear bags.
There’s a long table piled with loose fur pieces. I wonder if there’s a sewing shop somewhere here.
At the front of the warehouse is a short row of stand-alone chambers with glass doors—fur storage vaults.
Brighton doesn’t get more cliche than this—we are in a fur coat warehouse.
Uncle lights a cigarette and exhales heavily, squinting at me through the smoke.
All the years I’ve known him, thinking he’s family, can’t erase the anger simmering in my blood. At how one of his goons snatched me off the street by Goldsling Towers into a van, so roughly like I was a doll, Pushkin’s whimper when he was kicked away, Uncle’s evil, “Finally,” as he studied me during the ride while I thrashed and demanded answers but he talked to his men instead, ignoring me. How malicious his laughter was when I said Jace will find him and hurt him.
His posture is confident, his blinking slow as if he’s bored. He’s never been so hostile with me. Nor would he ever let anyone hurt me.
Wrong.
Seven rough guys with guns tucked into their belts stand around and chatter in whispers.
I’m collateral. I know this. But I don’t know if I should be more angry at him or my biological father. Considering I’m kidnapped, no one’s hands are clean.
“What do you want?” I ask, trying to calm my trembling hands. And legs. And my fast-beating heart. My whole body is on edge.
“I want to finally have a say in what happens next.”
“Finally?” I latch on to the word.
“?? ????? ???? ?? ??????, ??????.1”
It bothers me that he calls me “sun,” though he’s called me that since I can remember.
“Speak English,” I snap. “Since we are not on friendly terms anymore.”
“You were never important,” he says gruffly. “Not since your mother married that tool, Mike.”
I stare in shock. He was always a polite man until now.
“Don’t look at me like this,” he says with a sneer. “I would’ve adopted you, you know. I would have. And I would’ve loved you like my own and we would’ve never ended up in a situation like this,” he says, confusing me.
He wanted to be with my mother? That’s news.
“Your mother would’ve been happy with me. I would’ve made her a millionaire. She would’ve bathed in gold, worn diamonds, and never had to work a day in her life.”
But he was just a friend, wasn’t he? “Adearfriend,” Mom always said.
“But no.” His gaze acquires a hint of spite. “The bitch married that fucker.”
I gasp at the words.
“Met him in Virginia, and before I even got a chance to see her after she left New York, she was already married.”
He crumples the still-burning cigarette between his fingers, his jaw tightening.
“I loved her, you know.” He raises his hard stare at me. “I fucking worshiped your mother since the day I met her. Offered her the world when she still lived in New York. When she got knocked up by that Seth Gordon, fuck, I contemplated killing him. But you know what she said? ‘He’s nothing. It was a mistake. But I’m keeping my baby.’”
He sucks his teeth as I listen without interrupting.
