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I watch the bathroom door and find Eden’s phone in her purse. This is faster than checking the tracking app. I quickly unlock it, but there are no new notifications on the screen, so I put it back. I don’t bother to check the history, knowing she hasn’t received a message or sent one since the day she was shot.
I dress, not waiting for her to finish her shower. Whenever Larissa and Eden leave the building, they have four SUVs surrounding their armored BMW, and they’re never left alone.
I’ve placed two female guards to accompany them wherever they go, including the bathroom. To a passerby, they appear to be four wealthy wives enjoying each other’s company over lunch at Café Chelsea.
Zakhar is still out there. He’s shown he doesn’t care about hurting Eden. And I won’t give him another chance to.
I sigh as I take the elevator downstairs and meet Rurik. We’re going to finish up sorting out Father’s papers in the mansion.
In Father’s bedroom,the boxes are spread out on the floor, filled with his personal papers and memorabilia. There’s almost nothing of Mother left here. A bitter taste rises in my mouth. He was so quick to erase practically every trace of Mother as soon as she died.
Did you ever feel guilty?I ask his ghost as I open another box.Or were you incapable of that too?
“They’ll be gone for hours.” Rurik enters the room and looks around at the chaos being carefully packed away. “Larissa wants a break from being cooped up all the time.”
I look at Rurik, but he avoids my questioning stare. Instead, his focus is on a photo of my father when he was a small boy. My father sits beside Grandfather, perfectly still and staring at the camera. He doesn’t dare move a muscle, not even to smile at the camera.
The same way I was in his presence.
Rurik picks it up from the floor and sighs, refusing to acknowledge the heavy tension gathering between us.
My eyes are reserved for a different photo, the only one that shows any indication that my mother ever existed in this place:their wedding photo. I pick up the heavy gold frame and admire her serene face, very much like Larissa’s.
They’re almost the same age now, I realize with a start as I stare at the photo.
Fuck you, Kolya!
Her words haunt me in the quiet. I sorely regret what I said in anger that day. I wounded Rurik and Larissa by using their struggles with infertility against them. They’ve tried for years to have a child, and I was taken by surprise by the news of my own. An icy resentment now exists between us.
I can’t preach acceptance of an irreversible act when I refuse to dole out forgiveness.
“The cousin that Eden Zakharovna wants at her wedding.” Rurik hesitates.
I don’t miss the emphasis he places on her patronymic.Zakharovna.Daughter of Zakhar. There’s a bitterness to it. It’s the only way Rurik’s duty-bound self knows how to express his displeasure at me.
“Yes.”
“It’s a bad idea, Nikolai Gennadyevich,” he replies. “That girl is Vito Genovesi’s daughter.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“She’s arealMafia princess. Girls like that don’t fall far from the tree. And her family will not let her walk defenseless into a Starukhin wedding.”
I give Rurik all my attention. “How involved is she?”
“The bar is clean, if that’s what you’re asking.” Rurik shrugs his shoulders. “A few old mafiosos hang out there and talk about the good old days. She feeds them comfort food, and they leave. The only things shipped into the building are for the bar. No drugs, no guns, and no women apart from the ones who actually want to be there.”
I nod, understanding that Mercy Genovesi is exactly what she seems. “But Eden wants her at the wedding.” I shake my head, picturing the trouble brewing when we already have enough. “I can’t deny who Eden is. That side of her family won’t just disappear.”
“Bringing her cousin is dangerous for them both.” Rurik’s jaw ticks as he expresses the seriousness of the concern. “You’d have a prettier sight throwing a rabbit to a pack of wolves.”
“I met her,” I scoff. “Mercy Genovesi is not soft and shy, nor is she girlie and giggly. I can spare some guards for her if needed. No need to advertise her family connections to the other guests. Just another nobody cousin.”
Rurik tries to caution me again. “Nikolai Gennadyevich, you’re about to light one bomb by marrying a Lanzzare—half Lanzzare as she may be. Why light another by inviting a full-blooded one to the wedding? Are you trying to end up like Vasily Barinov?”
“Eden wants her family there,” I answer shortly. “I’m sure as hell not inviting her father.”
Rurik lets the matter drop and grabs a box as I survey the rest of the work needed in the room. My wedding is fast approaching, but dread is wrapping around me, closing me off from the ones I claim to love.
