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Finally, when the taxi pulls up in front of their house, I check the total fare and dig into my pocket for spare change. Every penny counts right now, and when I drop several coins in my haste to pay, I still bend to scoop them up.
“Thank you,” I say, jumping out of the cab as soon as I pay.
I blow past my parents’ evening security guard, Hanson, with the most preliminary of greetings. Then I rush inside the house without waiting to be invited.
“Mom? Dad?” I call as soon as I step inside the door.
“In here,” my mom says from the front room, her voice broken.
And when I turn to face them, my stomach drops. They both sit on the dark leather couch of the sitting room, Dad’s arm wrapped around my mom’s shoulders. They rise to greet me, their faces both crestfallen and relieved at once.
“Dani,” my dad breathes, closing the distance between us and pulling me into a fierce hug.
When my mom reaches us, he pulls her into the hug, and tears spring to my eyes at the warm welcome. It’s been some time since my parents have given me such an open display of affection. My emotions catch me by surprise as I find myself suddenly overcome. All the pain of losing my parents hits me at once, forming a thick knot in my throat.
A sob rips from my mom’s lips, and she squeezes me tighter as I stand dumbfounded.
“We missed you,” Dad murmurs, his voice tearful as well.
“I miss you too,” I whisper, noting that Dad put it in the past, like they won’t miss me anymore. But I don’t see how they could think that anything’s changed unless… “What’s going on? What happened to Ben?” I press now that I’m in the room with them. I can’t stand not knowing any longer.
“He’s gone off the deep end. That’s what,” Dad rasps. “We just can’t take both our children acting up right now.”
“What do you mean? Last time we spoke, it sounded like you thought Ben had gotten his life together.” I know he’s running with a bad crowd, but my parents had been adamant before I moved out that Ben had his shit together and that working for Mikhail Sidorov was the best thing that could have happened to him.
And still, though it sounds like their eyes are finally open to the change I’ve been seeing, it’s an intense relief to know he’s still alive. He wasn’t caught up in whatever Pyotr had planned this past weekend.
Dad shakes his head and holds me at arm’s length now. “Let’s sit down.”
I follow them into the sitting room, taking the overstuffed chair and letting them occupy the couch where Ben and I endured so many lectures together over the years. Resting his elbows on his knees, my dad interlaces his fingers and looks at me gravely.
“Your brother has been acting reckless and erratic over the past week,” he says seriously.
Okay, so they must not know everything if he’s only tracking Ben’s behavior back a week. But I stay silent, curious and nervous to find out about what he’s done now.
“He got arrested for pulling a gun on someone during a bar fight this past weekend.”
My stomach knots painfully. It sounds like Ben’s aggressive behavior is escalating. Why? I don’t understand what’s gotten into him. Aside from Mikhail and the jerks he’s spending time with, is he on drugs? What could possibly make him pull a gun on someone in a bar?
I know the answer before I even finish the question in my mind. He must have run into one of Pyotr’s men. Even though my brother just happened to be away from the conflict that Pyotr incited, he’s still tangled up in the thick of things.
“He spent the night in jail and didn’t even bother calling us until he was released.”
Then it dawns on me. Getting arrested just might have saved his life. A trickle of cold sweat runs down the nape of my neck at that thought.
“He’s been released?” I don’t generally think pulling a gun on someone in a public place merits just a slap on the wrist.
Dad nods, his brow furrowing. “Mikhail Sidorov paid his bail—a significant amount too.”
Scoffing, I sit back in my chair. “Of course, he did,” I mumble.
Ben goes spouting off about how saintly Mikhail Sidorov is cleaning up the streets of New York. Meanwhile, he’s posting bail for my brother, who he’s turned into a rabid dog.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dad asks, his tone growing sharp.
“Nothing,” I state coldly, knowing the direction this will head if I try to say anything.
“We owe a lot to Mikhail,” Dad says, posing his half of the argument even though I’ve already backed out of the fighting ring. “You should be grateful he’s looking out for your idiot of a brother. God knows what might have happened if Ben had stayed in jail, and it’s not like I could post his bail. Not on the final stretch of this campaign.”
