Vicious Innocence (Rozanov Bratva #2)

Chapter 1

AMARA

“There’s no place like home.”

Only a sixteen year old could make a quote from The Wizard of Oz sound like capital punishment, but there you go. Bella, who has been sixteen for all of one week, has already mastered the art of snark. One more life skill Manhattan has given her.

She tosses her purse onto the kitchen table. It slides across and hits the floor. I pretend I didn’t notice, and that I don’t want to wrap the strap around her neck.

I love my baby sister. I really do.

If I didn’t, she would not still be breathing.

“How was school?” I ask with the most casual tone I can muster. “Did you make any friends?”

Bella gives me a deadpan glare. “Sure. Loads of friends. We shared chocolate milk in the cafeteria and after that, we exchanged friendship bracelets under the monkey bars.”

“Friendship isn’t just for kindergarteners, you know. You can form deep emotional connections with people even if they’ve already started shaving.”

“Ew! Gross.”

“The shaving part or the emotional connection part?” I blink innocently. Then I follow her into the hallway while she tries to outrun me. “It’s not cringe to have friends, you know!”

“Corny,” Bella calls back. “No one under the age of thirty says ‘cringe’ anymore. Even in Backwater Manhattan.”

Cool. I totally knew that.

One could say Bella has grown salty in her young adulthood. And by “salty”—if people still say that—I mean she’s made it very clear every day for the past six months just how much she hates it here.

By the way, she’s talking about Manhattan, Montana. Not New York. Yes, it is a real place. Don’t worry, I had to look it up too.

Never did I ever think I would be packing up my three siblings and driving them across the States to a tiny town in the middle of the mountains so we could hide from the Bratva.

In fact, every word of that sentence sounds crazy.

And yet here we are, hunkered down in a little old house with no garbage disposal and trash cans that have bear locks on them.

(Bear locks are in fact a thing. And I have them.

Even though we’re nowhere near Postcard Montana, which would at least look pretty.

No, ours is just Cold, Empty, No Wi-Fi Montana.)

Needless to say, we are all a bit frazzled.

“I know it’s not New York,” I tell my sister as I sort through the mountain of bills on the counter, all addressed to Erin Hathaway, aka the new me. Yep—had to change my name too. We all did. We are now Erin, Kate, Noah, and Rachel Hathaway.

I suggested Anne, but no one would take it.

“No shit,” Bella pipes out as she browses the contents of the more or less empty fridge before slamming the door shut again.

“Language.”

“No fucking shit, Sherlock.”

God. Every day, I’m starting to sound and feel more like a mom than an older sister.

Not that our relationship has ever been normal.

I’ve raised my brother and sisters. That’s just our reality.

Much like us leaving my high-paying job and the only home we’ve ever known in New York city is our reality.

Turns out, reality sucks.

“I realize it’s a small town, and small towns are very different. But it’s quiet and—”

“Quiet means safe!” someone else fills in from the door.

Eliza (aka Kate) walks in with brown bags and the unmistakable smell of Chinese food.

The storm door clamors shut behind me—yes, we have bear locks and a storm door—and she sets our dinner down on the table with a smile.

Through it all, I can always count on Eliza to have a smile.

She’s an eternal optimist and my saving grace.

Meanwhile, Bella lets out a persecuted grown. “Really? Chinese food again?”

“It was either that or Mexican,” Eliza says with the same chipper tone. “Although, I did hear at the salon today that we might be getting a new Italian place! Can you imagine? Pizza and chicken parm like back at home!”

“It won’t taste like home,” a male voice chimes in. “But I’ll take it over pork fried rice.”

My brother Gianni, aka Noah, walks in with grease-stained hands. The never changing scent of motor oil and cold metal wafts through the air and swirls around with the smell of soy sauce.

Despite everything, I find myself smiling.

“Hey, G.” I stand up to plant a kiss on his dirty cheek. “How was work? Also, are you growing a beard?”

“He can’t grow a beard,” Bella says, picking the cabbage out of the lo mein. “He’s a man-baby.”

“At least I’m not a crybaby and I eat all my veggies.” He grins and sticks his tongue out at her. She flips him off. It only makes him grin harder.

I move the mail aside and we open all the little boxes, eating straight from them. One, I don’t want to do dishes, and two, it’s more fun this way, passing around the egg rolls and fighting over the biggest pieces of orange chicken.

“Work was fine,” Gianni says. “It’s a lot of old Ford engines and winter tire changes, but it’s work.”

“You mean there’s no race cars in the boonies?” Bella fake-gasps. “Shocking.”

He tosses a piece of cabbage at her.

“No race talk at the table,” I remind them.

Since moving to Montana, I set a couple of new rules. Number one: we don’t talk about racing. We also don’t talk about El Paso, Apex, or tell anyone our real names. As far as everyone is concerned, we moved from New Jersey when “our dad died” and wanted to start over fresh.

But the biggest, most important rule of all?

Never mention the names Rozanov or Chadovich.

“Well, I for one had a great day at work,” Eliza starts in. I gotta hand it to her. For a hairstylist who went from working at a cliquish salon in NYC to a little shop literally called The Salon—courtesy of it being the only salon in town—she sure is upbeat.

“Why do you like working there so much?” Bella asks, finally taking a bite of food. “Isn’t it just a bunch of gossiping old ladies?”

“Yes!” Eliza exclaims. “Listen. Small town gossip beats—” she stops herself before breaking one of the aforementioned rules.

“Well. Everything, really. Old ladies go to the salon for perms and sets. It’s their weekly getaway where they spend their retired husbands’ money, so the tips are great.

Better if you engage in their stories. It beats coloring hair for stingy girls who get mad because they can’t go bleach blonde in one sitting after putting black box color on their hair for two years.

And they never leave bad reviews on Yelp. ”

“I doubt they even know what Yelp is,” Bella mutters.

“Exactly!” Eliza points a chopstick at her. “So, Bella, have you made any friends at school yet?”

I nearly choke on my sweet and sour chicken. Eliza looks confused, and Bella is less than amused.

“This conversation is deceased. I’m eating in my room.”

With that, she snags the rest of the lo mein and walks off. I sigh, Eliza smiles apologetically, and Gianni shakes his head with a laugh. Then he shovels some more rice in his mouth before standing up.

“I hate to follow suit, but the sun is going to be gone in a few and I really want to get that water pump installed.”

He’s referring to the engine of his new project car. He sold his old one when we moved. It was a sad day, but we had to leave behind anything they could trace.

“Thanks for the dinner, sis,” he says to Eliza. Then he calls out down the hall. “Thanks for the lovely conversation, Bella! Always a pleasure!”

None of us have to see her to know she’s flipping him off through her closed door.

I sigh again, sipping on my glass of water. Eliza smiles over at me.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m the oldest. I’m supposed to be asking you that,” I remind her.

“You matter too,” she reminds me. “You’ve put in a lot of hours at the dentist’s office lately. I worry about you.”

“I have a desk job,” I say flatly. “One that doesn’t require coffee runs and dry-cleaning.” Among other things.

“Well, I think it’s good that you aren’t working such a demanding job anymore, even if the money was good. I’m sure the front desk at a dentist is much more chill. For you and the bump.”

She is referring to my belly, which over the last six months has been dubbed that name. Although now it’s a little more than a bump. His baby is growing fast, moving and kicking and wreaking havoc on my body.

“I’m glad to see you eating again,” Eliza says. “The morning sickness is finally gone.”

“Yeah. And it only took five and a half months,” I mutter.

She giggles at that, then reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. “You really are doing amazing, sis. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but all of this was the right move. We just can’t look back. No matter how hard it is sometimes.”

I nod, feeling tears sting the corners of my eyes. “I know. It’s just… I still feel guilty. About all of it. I worry that I ruined your lives. I worry that I’ll ruin his life.” I place my hand on my stomach and my heart aches.

“You haven’t ruined anyone’s lives. We are all better off and safer because of you. Life really is better here. It just takes some adjusting to.”

“Tell that to the teenager down the hall,” I mumble with a sniff.

“She’ll get over it. But for now, you can’t get down on yourself.”

“You’re pretty amazing for a twenty year old,” I tell her.

“Yeah, well, I have a pretty great big sister.”

After we clean up the table, I run the water for a warm bath.

Being from New York, I’m used to the cold, but for some reason it just bites differently here.

Maybe it’s all the open space. Maybe it’s the lack of chaos that gives you time to really just sit and think.

About where you are, where you used to be…

… or who you used to love.

I have to shake the thought from my mind. I can’t let him in, though he does try on an hourly basis, if not more.

But he is in the past. And if there is anything I have had to tell myself from the moment he told me to get lost and we started driving across the country with no known destination, it’s that the rearview mirror isn’t to be focused on. It’s a reminder of what is behind you and nothing more.

As I lay in the tub, the little person inside me comes to life. He loves the warm water. I watch as an elbow, maybe a foot, rolls across my belly under my skin. I can’t help but smile.

But it’s a sad smile. He’ll never know his daddy. He’ll never know where he came from. His story starts out with blank pages. Pages I will have to write lies on to keep him safe.

But at the end of every day, that’s all that matters. All of them being safe. I just have to keep telling myself that.

No matter how much it hurts.