Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
FIONA
“You have no idea how happy I am to see you back in this chair.” Marlene beams, scissors in hand, as she fluffs the ends of my mom’s freshly trimmed hair.
My mother lifts her chin, a rare light softening her cheeks, one I haven’t seen in far too long. “I’m happy too, believe me.”
“Well, you’re glowing, honey. Whoever this new investor is, I hope they know what a gem they’ve got in your family.” Marlene clips the last section of her hair.
I squeeze my mother’s hand, and she turns her palm to thread her fingers through mine.
“It’s all thanks to my Fiona,” she says, her voice thickening around the words. Then, with a tender look, she adds, “La mia luce nelle tenebre.” My light in the darkness.
The phrase hits me square in the chest. I stare at her through the mirror, catching the familiar crinkle by her eyes.
“It was all worth it in the end.”
And I mean it. Even if my job’s hanging by a thread. Even if nothing about this arrangement is normal. Seeing her like this, alive again, is worth everything.
“Well…” Marlene declares as she dusts off the cape and steps back with satisfaction. “I, for one, am relieved. I was really worried about you and Tony.”
My mom laughs, her fingers running through her newly styled hair. “We may be getting old, but we are tough.”
“That’s right, you are.”
I rise from my seat, slipping my coat back on before pulling my wallet from my bag to grab Aleksei’s credit card. “What do I owe you?”
Marlene holds up a hand like I’ve just insulted her. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Wait, what? No, Marlene, come on. Let me—”
“This one’s on me.” She waves off my protest with a flick of her wrist. “As a congrats for things looking up.”
I glance at my mom, who’s already tearing up.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
The small gesture overwhelms me too.
“Don’t mention it.” Marlene pulls my mother in for a hug. “You look gorgeous, by the way. And I’d better see you again soon, you hear?”
She nods as they pull back. “You will.”
We say our goodbyes and head outside together, my mother’s arm looped through mine as we make our way to the car. She slides into the passenger seat, and I close the door before circling around to the driver’s side.
Once we’re on the road, the quiet settles between us for a moment before she finally peeks over.
“So…” she says, like she’s been waiting for the right moment. “How are things with Aleksei?”
I keep my eyes on the road, fingers tightening around the wheel.
“They’re…actually okay,” I admit, the words sounding strange even to me.
“Okay,” she repeats slowly, as if turning it over in her own head. “So there is something between you two?”
I shrug, not wanting to make a thing of it. Not yet, anyway. Things are still uncertain between us, and I don’t want to run before I walk.
“That’s good.” She looks out at the road, eyes distant, like she’s miles away in her thoughts. “Se c’è anche solo un po’ di amore, vale la pena tenerlo stretto.” If there’s even a little bit of love, it’s worth holding on to.
My chest constricts.
“I want you to be happy, Fiona,” she continues. “I know this isn’t what you imagined. And it’s not what I imagined either. But sometimes happiness doesn’t come the way we think it will.”
“You’re right. I just didn’t think that happiness would come in the form of the Russian Mob.”
She lets out a chuckle. “You’d be surprised where true happiness sometimes comes from. You take it where you can get it.”
I glance over at her, the wind gently tugging strands of her hair loose as she stares out the window like she’s remembering something far away, and I wonder what that could be.
The tires crunch over the gravel as I pull into the driveway of my childhood home, and something inside me softens. The house is small and older than I am, but it’s warm and lived-in. Paint chipping on the baby-blue shutters, a cracked front step that no one’s ever fixed.
My mom squeezes my hand before opening the door, and I follow her inside. We remove our shoes and head to the kitchen, and Dad looks up from the table, half a crossword filled in, glasses low on his nose.
He immediately smiles, his eyes crinkling. “Ciao, stellina. Come stai? Dimi, come ti trata il diavolo?” Hello little star. How are you? Tell me, how’s the devil treating you?
I laugh, shaking my head. “The devil may have a bit of an angel he’s hiding.”
He scoffs. “Lo crederò quando lo vedrò.” I’ll believe it when I see it.
“He actually wants to have you and Mom over for dinner,” I say, unzipping my coat. “Maybe tomorrow night?”
Dad raises a brow like he’s waiting for a punchline, then peers over at Mom. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
She waves him off. “I think it’s a great idea. Tomorrow night is fine. Your father will come around.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dad mutters to himself as he heads for the coffee pot and reaches for the canister. “Coffee?”
“Sure.” I slide onto a chair.
We settle around the kitchen table, mugs steaming in our hands.
The warmth seeps into my fingers as I listen to Mom tell a story about the neighbor’s dog escaping again and chasing after the mailman.
And for a few precious minutes, it’s like old times, and I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed that.
But the moment doesn’t last.
A sound drifts in from the back of the house, faint at first, as if carried on the tail end of a distant echo. A single dull thump, barely enough to register as anything out of the ordinary.
Mom pauses mid-sentence.
Then it comes again, louder this time. A heavier knock that seems to vibrate through the floor.
What the hell?
I glance at my parents, and the shift in their expressions is instant. The ease drains away, replaced by a wary stillness that knots in my stomach.
“Stay here,” Dad whispers as he moves toward the kitchen drawer and slides it open, pulling out the old Glock I know he hasn’t touched in years.
My pulse spikes. I grab my phone and text both of my bodyguards, asking them to check the back of the house. But a response doesn’t come.
A cold wave crashes over me as I stuff my phone into my jeans. Something is very, very wrong.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I tell them, rushing toward the front of the house.
As Mom starts to get up, the back door slams open, the sound exploding through the house like a gunshot.
Fuck!
“Mom, go,” I whisper sharply.
But the words barely leave my mouth before two masked men burst into view, dressed head to toe in black, guns raised and pointed straight at us.
“Don’t move!” one of them barks, attention rooted on me and Dad, unaware that Mom is still partway up the stairs.
She goes rigid, trembling, trapped between running and freezing. Dad steps in front of me without hesitation, lifting the gun with both hands. I witness the tremor in his fingers, the fear he’s fighting to swallow down.
“You want to play, old man?” the guy on the left jeers. “I’ll put a bullet in the girl before you even get a shot off.”
A muscle in my father’s jaw trembles.
“Dad,” I whisper. “Please lower it. They’ll kill us.”
He doesn’t look at me, but something in his shoulders flinches.
“What the hell do you want?” he demands, his grip still white-knuckled on the gun.
“We just want the girl.” The man gestures at me with a lazy flick of his weapon. “She comes with us and everyone lives. Even her. It’s that easy.”
My father’s voice drops to a growl. “You’ll have to kill me first.”
The man snickers, like he finds my father pathetic. “That can be arranged.”
My mother lets out a soft, broken whimper, while I can barely breathe. Every instinct in me screams to run, to get them both out of here, but there’s nowhere to go and no time to think.
“What do you want with me?” I step up beside my father, lifting my chin, refusing to give them the satisfaction of fear. “Who sent you?”
“You don’t get to ask questions.” His eyes flash behind the mask. “You do what I say, or every person in this room dies.”
“No.” I shake my head slowly, retreating a step. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He raises his gun higher and begins to advance, each step purposeful, the room shrinking with every inch he closes in. “Then I start pulling my trigger.”
He reaches me in two strides, his hand clamping around my arm. The other man keeps his gun trained on us, unmoving, waiting for the moment things go violent.
“Don’t touch her!” The sound that leaves my father isn’t fear—it’s fury.
He lunges forward, trying to shield me. But the bastard swings the butt of his gun and cracks it against Dad’s skull. Mom screams as he brings the weapon down again. Blood spills across Dad’s forehead, running down his temple, and something hot and vicious ignites in my chest.
“Stay down,” the man snarls. “Or I kill you and your wife right now.”
Dad collapses to the floor, the gun slipping from his hand. For one horrifying second, I think he’s gone. The room tilts, panic clawing up my throat as the men drag me toward the back of the house.
But when I look over, I see it: one of Dad’s eyes cracking open, a faint flicker of movement as his fingers inch toward his fallen gun.
He’s alive.
Relief washes over me. If he can get a shot off at the one not holding me, fast enough to make the other turn for even a split second, I might have a chance to grab his weapon and fight back.
It’s all I’ve got. A desperate, razor-thin hope. And Dad has no idea what I’m trying to do.
A sharp pop shatters the room.
The gunshot echoes through the house, and the second man drops with a cry, clutching his leg. The one gripping me jerks in shock, his gaze flicking between his partner and my father, who is still on the ground, the weapon steady in his palm.
That moment of hesitation is all I need.
I drive my knee into my captor’s groin, hard. He doubles over with a choked curse, and I seize the gun in his hand, yanking it free as he tries to recover.
“You bitch!” he roars, still hunched and reaching for me.
Before he can lunge again, I fire.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.