Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Dimitri
By the time I get home, I’m all sorts of fucked up. The rest of my shift is sort of a fog as I try to process what the hell happened. I don’t remember talking to anyone after she left, although I’m sure I did. I don’t remember closing up the club. I don’t remember leaving. I just remember her. Katya. She’s here. In the States. Not Europe. There’s no ocean and time zone separating us.
And she’s working.
I sit in my car and ponder what that could mean.
Does she sleep with guys for information? Women lie to me all the time—why would I ever assume she’s any different?
Because she is.
Do I believe her when she says she’s doing this for me?
I do.
Will I ever see her again? Does she expect me to move on with my life or wait for her?
Seeing her tonight didn’t put anything at ease, didn’t answer any questions. It only made everything more hazy.
I know I didn’t get Tawny’s number. She went into the Playroom with a guy I’ve seen a few times. Do I care? Not even a little bit.
When I walk in the door, Uri’s still awake. He’s watching the same documentary about Lena Goodlove and Amanda Chase. It’s all about their rivalry. He watches it whenever he’s in a bad mood. And lately, there’s only one reason that could be.
I drop my bag by the front door and join him. “I guess you talked with your mom.”
Uri tosses his phone on the coffee table that took me three hours to build because I swapped piece B and piece E… which looked the same, but apparently, you need a high-powered microscope and X-ray vision to tell the difference.
“She’s going out to dinner with him.” He huffs in disgust. “Again.”
My aunt’s ability to forgive is remarkable. She didn’t leave Uri’s side while he was in the hospital. Uncle Andrey came in to speak with him, and she broke his nose… his already broken nose.
He should’ve taken the hint that none of us want him in our lives. But slowly, he’s been worming his way back in. He doesn’t talk with Uri. He knows better. And the one time he said hello to his son, Alana watched the entire exchange from the corner, arms crossed and lips pulled tight.
He came to give Ian some games. Games Ian needs friends to play with, and they were written entirely in English. So it was a double slap in the face for Ian. Alana was super pissed and kicked Uncle Andrey out before he could say anything more to Uri. But I’ve got to give him credit. He’s trying. And he’s alive, which is more than I can say about my father.
“Your mother can still love you and forgive your father.”
Uri scoffs. “Maybe when it stops hurting every time I breathe, I’ll be just as compassionate.”
I hesitate to say anything. I know I can trust Uri, I just don’t know how well I trust myself. “So, there was an interesting guest at the club tonight.”
He points to the TV, where a man with dark brown hair and a perfectly chiseled chin is on the screen. “Unless it’s Grae, it can’t possibly be interesting.”
Uri has a celebrity crush on Grae. The music producer doesn’t give a lot of interviews, but I’ve seen all of them five to ten times since sharing a place with Uri.
“It was Katya.”
Uri picks up the remote, hits pause, and turns his entire body to face me. His eyes are larger than the moon. “What the what!” He fans the air around us. “Wait, tell me everything. Was she with someone? Did you two hook up? Was she working or was it for fun? Shit, did she even know you work there?”
“She was working. I don’t think she knew I was there. And I still don’t know if I’m ever going to see her again.”
“Fuuuuuuuuck…” He drags out the word in one long breath. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I might, but Ian starts crying from his room, and I’m up on my feet. Unlike the doctors assure us, the nightmares aren’t getting any better.
I climb into his bed as he cries himself awake. His eyes are wide, and it’s always the same. “The man.”
Fucking Mikhail, a ghost haunting Ian’s nightmares.
I bundle him up in his blankets. He doesn’t like to be cold—more so, he doesn’t like touching anyone who’s cold.
He hides his face from me, pulling the blankets up higher. But that exposes his feet, and I fight the urge to tickle them, if only to get him to feel something that isn’t fear. I’ll take annoyance.
“Do you want me to stay?” I ask in Russian.
He whispers, “Yes.” But in English. I’m so proud of him, I could buy him a bike and keep him home from that terrible school for the rest of his life.
“Scoot.” I nudge him to the side and stick my arm under his pillow. My feet hang over the end of the bed. “You need a bigger bed.”
He sniffs. “It’s fine until you’re in it.”
“So who do you think would win in a fight, Raphael from the turtles or Spider-Man?”
He rests his head on my chest. “Raph… he’s never alone.”
“But Spider-Man has friends,” I counter. I saw those movies. Even ugly cried when all the heroes fought the purple guy.
Ian huffs, “Yeah, but he fights alone.”
“He’s got to be pretty brave.”
The little one nods. “Yeah, that’s why he’s my favorite.” He grabs his blanket. “And he has the coolest costume.”
“Truth.”
His breathing slows, and his eyelids lose the fight against gravity. “But it would be nice to be Raph…”
Because he’s not alone.
Fuck! This kid guts me. I don’t know how much more I can take. My emotional rollercoaster takes another dive with like fifteen spirals.
I stay with him until he’s out cold, then scurry out of his room like this is another failure of mine.
The morning brings three sneezes out of him. “Oh no, you’re sick,” I say in a melodramatic way. “Guess you need to stay home.”
But Ian arches an eyebrow between his bites of cereal. “No. I’ll go to school.” He grins. “And I’ll spread my germs.”
“You’re an evil genius.” I pat his shoulder and head back to bed.
The next night at work on my normal shift, I head into the staff room to find Joey leaning against the wall, watching my every step.
“You know you’re not supposed to have any relationships with the clients.”
“I didn’t take Tawny’s number,” I counter.
But Joey furrows his brows and points to a box on his desk. The box is black with a white ribbon. “I found it this morning. It’s got your name on it.”
My hand hesitates to reach for it. Every part of my brain screams it’s a trap. But what if? I swear what if will kill me one day. The box has weight to it, but isn’t heavy. My name is typed on a label on the side. Pulling the ribbon off like I’m removing a dress from only one woman, I try not to let my imagination get the best of me.
Black glass, rectangular shape. It’s a phone. A burner.
When it comes to life, a pinned location pops up and a countdown starts. One hundred and four days. Three and a half months. My cheeks burn as I smile. I close the map, and the wallpaper on the display is an otter.
Katya.
“I’m not a fan of clandestine shit. You know that, right? I like things predictable and safe,” Joey grumbles, and I opt not to remind him that he’s a full-time criminal.
But I hold this phone in my hands, and it feels real, tangible. It’s hope.
At the end of the week, there’s a knock on the apartment door. Ian spread his plague to me, Uri, and half the kids in his class. Between stuffy noses, watery eyes, and a pounding head, I almost missed it. Blinking a few times, it registers that Alana is standing in my doorway.
“Aunt Alana!” Ian jumps to his feet and sprints to her, his arms wide open. She hands me a duffle bag just before wrapping her arms around him.
“I brought you a gift,” she attempts to say in Russian, but her pronunciation is all wrong, and it takes him a few seconds to translate what she’s trying to say.
“You.” he says in English.
“No, I think it’s whatever is in this bag.” I lift it to show him. Whatever it is, it’s lighter than it seems.
She nods at the bag and back to him. He opens it, and there’s a white shirt, blue pants, and a navy blue suit jacket. Ian glances between the two of us.
“It’s your new school uniform. You start on Monday. Uri, can you?”
Uri comes over and coughs, holding his side, and translates for Ian. “The school is smaller, and they’ve hired a special teacher to help you learn English. Shae goes there, and my goddaughters attend preschool there three days a week.”
Ian gives her his “gee thanks” half-hearted smile, but we can all tell he’s underwhelmed.
“What makes this school different?” Uri asks in English.
“It’s a prep school for the elite.”
“Sounds terrible.”
Alana nods. “Yeah, I understand. Most kids are from old money, but this school is different because every week they learn about the rise and fall of historical icons, governments, and families. There’s a deep understanding that you never know who your allies are going to be or how your enemies can hurt you. Power and money are temporary.”
“Sounds kinda heavy for preschool.”
“It’s sugar-coated with glitter and songs, but the school has a zero-tolerance policy on bullying for exactly those reasons.” She shrugs. “Haedon and his brothers went there. Some kids picked on Haedon when he was in sixth grade. It took a few years, but his brothers bankrupted every family in that sixth-grade class. The school changed their policies and curriculum shortly afterward and took this new approach instead.”
Uri rubs the back of his neck. “Whoa, you know a lot about the Olympians.”
Alana huffs and ignores him because Ian moves the uniform out of the way and makes a sound that’s not a cry, but not a laugh. Again, it takes me a second to realize what I’m looking at, but it’s a lopsided octopus.
“Snuggles!”
It’s the cold—that’s why my eyes are watering and it’s hard to breathe. Germs and my immune system, not the emotional gut punch of seeing Ian and pieces of his long-gone childhood returning in a black duffle bag.
Holy shit, she went to Russia. Her eyes move between Uri and me. “There’s a box coming in a few hours, baby pictures and things I thought might be important to you. A limited edition Amanda Chase LP with a fake signature.”
Uri backs up. “It’s not fake.”
“Yes, it is.” But she doesn’t elaborate. “I flew to Russia, broke into a few houses. On the way back, I went to LA, played poker, bought a security company, and had brunch with Penny Olympian. But none of that is as interesting as Dimitri.” She raises an eyebrow. “Did you run into someone this week?”
What? How? “I’m so confused, you bought a security company? Why do you care about who I met?”
She closes the door and walks in. I’m about to protest that the place is a mess and we’re all infected with a snotty plague, but she doesn’t care. Alana tells Ian to go put his stuff in his room. Again, her Russian isn’t perfect, but it’s improved. She pats the couch cushion and demands I sit.
“Well…? Details.”
“Katya?”
“Who the fuck else?” Alana glances over at Uri, rolling her eyes like I’m the dumbest person alive. “Did you know she was going to be there?”
Now it’s my turn to look at her like she’s dumb… and the second I do, her face ices over, and it’s like I’m glaring at a dragon. I fix my face and sit next to her.
“No. I didn’t know. Shit, I haven’t spoken to her since we boarded the plane. The last thing I expected was to see her at a sex club, working undercover.”
Alana nods. “Yeah, I can see why that would be jarring.”
“How did you find out?”
“Bitch, please. I know and see everything. How are you feeling about all of this?”
I shrug. “It’s hard to figure it all out. Just when I’m ready to move past all of this and consider Katya a blip in my life, she comes in looking all cute in a corset. I can't tell how much of this is real.”
“That’s the hazard of dating a spy. Reality, lies, and covers make everything blurry. But I can tell you this, she’s risking her life to keep you and Ian safe. So don’t fuck up. She’s kind of a badass, and I don’t use that term lightly.”
Alana stands and pats me on the shoulder. “I’m leaving and taking a shit ton of vitamin C because your nose is a booger-encrusted mess and I don’t want the same future for myself.” Her phone buzzes, and she pauses, checks it, and frowns. “I’ll pick you up Monday morning to take you and Ian to school. There’s paperwork we need to fill out.”
And poof, Hurricane Alana leaves, dropping our past and future at our feet with a not-so-helpful dose of reality, and fear with a dash of hopeful optimism.