Chapter 2
RAISA
Sweat dripped down my back. It collected along my spine until the waistband of my uniform pants were damp.
Or rather, damper than they were before.
In the muggy, soup-like confines of the laundry room at the hotel I worked at, it was a constant cycle of being hot, hotter, and even hotter yet.
Machinery spun and filled with the steamiest, scalding water to better clean the sheets and linens, but it was the three of us employees in here who operated it all who had to drip and sweat nonstop.
I was used to it, but that didn’t mean I had to enjoy it.
I winced, finding the sticky wetness on my back unbearable.
It didn’t matter that I’d been working here for years now, ever since I moved to the outskirts of the sprawling and bustling metropolis of Paris.
And it didn’t matter that I’d been familiar with this humidity and manual labor. I was still wet and uncomfortable.
There was no point to complain or whine about it. It just was. That was how I’d reshaped my perspective on life for the better part of the last decade.
It just was.
All the circumstances that had lined up and overlapped to put me in this sweaty, tired position were fate.
It is what it is.
Learning long ago that wishing for another future was a frivolous waste of time, I kept my head down and released a slow, steady sigh.
The exhale didn’t do much to cool me down.
As I lifted my face to squint through the steam and spot the clock on the opposite wall of the laundry room, I inhaled with the relief that my shift was done.
I wasn’t done, though. On my way out, I collected the bag of mending and sewing to do.
It didn’t amount to much, but the side hustle I could do in the evenings helped pad the grocery budget.
One of the other workers here asked me a year ago if I could help with a freelance kind of seamstress deal, and I was eager to make more money.
Whatever it took to make things not as tight.
Under the unrelenting sunshine outside as I began the walk to pick up Lev from school, I was still on, ready to handle the other job that I faced with the same tenacity and fatigue as I did at the hotel’s laundry room.
There was no break. No peace. But the sweetness of freedom and the meager safety I’d found for us made it all the more worth it.
Because… it is what it is.
“Just don’t even think about it. Don’t.” Shaking my head a bit, I trudged on under the sunshine. Between the rays of heat and light and the bulk of the weight in the bag I’d strapped over my shoulder, I felt like a pack mule in the desert.
Trying times like these made it all the more harder to resist reflecting on what my life used to be like. It was that much more of a challenge to ignore the memories of when I didn’t have to struggle like this.
When living in luxury and plenty of air conditioning was a given.
When all my needs were met and I never had to work or slave away for anything at all.
When chauffeurs and drivers were available to take me anywhere I wanted to go, at any hour of the day or night.
As I neared the school and spotted the dark-brown hair of my son, a slow smile lifted my lips.
Those long-ago days were also when I didn’t have this precious little boy in my life. And nothing would ever make me regret that. Nothing—and no one—could ever convince me to give up being his mother and keeping him safe and healthy and happy.
“Mama!”
A huge grin crossed over his boyish face.
That expression never failed to make me feel like the most important person in the world, the most valued woman in the universe.
Love for my son would turn every dark day into a brighter experience.
The joy I could witness on his face would always make the lousiest mood into something so much better.
“Hi, Lev.” I held my arms out as he ran to me, ready to launch into my arms like he’d done since he was old enough to walk, then sprint. The pleasure of being the one he’d run to would never fade, but as he got bigger and older, I had to brace myself for him to reach me.
You’re getting so tall. So big.
It was too soon for him to go from being a little boy into a big boy. But time was cruel like that. No matter the year or his age, I would forever wish time would slow down. That he could stay my sweet, innocent child for as long as possible.
But at least I’m sparing him the cruelest of cruelties he would’ve experienced back home.
A soft grunt was all I allowed as he jumped into my arms with his exuberant hello. We both laughed as I caught him and spun slightly. Like this, my heart would always be full.
“Hi, Mama!”
“How was your day?” I asked as I let him down.
Used to my dislike of being in an exposed area for too long, he took my hand and fell right into step of walking down the path.
Like me, he seemed eager to get out of the heat and garish sunlight beaming down on us.
We had fresh air to enjoy, but getting home would allow us a chance to be in the shade and relax.
Well, he could.
I’d never truly relax. I couldn’t even if I tried.
“Boring. I was so bored all day long.” He shook his head and sighed, like he was the one just getting done with a tedious day of employment.
Lev never complained for the sake of whining, but I knew what he meant.
My son was blessed to be so gifted and smart, quick to catch on to new things and challenge himself with learning and soaking up more knowledge and experience however he could.
If the subject matter being taught wasn’t new or difficult enough to engage him, he would grow idle.
“Uh-uh…” I warned him gently, wagging my finger as I smiled down at him.
He furrowed his brow, looking up at me. “What?”
“French,” I replied, coaxing him to get out of his habit of dropping back into English when it was just me and him talking.
He rolled his eyes and lowered his head, focusing on walking. “Yeah, yeah. I know, Mama,” he replied dryly in French.
I hated to be a stickler about getting him to use the correct language, but being multilingual was all part of our identity, of the part of his nature that he had to count on to be versatile.
We had to always adapt. It’d been a while since we had to stop, drop, and move to somewhere safer, but that didn’t mean the need wouldn’t arise again.
Although he was born in the States, in a big city across the country from where I’d called home for all my life on the East Coast, I’d tried to keep our “home” everchanging and in Europe or Asia. Whatever it took to be safe and far from the threats that had consumed me for years.
While he wasn’t glum about my correcting him to speak in the proper language here, he wasn’t chatty for the rest of the walk.
Hating the chance that I could’ve upset him with the reminder that we had to be prepared for the chance of moving and uprooting again, I sighed and started to talk about what we might have for dinner.
“What do you think you’d like?” I asked before laying out some ideas of what I could cook up. I tried to suggest a menu that wouldn’t include a ton of time in our small kitchen, too. It was too hot to be near the burners or oven.
He smiled, perking up at the idea of dinner. In a flash, he proved that the old saying was true—the best way to reach a man is through his stomach. Lev was just a healthy, growing boy, but his appetite seemed to be endless most days.
On and on, we walked. Keeping our pace steady but slow so we wouldn’t overheat ourselves, we didn’t stop until our road came into view.
Then later, our small neighborhood. I’d chosen this area because it seemed both remote and not entirely isolated.
I couldn’t control everything, but I was deliberate in choosing this location.
Once the small house I rented was visible in the distance, I let myself lag a bit. Slowing down more with the illusion of safety within reach, I looked over the familiar scene for anything that stood out. Anything that didn’t belong.
Being so watchful and hawkish like this was something I did automatically. At this rate, it would be a part of my personality for the rest of my life.
On guard.
Scoping out threats.
Counting on danger.
Nothing stood out. No changes. No surprises. I wanted to breathe out a deep exhale that life was still as safe and sound as I could make it for us.
“Can I play in the back by my tree before dinner?” he asked after I unlocked the front door and we stepped into the cool space of the small living room.
“Mm-hmm…” I answered him while multitasking to survey the rest of the rooms, to check if anyone could’ve broken in here to trespass and snoop. “Just change out of your uniform first.”
“Okay, Mama!” And just like that, he was off. He was gone, running toward his little bedroom in the back of the house. Knowing he’d be preoccupied while climbing the tree in the fenced-in back yard, I set the bag of mending down and changed before preparing dinner.
I was halfway through setting out the things for a salad when he popped his head up by the window. “Mama, someone’s coming over!”
That was something different.
An unwelcome surprise.
My heart pitched then hammered fast. Someone was coming here? Who? When? Why? And how would he know? Questions bombarded me in the instant panic that consumed me from head to toe. Dizziness hit me up high while my feet felt leaden.
“We got neighbors now!” The huge grin on his face proved how excited he was, but I couldn’t join in.
“A mom and dad with a couple of little kids,” he said. “They’re moving in next door.”
Oh, thank God. A family. They’d be innocent.
“Oh.” Finally, I smiled, trying to relax that it wasn’t someone from my past setting up next door to spy on me and my son.
A woman holding a toddler showed in the background behind Lev, and I realized he must have already spoken to them and invited them to come say hello.
Wiping my hands on my apron, I began to head out with what I hoped was an easygoing smile. Meeting anyone was difficult for me. How else could it be when I was constantly on to assume everyone was out to get me?
“This is my mama,” Lev introduced as I stepped outside. He beamed at me, then volleyed his gaze between me and the new neighbor.
“Hello,” the woman replied, hoisting her young daughter higher on her hip.
She was no spy. The telltale signs of being a present and tired parent showed on her happy face.
“Hello. I’m Ms. Peterson,” I lied, using the basic alias I’d taken when I left my former life.
“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Monica Rafael. My husband Eliot is over there with our son, Timmy.” She gestured at the man and young boy, who, on cue, lifted their hands to wave.
I waved back, glad that the newcomers to my safe haven here were just ordinary folks, a family.
For the next hour, Monica took it upon herself to talk, and talk, and talk.
Perhaps it was the nature of being a parent and not having adult time, but she seemed overeager to chat nonstop with me.
Her chatter and exuberant small talk led to us having a picnic outside as a welcome-to-the-neighborhood ordeal.
We both brought simple dishes out and got to know each other a little more.
Details weren’t offered from my side of the table.
Lev knew not to talk much about himself, too.
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway because both Monica and Eliot seemed to want to tell us their entire life story.
As we ate, I couldn’t help but watch them with envy. It was impossible to turn off the wishes that this could’ve been my life. Not the chattiness, but having a real family. A husband. Children, like more than one so Lev could have a companion.
A family was all I’d ever wanted, but I was cursed to have been born into the family. The Petrovs.
Who am I kidding? I’m all that’s left now.
I pretended to listen to Monica, but inside, I thought back to how many years had passed since my father was supposedly killed.
If only he could’ve died sooner…
I caught myself from letting out a wistful sigh. That wouldn’t do when I was smiling and inserting hums of acknowledgment so Monica could think I was listening.
As Lev chased the little boy in the yard, I smiled, glad that he could play with another child like this. From all that Monica and Eliot had shared, it seemed like they had no connection to the life as a Petrov that I’d left behind.
I’d almost lost him, and I would never ease up on guarding him, even here, now, debating whether I should be suspicious of new neighbors moving in.
A loud blast of a noise sounded. It startled me, making me tense. The toddler Monica held flinched as well. She wailed, crying at what was a truck backfiring nearby. We were both scared, but I masked it quickly.
That had sounded too much like a gunshot for my liking. It’d been years, but still, I was so damn jumpy.
Monica cooed at her daughter, rocking her and smoothing her hair down after the fright.
She’d get over it. I knew she would. The Rafael family was “normal”.
Unlike me. A lifetime of growing up in a Mafia family had left me traumatized.
“And this is a safe neighborhood?” Monica asked, tacking on the question at the end of a ramble she’d been giving me, one I’d lost interest in.
“Hmm?” I raised my brows.
“Just, you know, mother to mother. This is a safe neighborhood, isn’t it? A good place to raise a family?”
Her question sobered me. “Oh, sure. Of course.” I cleared my throat as I worked through the lie. “Very safe.”
I was a liar to confess that. Deep down, nowhere felt safe anymore, not when I dared to bring my son into the world at all.