Chapter 18
THEA
The rain is still coming down hard as we drive over the bridge back into Manhattan.
Fat drops splatter against the windshield, blurring the city lights into streaks of gold and red.
The wipers move in a steady rhythm back and forth, and I watch them like they’re my anchor connecting me to the real world.
Gabriel is on the phone.
“Confirm the apartment is clean,” he says, his voice low and clipped. “I want it sterile. No prints, no DNA, nothing. More thorough than the standard job.”
A pause. “Good. And the neighbor?”
My heart skips a beat. Another pause. Longer this time.
“Handle it. I don’t care how. Just make sure there’s no blowback. Cut him a check, tell him he heard nothing.” He listens. “NYPD contact came through? Excellent. Send him a bonus.”
He ends the call and glances at me.
I’m still staring out the window.
“Thea.”
I don’t respond. I can’t.
“Thea, look at me.”
I slowly turn my head, like I’m moving through water.
“Are you alright?”
The question is so absurd that I almost laugh. Am I alright? I just watched two men die. Watched their heads snap back, watched them crumple to the floor into lifeless heaps.
And I just learned that my entire life is a lie, that my name isn’t my name.
“I don’t know.”
He reaches over, his hand covering mine where it rests in my lap.
“Don’t think about them.”
“The men?”
“Yes.”
“They were alive.” My voice sounds distant, detached. “And then they weren’t. Just like that.”
“They would’ve killed you, Thea. Or worse. Whatever Kolya wanted done to you, they would’ve done it. If he would’ve given the order, they would’ve shot you in the head and thrown you in a ditch. That’s the kind of men those two were.”
I say nothing.
“Do you know what would’ve happened to you if you were taken to Kolya?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Torture. Interrogation. And then a slow death meant to send a message to anyone else who might challenge him. You’re not some nobody, Thea. You’re the last trace of an old rival that he tried to wipe off the face of the earth. He’d make sure everyone knew what he did to you.”
My stomach tightens.
“So no. Don’t think about those men. Don’t mourn them. They chose this life. They knew the risks. And they would’ve done terrible things to you without hesitation.”
I say nothing for a long moment, trying to process it all.
“You killed them so easily.”
“Yes.”
“Like it was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing. It’s never nothing to take a life.” His jaw tightens, his eyes on the road. “But it was necessary. And I’d do it again. I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant keeping you safe.”
I want to argue, but I can’t. Because he’s right. I know he’s right. Those men were going to take me, hurt me, kill me. And Gabriel stopped them.
The realization sits heavy in my chest.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He cocks his head to the side, looking slightly surprised.
“For what?”
“For coming after me. For…” I swallow hard. “For saving me. Again.”
His expression softens, and he regards me for a long moment. Then he turns his eyes back to the road.
“Always, Thea. I’ll always come for you.”
The gates of the mansion open slowly as we approach.
I didn’t think I’d ever be so happy to see them again. But as we pull through, as the tall iron bars close behind us, something in my chest unclenches.
I feel safe.
Gabriel comes around to open my door, and I step out into the rain. It’s coming down harder now—a proper storm, thunder rumbling in the distance, the sky illuminating with flashes of lightning.
Gabriel’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me toward the house.
Oscar is waiting in the entry hall, his expression tight with concern. I don’t say anything, but I’m glad to see him.
“Miss Thea,” he says, scanning me for injuries. “Are you—”
“She’s fine,” Gabriel cuts him off. “Get her some tea. Something strong. And a change of clothes. We’ll be in the living room.”
“Subito, sir.”
Oscar disappears. Gabriel leads me through the house to the grand living room I dusted just yesterday. It feels like a lifetime ago.
The fireplace is already lit, casting warm light across the space. Gabriel guides me to the sofa, and I sink into it, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me hollow and shaking.
Oscar enters moments later with tea and a neatly folded change of clothes. He sets the clothes next to me, the tea on the side table—chamomile.
“Thank you, Oscar,” I say, barely able to talk.
He nods. “If you need anything else, Miss Thea, please let me know.”
Then he’s gone, closing the doors softly behind him. The fire crackles as rain patters on the tall, arched windows.
“Change,” Gabriel says, “your clothes are soaked.”
I open my mouth to argue but quickly realize I don’t have the energy for it. Gabriel turns his back, as if he’s the consummate gentleman and not a murderer.
Then again, maybe he’s both.
I stand up and strip out of my clothes. The fire is warm on my bare skin, and I enjoy it for a brief moment before putting on the comfy loungewear and slippers that Oscar brought.
Once dressed, I plop back onto the couch.
Between the tea, the rain, the clothes and the fire, I’m feeling more normal, almost cozy, even.
Gabriel turns when I’m done. I wrap my hands around the mug, taking a slow sip as he eases onto the couch next to me.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Then, when I’m ready, I set down my tea and turn to face him.
“I need answers,” I demand. “No more secrets. No more protecting me from the truth. I deserve to know.”
He’s quiet. Then he nods.
“You do.”
“So tell me. Who am I really?”
He leans back and runs a hand through his hair. “Your name is Teodora Fetisov. You were born in Brooklyn. Your father was Lev Fetisov—pakhan of the Fetisov Bratva. Your mother’s name was Masha. You had an older sister, Ana, and an older brother, Dmirtri.”
My throat tightens. I don’t remember much about my earliest years. I vaguely remember my siblings, but it’s a blur.
Had.
“What happened to them?”
“Twenty years ago, Kolya Sokolov orchestrated a coup. He wanted control over the Bratva, and the Fetisovs stood in his way. With them out of the picture, he could assume leadership. So he killed them. All of them. Your parents, your siblings, anyone who was loyal to the Fetisovs. It was brutal. Efficient. And it worked.”
I sit back; my gaze fixed on the fire. I had a family. But they were killed, taken from me before I could even make memories with them. If this is true, then the trauma from that event could be why I can’t remember a whole lot about them. My inner defense mechanism wiped it out.
“But I survived. How?”
“You were at a sleepover,” he explains. “Liza. Your mother’s friend. The woman who took you in but abandoned you when you turned eighteen. You were spending the night with her daughter, Sissy. And that’s the night Kolya sent his men into your home to murder your family as they slept.
“Liza and your mother were close. When she learned what happened, she agreed to take you in. My associates and I were the ones who helped create your new identity, your last name of Andrin. We gave her money to keep you hidden, to raise you, to provide you with whatever you needed.”
“But not enough money for her to pretend to like me,” I say bitterly.
He nods somberly. “She took you in out of obligation to your mother, yes. But she took you in all the same. That counts for something.”
I think of the way Liza treated me during my childhood, how she never passed up an opportunity to make a comment about my body, especially compared to Sissy, who didn’t seem to be able to put on weight, even if she tried.
It all makes more sense now. She raised me because she wanted to do right by my mom. And because she was getting paid.
“I played a role in this,” he continues. “Not just paying Liza but making sure you were kept safe. You see, the men who killed your family, they lied to Kolya, told him that you died along with the rest of them.”
“And he believed them?”
“He did. I suppose he was eager for the whole bloody affair to be over and done with. He believed what he wanted to believe. And besides, your mother, father, and your father’s heir were confirmed dead—what did it matter if a daughter remained?”
“Is there more?”
“Yes. Rumors that you were still alive surfaced here and there. You became something of a legend. The rumors grew so intense that Kolya realized that he couldn’t simply ignore them anymore.
He had to find you—if you were indeed alive—and finish the job.
My duty was to make sure that never happened. ”
“But why?” I ask. “Why did you do all of this?”
He turns his eyes from the fire to me. “Because your father saved my life.”
I blink. “What?”
“A year before the massacre of your family, there was a hit put out on me. I was twenty-four years old, new to running the Camorra, and I made mistakes, got careless. The leader of another family determined that I was ripe for assassination. But Lev, your father, found out about the hit. He warned me, giving me the information I needed to find the man responsible and eliminate him.”
His voice is quiet now. “This allowed me not only to survive, but to send a message that I was not to be trifled with. But I still owed your father. And when I learned that you survived, I decided that the debt would be paid by keeping you alive.”
“So you’ve been watching me. For twenty years.”
“Not the whole time. For the first thirteen years, you were with Liza. I checked in periodically to make sure you were safe. But when Liza abandoned you…”
I shift in my seat. “I remember going to work the morning of my eighteenth birthday and returning to an empty house, and a letter that said I was an adult now, that I had to find my own way.”
His jaw tightens. I get the impression that what she did hurt him nearly as much as it hurt me.
“When she left you alone, I assigned people to keep watch, to make sure nothing happened to you.”