Chapter 9
SONYA
The cab pulls up to the curb just as the streetlamps flicker on, spilling their golden glow across the pavement.
My fingers tap a nervous rhythm as I pay the driver, and I have to take a deep breath before I step out.
Sunday dinners are my anchor, my little escape from the chaos of my own life, but tonight, I’m jittery, expecting Kelly’s third degree and the warmth of Mom’s hugs in equal measure.
I brace myself as I walk up the path to the front door, the light from the windows casting a warm glow over the front porch decorated with flowerpots and the porch swing Dad hand carved.
The grass Kelly and I spent so much time playing on still smells sweet, even as summer is on the verge of turning into fall.
The old basketball hoop still has a torn net, and Mom’s favorite rose bushes still line the house’s facade. It’s all familiar, comfortable.
It’s home.
The door swings open before my hand finds the knob. Kelly stands there, arms folded, eyebrows perfectly arched. “You’re late,” she says, but I hear the affection in her voice.
Once inside, the house envelops me in a rush of warmth and noise. The kitchen smells like garlic and basil, something sweet baking while laughter spills in from the dining room. For a beat, I let myself relax.
Mom appears holding a salad in the old, chipped salad bowl she inherited from her grandmother, planting a kiss on my cheek. “Sit, sit! You’re just in time, though I was about to send Kelly out to handcuff you and drag you here.”
Kelly snorts. “I would’ve, too. Someone has to keep her in line.” She leads me to the dining room, where Dad sits behind a spread newspaper, glasses perched low.
He looks up and grins. “There’s our favorite troublemaker.”
I kick off my shoes and smile. “I try my best.”
“Danny, can you please help me bring the chicken in?” Mom calls from the kitchen. Dad gives me a face that makes me giggle before pushing to his feet.
“So,” Kelly says, waiting until he’s out of the room. “What’s going on with Mr. Mob Boss?”
I laugh, but my heart speeds up, because this is what I was waiting for. Dreading, actually. “Don’t interrogate me, Kells. I told you what’s going on with Matvei. It’s a contract so we can get back at Samson. That’s it.”
Kelly’s eyes narrow. “Last time you were this cagey, you were dating that jazz drummer with the man bun.”
I groan. “You’ll never let that go, will you?”
“I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“I am being careful. Like I said, this isn’t anything more than a business arrangement.”
“With the head of a Russian mafia syndicate, Sonya.”
“Will you keep it down?” I hush her, glancing towards the kitchen.
“Keep it down about what?” Mom walks into the room with a tray of roasted vegetables and a basket of rolls. Dad follows with the roasted chicken.
“Sonya’s dating someone.”
“I am not,” I protest. Suddenly, it feels like we’re in high school again. “I’m not dating anyone. I’m someone’s date to a wedding. That’s it. Nothing else. One night, and nothing beyond.”
Dad puts the chicken on the table, then begins to carve it. “As long as he’s not a stockbroker or—God forbid—a tech bro.”
I laugh. “No stockbrokers. No man buns. He’s… different.”
Kelly purses her lips. “Different, Sonya? Mysterious? Dangerous?”
The look I give her speaks volumes, but unfortunately, my adopted sister ignores it.
“Sonya? What is Kelly talking about?” Mom asks.
“It’s just a date for a wedding, okay? Kelly’s upset because I’m going with a guy who could be involved in some shady business deals. But my being his date has nothing to do with any of that.”
Kelly narrows her eyes at me. She brushes her long, dark ponytail behind her shoulder before uncorking the bottle of wine with such force some of it splashes onto the table.
Mom sighs. “Let’s give Sonya some credit.”
“I’m just saying,” Kelly says, pouring a healthy amount of red wine into her glass, then mine. “You attract chaos. And I don’t like it.”
“Can we talk about something else? It’s not a big deal. I’m just his date for the evening. Nothing more.”
Kelly’s belligerent glare says she’s not done just yet, but at least she lets it go—for now. For a while, we drift to safer topics—work, weather, a neighbor’s new puppy. But Kelly, ever relentless, circles back as she and I are cleaning the dishes after dinner.
“I really can’t believe you’re going through with this plan, Sonya. Even one night is one too many with a guy you know is connected to the mob.” Kelly flicks soapy bubbles onto me as she gestures with her hand.
Having the same drive as a dog with a bone is what makes her such a great officer and someday will help her make a damn good detective. But it’s also what drives me absolutely insane sometimes.
“Samson was connected to the mob.”
“But you didn’t know that until later,” Kelly points out. “You didn’t go into that relationship knowing he was connected.”
“I didn’t go into it knowing he was an asshole, either,” I counter and roll my eyes, focusing on drying the plate in my hand instead of my sister.
Kelly’s green eyes narrow again. “Oh, so you’re saying you know for sure the Volkov pakhan isn’t an asshole?”
I nearly slam the plate down but stop myself at the last second, placing it carefully on the counter. “Seriously, Kelly? You don’t give me any credit at all, do you?”
“It’s not you that I don’t trust Sonya. I mean seriously, the man’s a killer.”
There’s a crash behind us. Kelly and I turn to find Mom standing at the entrance to the kitchen while Dad picks up the trash can he just knocked over.
“Who’s a killer?”
Kelly and I look at each other, suddenly back in high school with the knowledge that we’re about to get into huge trouble.
“Sonya, what is Kelly talking about?” Dad asks carefully, his usual playful demeanor gone.
I tell them, but only to explain what’s really going on, that this is a single night, a single date, a single moment before it’s over for good.
I didn’t expect Mom and Dad to love it, but I also didn’t expect their faces to pale or the look they exchanged to cause a prickle of warning up my back.
They had a whole conversation without saying a word.
Mom purses her lips as Dad sighs, rubbing his hands together like he does when he’s nervous.
“What’s going on?”
“Come on. Let’s go to the living room.”
Dad turns, and Kelly and I follow. We sit facing them, just like we did when we got into trouble as kids and teenagers. Something about this time, though, causes a chill to settle in me.
Mom finally draws a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the effort, and meets my gaze. “Sonya, there’s something you need to know,” she says softly.
The air around me gets colder, and I bite back a shiver. “What do you mean?”
“It’s about your parents.”
The room seems to shrink around us, everything else fading away.
“What about them?” I whisper.
When Mom reaches across the space between us, I nearly jerk my hand back. “Sonya, sweetheart, your parents worked for the Irish Mob.”
The words hit me like a punch in the gut. Kelly gasps, and I can barely manage to squeak, “The Irish Mob?”
Dad takes Mom’s other hand in his, and she seems grateful for the support.
“You know I’ve told you that your mom and I were best friends growing up, but we lost that closeness once she met and married your dad, going down a path I didn’t like.
We never wanted you to know, but you’re an adult now, and, well, I guess it’s time. ”
My hands tremble as flashes of my earliest years light up in my brain—a late-night phone call, my mother’s nervous glances, my father’s mysterious absences.
I don’t remember very much, and what I do remember is vague.
But the circumstances around my birth parents’ deaths had always rubbed me the wrong way.
They didn’t quite match my own memory of that night.
Could this be the reason why?
“I know we’ve told you about your adoption. But what we didn’t tell you is we were contacted out of the blue, that your mom, who I hadn’t heard from for several years, put me as your guardian if something happened to her.”
Yes, I remember that story. The story of how the Prestons had been trying to have another child without success, and I’d come along out of the blue. A beautiful miracle who became part of the family.
But finding out that my birth parents may have died at the hands of the mob changes the entire story.
Kelly breaks the silence, her voice softer. “See? You’re drawn to trouble. First Samson, now Matvei—”
I try to smile but my lips are numb. “This doesn’t prove anything. Just because my parents—” I have to swallow past the thickness in my throat and abandon that line of thought because I can’t go there right now. “One night doesn’t mean anything.”
Kelly shakes her head. “I’ve heard stories about Matvei Volkov at work. Let’s just say he’s about as far from a choir boy as you can get. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Mom’s eyes are gentle. “We just want you to be careful. Sometimes, we’re drawn to things that aren’t good for us.”
I shrug, hiding behind false bravado. “The only reason I’m doing this is because it will get me that much closer to opening my own practice.
If being Matvei’s guest at one wedding gets me closer to my goal, I’ll do it.
I’m not looking to settle down with the next mafia prince who walks through the door. ”
Dad chuckles, though it sounds strained. “Just keep your wits about you. And if you need backup, Kelly’s got a mean right hook.”
Kelly grins, flexing her bicep. “You know it.”
Mom leaves to get dessert and we drift to lighter topics, laughing at Kelly’s stories, groaning at Dad’s complaints about the Bears.
But as the night wears on, all of us dance around each other, tension and dark secrets slithering around like shadows.
On the outside, I’m laughing, but inside, I’m reeling, my head still buzzing with tonight’s revelation.
It’s like I’m watching myself from above as I try to make sense of what my adoptive parents just told me.
I use a thunderstorm rolling in as an excuse to make my escape as soon as I possibly can, because I have to get away.
Later that night, in the quiet of my apartment, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, tracing the line of my jaw, noting the shadows under my eyes.
My parents were part of a world I never knew, but, deep down, maybe I always felt its pull.
Maybe that’s why Matvei fascinates me, why his gaze makes me feel alive and reckless.
I press my palms to the cool glass. “What am I doing?” I whisper.
The thrill of danger, the rush of the forbidden—it beckons, even as logic warns me off.
Matvei is dangerous and unpredictable, the kind of man who could unravel everything I’ve built, and I’m terrified of the darkness of his world. But he also makes me feel seen, as if he’s drawn out a part of me I never dared to acknowledge, that no one dared to accept.
Lying in my bed, I listen to the rain tapping softly against the window and the occasional deep rumble of thunder.
I think about the Prestons’ worry, Kelly’s disapproval, and my birth parents’ secrets.
And then come the fuzzy images and memories I try not to think about, feelings of terror, yelling, shouting, screaming, something hitting the wall, someone telling me to run and hide.
Loud bangs still echo in my dreams on nights when I’m too tired to keep them away.
Now it all makes sense. The realization that my birth parents probably weren’t killed in a random robbery like I’d always been told hits me hard.
What if Kelly is right? What if that kind of darkness is in me, in my blood?
From what Mom said, my birth mother wasn’t always involved with the mob.
It wasn’t until she met my birth father that things went off the rails for her.
What if that’s in me, too? What if there’s some genetic proclivity for trouble and darkness?
Am I doomed to go down the same path and repeat their choices?
Sleep eludes me until the early hours of the morning, when my dreams tangle with images of blue gowns and deep blue eyes, of laughter and violence, and the possibility of something frightening and new.