Chapter 39
Alina
It’s a pizza place.
And not even a closed-down one either.
The lights are all off and the door looks locked, but this is the address Molchanie sent. She told me to show up at three in the morning, probably because she knew the owners wouldn’t be here.
We’re in a decent Manhattan neighborhood, not all that far from my apartment actually. It’s in Morozov territory. I wonder if this place is affiliated or not. Most businesses on this block are.
My hands are trembling slightly as I approach.
I can hear Seamus’s light breathing in the earpiece in my ear.
The gun in my pocket is warm from gripping it tightly on the way over.
He asked about fifty times if I was sure about this, if maybe it’d be better if he went instead, but I told him not to worry.
I told him I could handle my own mother.
I’m not sure that’s true.
“You got this, baby,” Seamus whispers. “Just keep going. We’re watching and nearby.”
“It’d be better if you were here.”
“You know how close I am. One step at a time. Remember, she’s your mother. She won’t hurt you.”
“You’ve been saying the opposite for days.”
“I can be wrong. It’s rare, but it happens.”
“Let’s hope you were wrong before and not right now then.” I reach for the metal cover pulled down at the front. “How am I supposed to get in?”
“Test the bottom.”
I reach down and pull the handle. The covering immediately rolls up without any effort. “Huh. Unlocked.”
“I bet the door’s open too.”
Once the cover’s up, I push my way inside. Molchanie left the way open for me. “I can’t talk anymore. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I’ve been in a thousand pizza shops like this one over the years.
There’s a counter straight ahead in front of the big ovens where the food gets made and cooked.
A TV hangs on the wall to my left, and there are booths on the right.
Chairs are stacked in a corner, and a beverage fridge hums quietly.
The linoleum is clean but faded from years of shoes.
Pictures of famous New Yorkers are hung on the walls alongside Yankee memorabilia.
“Hello?” I call out, feeling silly. I’m pretty sure I’m trespassing right now. “Is anyone in here?”
I drift deeper inside. The bathrooms are straight ahead. But I stop suddenly when a shape pulls itself out of the very last booth.
She was so still that I nearly didn’t notice her. But now that she’s in front of me, I can’t imagine how I could’ve overlooked a woman so stunning.
Molchanie is beautiful.
She’s in her sixties. A little younger than my father.
Her hair is still blonde, though shot through with some gray, and pulled into a tight braid.
Her eyes are the same as mine, but even deeper blue, a stunning color.
Full lips, short nose, sharp jaw, and an athletic figure.
For a woman her age, she looks like she’s in incredible shape.
A gun is strapped across her chest. Her pants are black and tactical.
The stare she gives me sends a shiver of fear down my spine.
“Hello, Alina,” she says quietly. And again, I recognize that voice. Now I realize it must be some long-buried memory from when I was a baby. Maybe she used to talk to me all the time, back before she left. Papa said she hung around for a year after I was born.
Maybe I held on to what little scrap of her I could.
“Darya.” It’s strange using her real name, but what else can I do? Call her Molchanie?
There’s no way in hell I’m calling her mother.
“I’m glad you came. I know things have been difficult.”
“You almost killed Taras.”
“But I didn’t. He survived.”
“Don’t pretend like that was on purpose.”
Her lips quirk, gaze narrowing. “If I wanted him dead, he’d be dead.”
I think that’s probably true. And it makes me very uneasy.
“Why did you call me here?”
“I wanted to make you understand.” Her voice shakes slightly as she stares at me. It’s deeply unnerving, the way she doesn’t seem to move or blink. She’s so still, like a mannequin version of herself. “Why I’m doing what I’m doing.”
“Why you left when I was a baby?”
Another flinch. She looks away toward the pizza ovens. “That wasn’t an easy decision.”
“You could’ve called. You could’ve written an email or sent a text. You never did. Instead, you showed up here after I was married and started killing people.”
Her face whips back to mine. Her hands knot into fists.
“That’s the only language they speak,” she says viciously, hissing the words at me.
“If I had come here speaking truth, begging down on my knees, they would have laughed at me. Ruslan might’ve acted like he still loves me, but even he wouldn’t have given me what I really want. ”
“Which is what?” I whisper, taking a step back from her.
This woman is deeply unhinged. I can see that now.
There’s something broken in her, something necessary for normal people to keep their emotions under control.
She’s like a boiling pot with a tight-fitted lid covering the water and keeping the steam inside, but some keeps leaking out in short, terrible bursts.
“I didn’t give you much. I left when you were a baby, but I’ve been watching you. I never forgot, and I never forgave your father for the way he treated me, and I had to make sure he didn’t do the same to you.”
I shake my head, confused. “What do you mean, what he did to you? Papa acts like he’s in love with you.”
Her laugh is ugly and bitter. “Back then, your father’s way of showing his devotion was to beat me until my eyes swelled shut.
After you were born, he kept threatening to hurt you every time I made some minor mistakes.
If I slept in too late, if I didn’t clean up after him the way he wanted, all I ever got was violence.
I kept my distance after I left, but I made him understand that you would never be treated the way I was treated, or else I’d come home, and I’d cut his throat. ”
I let all that sink in. I feel like a boat filling with dirty water. I lean back against the counter, heart racing wildly as I grip the gun in my pocket. Seamus’s breathing is a steady reminder that I’m not alone. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”
But he’s wrong. I’m not okay, not at all.
“That’s why he was paying you.” I look at my mother, bile rising in my throat.
“The money was supposed to be for you one day, but you know how things are. Life always gets in the way.”
“If my father was so bad, why did you leave me with him?”
She looks down at the floor and closes her eyes.
“That’s something I ask myself. Back then, I thought I couldn’t take care of you.
You have to understand, I’ve always been Molchanie in some form or other, except for the short time I was with Ruslan.
I was going back to that life, and how could I raise a little girl while moving around constantly?
While killing for a living? It just wouldn’t work.
So I decided to make a deal. Your father would provide you with a decent upbringing.
Something steady. And in return, I promised not to kill him. ”
I rub my face with both hands. I don’t understand this. Papa acted like he was still in love with her, but the way she tells it, she’s been threatening him since she ran away.
I’m not sure what to believe. Molchanie is clearly insane. But my father’s always been a liar, and her version makes a lot of sense.
Or maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle. He’s still in love with her, and he’s also terrified she’ll end his life.
“I have another question. If you care about me, why do you keep hurting me?”
She looks confused. “I haven’t touched you.”
“You’ve killed my husband’s people. You’ve threatened my husband’s family.”
“Your husband is just like your father.” She tilts her head, giving me a strangely birdlike frown.
“They’re all just like your father. I’ve seen so many of them over the years, Alina.
Men wrapped up in blood and money. Maybe your husband is fine right now, but he’ll change.
They always change. When he’s sick of you and you’re not a fresh new toy anymore, that’s when the pain starts.
I want to save you from that. I’m back to protect you. ”
I stand up straight. I face her, looking right into the eyes of the crazy woman who gave birth to me and is now trying to ruin everything good in my life. I spread my legs and steady myself.
“You can protect me by leaving me alone.”
“You think you can handle him, and that’s what I thought too, but you’re wrong. Believe me, you’re wrong. I want to spare you the pain of finding out.”
“Leave me alone,” I repeat, stepping toward her. My heart’s racing and holding the gun isn’t steadying my hands at all anymore. I’m so scared I’m afraid I might throw up.
But Molchanie backs up.
“I’m here for you, Alina. Believe me, this is for your own good.”
“I’m tired of being told what’s right for me. I make my own choices now. Leave me alone, Darya. Get away from here. I don’t want your help. I don’t want you around. Don’t bother my husband or his family. Just go and don’t come back.”
“You don’t understand. He’s going to change. They always change.”
“You’re wrong.” I continue walking forward.
She keeps backing off, seeming more and more panicked as she wanders toward the back of the restaurant where it’s darkest. “Get out of here, Darya. Leave me alone. Leave again like you did that first time, but don’t you dare look back. I don’t need you anymore.”
“You’re wrong.” She’s whispering, but she stops moving. “I’m sorry, Alina, but you’re wrong, and if saving you means killing them all, your husband included, then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll cut their throats, one by one, terrorize them the way your father terrorized me. I’ll rip out their tongues—”
The door to the back of the restaurant crashes open. Molchanie half turns as Seamus rolls to one knee and fires a shot.