11. Gabby
Gabby
My heart is pounding so hard that I can hear it in my ears.
We’re fine.
The landlord isn’t. He’ll call the police again, thanks to Nikolai breaking his nose. Men. Always solving problems with their fists.
I glare at Nikolai. He has the audacity to look unbothered after assaulting a man in broad daylight.
Unbothered and stupidly attractive.
Get a grip, Gabby. You’re in serious shit. And this man is dangerous.
I press my lips together to stifle a laugh because it isn’t funny. Greg spent years warning me about the mob. They’re everywhere, Gabby. Local cops, city officials, judges. You can’t trust any of them. They own everything.
And here I am, standing on a cracked sidewalk in the July heat, my entire life packed into garbage bags, while the mob makes the police go away.
Different family. Same game.
The levity dies quickly as reality sinks in.
I’m homeless. Carless. And after what happened at work, I’m probably jobless now, too.
Shit.
I’m trembling from the adrenaline crash. Luke can’t handle a shelter. He needs his things. His routines. Quiet.
And sometimes, he needs to be loud. Really loud.
Nikolai opens the back of his SUV. Then he picks up two of my garbage bags and hauls them into the back of his vehicle.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. Just grabs another one.
“Hey.” I grab the next bag before he can get to it and yank it toward me. “Stop. What are you doing? Put those back.”
He turns and reaches for the bag I’m holding. I step back, pulling it with me.
“Give me my things.”
“Get in the car.”
“Excuse me?”
He reaches for the bag again. I step back again. We do this twice before he stops and just looks at me. I realize I’m in a tug-of-war with a man built like a Greek god, while I’m five-foot-three and running on no sleep and pure fear.
We are not equally matched.
“Stop,” I say. “Just… stop. Explain to me what you think you’re doing.”
“You’re coming with me.”
“You and Luke can stay at my house until you figure something out.”
“I am not going anywhere with you.”
“You’re on the street.” He says it without inflection. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll figure it out. A hotel.”
“Do you have money for a hotel?”
I go quiet.
“I’ll call someone,” I say.
Dennis is shouting at someone on the phone. Maybe the police again. Maybe someone who doesn’t mind hurting women and children.
I look at Luke. He’s standing beside the laundry basket with his blanket tucked under his arm, watching the two of us with eyes that understand more than I wish he did. He’s not frightened or crying. He’s just watching, the way he always does, absorbing everything.
“The cops will come back,” Nikolai says.
It’s a warning. He knows something. I see it in his eyes. He’s pulled my thread and found it unraveling.
My stomach drops.
Does he know who I am? Does he know my husband’s family? No. Impossible. Not every mob guy knows every mob guy. I’m two thousand miles away.
He doesn’t know.
But he is telling me that if I stay here, the cops will come back, and they will look at me and run my name.
I have no idea if my name holds. If somewhere in a database, a fingerprint or my old name is waiting to drag me back into the light.
Greg made me a good identity. Good enough. But good enough isn’t the same as bulletproof, and I have never tested it against a police inquiry. I cannot risk it.
I look at my son again.
He’s watching me. Waiting. He’ll follow me anywhere. He trusts me completely.
I shift the garbage bag in my hands, lift my chin, and look Nikolai straight in the eye because I will not shrink. I will not beg. I will not let him see just how close to the edge I am, even though I suspect he already sees it.
“Two nights.” My voice comes out steady. “I’ll figure out another arrangement. I would appreciate it if we could stay for two nights, please. Thank you.”
He takes the garbage bag from my hand and carries it to the SUV.
I stand there and watch him load my life into the back of a vehicle that I’m sure cost more than I made last year.
Nikolai picks up the laundry basket, loading it beside everything else like any of this is normal.
“Get in.” Nikolai opens the back door.
I shuffle Luke forward, lift him into the seat, and buckle him in. He should have a car seat, but I can’t afford one.
“I’ll ride in back with him,” I say to Nikolai.
He shrugs, and we walk around to the driver’s side. I hesitate. This might be a terrible mistake, but I’m out of options.
I keep my hands folded in my lap, so I don’t fidget. Fidgeting means I’m scared. I can’t let Luke pick up on my apprehension. The last thing we need is Luke in a meltdown.
So, I pretend to be serene, staring out at the passing scenery. I track the route. Old habit. I always know where I am. I always know how to get out.
I’m expecting a penthouse in the heart of the city, but he keeps driving. The apartment buildings and strip malls thin out. The houses get larger. The artificial lawns get greener.
We keep going.
I lean forward slightly. “Where are we going?”
Nikolai doesn’t turn around. “My house.”
“Where is your house?”
“West.”
The neighborhoods are gated communities. I clock the distance from the Strip in my head and feel a wave of panic. We're a long way from public transportation. We’re a long way from anything I could walk to with a four-year-old and a bunch of garbage bags.
Two nights, and I’ll figure something else out. A shelter closer to the Strip. Maybe the YMCA. I know there’s emergency housing assistance through the county, but the waitlists are months long. Greg’s money could get me one of those cheap motels off the Strip.
I look at Luke. He’s still watching the window. His hand is resting on top of his blanket, and his fingers are splayed out. He does that when he’s calm. When he’s not calm, he grips and twists it with both hands.
He’s calm, so I’ll be calm.
The SUV turns through a gate that swings open before we slow down. The driveway curves, and the house comes into view, and I give up trying to be calm.
It’s not a house; it’s a freaking compound. Two stories from what I can see, but it sprawls in every direction, low and wide and modern, with pale stone and dark glass. A fountain trickles in a grassy area to the right. Smooth river rock and mature palms line the driveway.
I’m aware my mouth is hanging open and work to close it.
Nikolai parks under a covered entrance and gets out.
I unbuckle Luke and pull him across the center to get out on the same side as me. We step out, and Luke looks around.
It’s excessive. It is also stunning.
Nikolai is already at the front door, which is massive and dark wood. It opens before he reaches it.
The woman who opens it is maybe sixty, compact and solid, with silver hair pulled back tight. She’s wearing a plain navy dress and flat shoes. Her eyes move to Nikolai first, then to me, then to Luke.
Nikolai speaks to her in Russian. It’s fast. No hand movements.
Nothing to give me a hint about what he might be saying.
I watch her face instead of trying to understand the words.
She listens without interrupting. Her expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a slight softening when she looks at Luke again.
She says something back. Short.
Then, she looks at me for the first time and nods.
“She’ll get you settled,” Nikolai says, turning to me. “Galina. This is Ga—Miss Collins. And Luke.”
I look at Galina and smile. “Gabby, please.”
Galina looks at Luke. He stares back at her, doing the usual assessment. Does Galina speak English?
I turn back to Nikolai because I need to establish some things before he disappears. Ground rules. An understanding of what this arrangement is and what it isn’t. I need to know if he expects something in return. I need to know if there are strings I can’t yet see.
“I want to talk about this situation,” I say.
“I have to go back,” he says.
“I know, but I need a minute.”
He looks at his watch.
“I need to know what this is,” I say quietly, aware of Luke standing two feet away and understanding more than anyone gives him credit for. “What you expect.”
He looks at me for a moment. “Nothing.”
“People don’t do things for nothing.”
“Some people don’t,” he agrees. “I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.”
“Our clothes,” I call out and follow him.
He snaps his fingers. Two men I hadn't noticed step out from the side of the house.
Our things are unloaded and deposited at the front door. I’d be humiliated if I wasn’t so desperate.
Nikolai is in the SUV and pulling away, leaving us to stand with his staff.
“Come,” Galina says.
She rattles something off in Russian to the men.
I follow her inside, taking Luke’s hand in mine. I don’t know if I’m expecting a dungeon or a villain’s lair, but this is neither.
We’re standing in a massive foyer with a curved staircase that leads up to the open second floor. Everything is white and gray, with pops of black. There’s art on the walls that I’m certain is real. Clean lines. Nothing fussy.
Galina is moving toward the staircase. “I was not expecting guests,” she says. Her English is good and lightly accented. “I will prepare rooms. Come.”
“One room,” I say. “Please. Luke stays with me.”
She pauses on the second step and looks back.
“He’s not used to sleeping alone in a new place.” It’s true, but it’s also not the whole truth. The whole truth is that I need him within arm’s reach at all times. I need to hear him breathe. I need to know where he is, especially in a place this big.
Galina nods and continues up the stairs.
I follow with Luke’s hand in mine. He’s looking at everything. His head swivels to take in the staircase wall. He reaches out and drags one fingertip along the shiny black banister as we climb.
“Pretty,” he says quietly.
“Yeah,” I whisper back.
The upstairs hallway is wide and runs in both directions, with doors spaced generously apart. Galina leads us to the right, past two closed doors and then opens a third. She steps aside to let me look.
The room is bigger than our apartment. The en suite bathroom is visible through a half-open door, and even from here, I see that it’s enormous, all white tile and what appears to be a separate soaking tub.
I stand in the doorway and tell myself it’s only temporary. Two nights, and then it’s back to tiny, roach-infested apartments.
“The kitchen is open,” she says. “Whatever you need. I will make sure our cook has dinner ready for you at seven if you want it.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
She looks at me like I’ve said something mildly confusing. “It’s our job,” she says simply.
Right. Of course it is.
“Is there anything the boy cannot eat?” She looks at Luke.
Luke is staring out a window I haven’t had a chance to examine.
“He’s not a big vegetable person,” I say apologetically. “But he’ll eat most meat. He loves chicken.”
“I’ll pass that along to the cook.”
Wow. How many people does it take to run one man’s house?
The men bring our bags. Galina once again speaks in Russian. They leave them inside the room and scurry away.
“We’ll get you settled later,” she says. “Come, I’ll give you a tour. There is a cinema with a snack machine. And a game room. I think the boy will like it.”
"Thank you." My throat tightens. I don't know what to do with kindness.
She holds out her hand to Luke. I start to tell her he won’t take it, but my son proves me wrong. He puts his little hand in hers, and off they go.
It takes me a few seconds to process what just happened. He allowed a stranger to touch him. Willingly took her hand. In all the months Carla watched him, he never allowed her to touch him.
He feels safe, Gabby.
Suddenly, two nights doesn’t feel so simple.