36. Emma #2
“What are you talking about?” My voice slips out sounding weak, a bad cover for acting like I have no idea what she’s talking about—because I know exactly who Ruslan Smirnov is. I signed a contract with the devil. And if Matty knew, she might turn the predator into the prey.
“You need to leave.”
“Why?”
“Emma.”
“No. Tell me why.” Part of me doesn’t want to believe she’s actually figured it out.
“Because he’s Bratva.”
The grocery store disappears around me. The chatter of other shoppers, the music playing softly overhead, even Frank’s lean frame shifting from foot to foot a few yards away. It all narrows when I hear Matty say it out loud.
“How do you know that? Did you actually hire a PI?”
“I can’t tell you.”
My eyes narrow because there’s a different tone to her voice, an undertone; an edge of anxiety.
“Matty. How do you know?”
“I just do. Why don’t you sound surprised?”
My pulse begins hammering. All this time I’ve been out here thinking I could get away with this somehow—keep my “real” life and this life separate. Keep running, banking on being the least-favorite daughter so they’d never ask questions.
“Emma—”
“You knew who he was before I told you?”
She exhales heavily. “I’ve heard the name.”
“From where?”
“I can’t say.”
“You’re a corporate attorney. You shouldn’t know who Ruslan Smirnov is.”
She pauses. “I know.”
“So, how?”
“I said I can’t tell you.”
Frustration crashes over me.
“No.” I shake my head even though she can’t see it. “You don’t get to tell me to run away from someone and then refuse to explain why.”
“I don’t have to explain organized crime to you of all people, Emma, unless the real reason they made you leave is because you didn’t actually learn anything.”
Without meaning to, I raise my voice. Now the shop owner is at the end of the aisle, asking Frank a quiet question, her eyes on me. “I know exactly who he is, Matty. I knew the moment I decided to stay in California with him, to travel with him—”
“Do you?” Her voice rises. “Then you know you’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I don’t have to.”
“I do.”
“You’ve known him for a month! And you let him knock you up?”
“Don’t. You always think I’m reckless.”
“Because you are.”
“I left the FBI because it wasn’t right for me.”
“You threw away your career.”
“I survived.”
“You keep making impulsive decisions.”
I laugh bitterly. “And you’ve never made one?” Even as I throw the question out, I’m not quite sure she has. Matty lives by the book; always has.
“I think before I act.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re so unhappy.”
The silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. For a moment, I wonder if I ruined something—really ruined it. Irreparably this time. I’ve never talked back, fought back, like this before.
“Emma...” Matty’s voice softens. “You’ve always thought Mom and Dad loved me more.”
I swallow hard.
“They do.”
“They don’t. They’re proud of you.”
I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “No. They’re disappointed. They never call me, Matty. I know you want me to think they care, but they don’t.”
When she doesn’t have anything to say to that, I continue: “They never had to worry about you. You became a lawyer.”
“I worked hard.”
“I know you did.”
“You worked hard, too.”
“But I always needed fixing.” Emotion thickens my voice. “I was always the daughter who couldn’t quite get it right.”
“That’s not true.” There’s a desperate edge to her voice, and all of a sudden the weight of the phone feels like too much. I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t want to face the fact that I’ve felt alone my whole life—
Until recently.
Finally, Matty whispers, “Please come home.”
I close my eyes. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
Because I love him.
Because I’m carrying his child.
Because somewhere in the mountains behind me is the first place that has felt like home in years.
“I’ve made my choice. You can tell Mom and Dad I’m fine. I’ll reach out when I have time.” The words surprise even me with how certain they sound, even though there’s obviously a bitterness to them.
“Emma...”
“I have to go.”
“Please don’t hang up. Are you sure about—”
I end the call. The screen goes black, and for several long seconds, I simply stand there, staring at my own reflection.
Somewhere during that conversation, something shifted. Not because Matty warned me away from Rus; although that fact is lodged like a thorn under my skin. My corporate lawyer sister should not know anything about the Bratva.
But it’s the fact that I’m not willing to walk away from this that sticks with me. That even in the face of my family’s criticism, I’m still choosing Rus—still choosing this child.
A pair of polished shoes stops beside me. I don’t look up even when Frank gently takes the phone from my hands and slips it into his coat pocket. Without saying a word, he opens his arms.
The gesture is so unexpectedly paternal that my composure finally breaks.
I step into the hug and try to ignore the hot pulse of tears behind my eyelids as he wraps me tight against his chest. One hand rests lightly against the back of my head.
“You all right?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head, throat feeling too thick to answer.
“I didn’t think so.”
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then Frank smiles sadly into my hair.
“For what it’s worth,” he murmurs, “I think you’ve finally stopped running.”
I close my eyes. He’s right, but it doesn’t break my heart any less.