“Why would someone want to blow me up?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Why are you in a suit? Why do you have a wedding dress?”
“Even more complicated.”
“Where are we going?”
He brightens. “Oh, that’s simple. We’re going to my favorite diner.”
I study him, trying to figure out if he’s kidding, but I don’t think so. I’m too stunned and confused to press him until we’re pulling into the parking lot of an all-night Greek place set in the middle of a strip mall. The place is teal-and-white, greasy and messy, with faded advertisements on the walls that clearly haven’t been changed in decades. The waitress is an older black-haired woman who seems to recognize Gabe. We get a quiet booth in the back and she immediately brings two cups of coffee.
Gabe places the wedding dress on the seat beside him, almost like a third person at our strange little meeting.
I look at the cup and can’t bring myself to do anything. I feel sick and my ankle aches badly. Gabe’s voice is gentle as he nudges the coffee closer.
“Drink. It’ll help.”
“You know what’ll help even more?” I lift my eyes, trying hard not to break down in tears. Crying isn’t going to help much right now, but I watched my entire life get vaporized and my emotions aren’t exactly steady. “You can tell me what thefuckis going on.”
I never curse. Aunt Yelena always said it was an ugly habit, even though she had the mouth of a drunk sailor. But right now feels like an appropriate moment to break that rule.
Gabe drinks his coffee meaningfully. I break, take a sip, and smash the cup back down in the saucer. Some spills over the rim.
That seems to satisfy him.
“Five months ago, your father died. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”
I wait to feel something, but I don’t. My father really was a total stranger. I used to want to know him, but I outgrew that a while back, when it became clear that it’s probably better if I don’t.
Except a few things start to make sense.
“That’s when Aunt Yelena left."
“She’s in Russia. When your father died, his network started to collapse. I suspect she went back to find out what was happening.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes, but she’s in Moscow and she’s not able to talk. Things are very chaotic there at the moment.”
“Aunt Yelena’s in Moscow… but I don’t understand.”
“How much do you know about your family?”
I try to think back. Aunt Yelena didn’t talk about it much. The men showed up, they asked questions, they made sure I was being good, but past that? “Nothing really. I know my father was someone important. I think he was very dangerous. I wasn’t allowed to ask questions.”
“Probably for the best.” He sighs and settles back against the booth.
I reach out on impulse with a napkin and press it against his cheek. He seems surprised and catches my wrist shockingly fast. His grip is firm and strong, right on the edge of painful. His charm is gone in an instant and I catch sight of a predator lurking underneath that attractive exterior.
“Bleeding,” I say meekly, heart racing into my throat.
He lets me go and picks up his own napkin. “Thanks,” he mutters, dabbing it until he finds the wounds and cleans himself.
I drink more coffee, shaken, trying to process. My dangerous father is dead. Aunt Yelena is back in Moscow, apparently in serious trouble. And this man is here, trying to save my life from missiles and killer drones and Turkish arms dealers.
“How do I fit into all this? I never met my father. His men checked in on me and I guess Aunt Yelena was his sister?—“