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. Loudbangsstill 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.
10
SONYA
“You’re going to be okay.”
As I walk home, dodging people on the busy sidewalk, all I can hear on the other end of the line is quiet sobbing.
“I need you to go to the address I gave you, taking only what you need and can pack in ten minutes. It’s a shelter; they know you’re coming and they also know you’re my client. There will be a debit card and a burner phone waiting for you so you have some money and you can contact me.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“I know you can,” I tell the woman on the other end of the phone. “This is going to be the hardest thing you do in your life, but I know you can do it. I’m here to support you. Call my number whenever you need to. But you have to get out—now. You will be okay.”
I hear a choked sob then a sharp exhale as my client tries to pull herself together while facing terrible odds. I’ve heard and seen it all many times before, but I have yet to detach myself from it. I hope I never do—no matter how much it hurts to know what myclients have been through, what I feel for them is what drives me forward, what gives me my motivation.
“Okay.” It’s a single word, but it’s the one I’m waiting to hear.
“Tell me where he is right now.”
“At the bar.”