Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
People swarm through our newly rebuilt residence, risen over the ashes of the old one like a phoenix. It is a home Eva and I planned together, with the library at its center. Except today, bright yellow has taken over what is usually decorated in soft grays and creams with dark wood accents.
Bright yellow streamers, cheery decorations, and balloon arches festoon the kitchen and terrace. Bright yellow ducks of different sizes bob up and down in the pool, and yellow balloons twist on the lawn in the breeze, the ocean shimmering beyond. A stack of multicolored presents towers beside one of the outdoor couches, and various children’s games litter the shaded spots.
The chaos is enough to send me fleeing to the shelter of my office as we wait for the party to begin. It’s nearly a copy of my old one, down to the color on the walls and dark wood. Except now my desk and my wall are covered in picture frames, containing all sorts of pictures of Eva, pictures of Eva and the twins, pictures of the twins by themselves, and pictures of Eva, the twins, Marco, and Katie.
My family.
The family I never once dreamed of, expected, or even thought I deserved. Even now, there are moments I half believe I’ve been living a dream, and I’m afraid I will wake and find it all gone. That is why I hung the pictures. They keep me grounded in reality.
Then there are moments when I am in such fear of losing the three most important people in my life that my chest is tight. In those moments, I find myself seeking refuge in the beast Eva first met, becoming obsessive about protecting them until Eva pulls me back to her light.
I would never admit it to anyone, but Vasya’s betrayal still haunts me after all this time. The man with whom I grew up, who had been my only friend for so long, had stood by my side while secretly despising me and then tried to destroy my life. He nearly took Eva from me in the process. The worst part was I never knew. All my well-honed instincts had failed me, and danger had come from right beside me.
And now he is dead and buried, and I will never get a chance to ask him why. I understand revenge for his family, of course I do. But I don’t know if I will ever understand brotherly affection becoming seething hatred. Hatred enough to kill.
A knock on the door pulls me back into reality. “Come in.”
Dmitri peeks around the corner, and a grin splits his face. “Is this where you’re hiding?”
I make a noncommittal noise in my throat, returning to the reports on my desk that have taken a back seat to the twins’ first birthday weekend.
My second-in-command closes the door behind him and drops into the chair opposite me at the desk with a sigh. “And I thought Bratva business was difficult to sift through. Most vory couldn’t handle a kids’ birthday party.”
Another noncommittal noise tells him I agree, just not how much. This is Eva’s turf, not mine.
Eva continues to amaze me every day with her brilliance, the way she loves the twins and me, the way she navigates the world around her and shapes it to her liking.
My wife has also settled admirably into her roles in my very different businesses. She shines when she is on my arm at some high-end function, the light to my dark, the one to whom everyone gravitates.
“Here. I brought you something.” Dmitri pushes an old, dented shoebox across my desk to me.
“The gifts are for Jordan and Eliana today, not me.”
He doesn’t laugh at my halfhearted attempt at a joke, only shrugs and settles back to wait for me to go through the box.
I open the top and stare at the contents before anything inside makes sense. My gaze flicks up to Dmitri. “Is this?”
“I found a key to a safe deposit box when we were cleaning out Vasya’s stuff. There were a few things inside, including this.”
To anyone else, the contents of the old Air Jordan shoebox wouldn’t seem worth protecting in a bank vault. To me, it contains the remnants of our childhood together, like a baseball from the first time Ivan took us to a Dodgers game, his mother’s rosary and another necklace with a pointed star and diamonds, a box office ticket from our favorite movie when we were teenagers, along with a few other odds and ends.
A folded piece of paper flutters out as I lift a creased and worn Russian-English translation book.
“What’s this?” I ask Dmitri, who shrugs again. But there’s a light in his eye as he watches me unfold the sheet to see it littered with Vasya’s messy Cyrillic letters:
Evgeny,
Forgive me. I wish every day that Maslov hadn’t told me what he had before he died, that he hadn’t given me the letter from my father telling me I have a duty to fulfill.