Ghost (Boston Underworld #3) - A. Zavarelli Page 0,10

a spoonful of Borscht and bide my time. I am running out of reasons to give him.

“What is holding you back?” he asks. “You are thirty-five this year. Do you not believe it is far past time to start a family?”

“It is,” I agree. “I want that very much.”

“And yet, you hesitate,” Viktor argues. “I’m starting to believe you have doubts.”

The waiter comes and clears our bowls, and Viktor leans forward to study me.

“Does this have anything to do with your father?”

“It has nothing to do with him,” I counter. My voice betrays the indignation I always feel at the mention of Sergei, but a man like Viktor doesn’t heed warnings from anyone.

“You have never believed you were adequate, Lyoshenka. You must let these fears go. Katya will make a good wife for you. She is already aware of your condition. And she accepts it. She will be loyal. In that, she has no choice.”

Only, she isn’t loyal. She is a liar and a whore. One who seeks a high ranking husband but prefers to sample all of his Vory brethren behind his back. But I do not tell Viktor that. Instead, I only nod.

He sighs and leans back in his chair, requesting another drink. The waiter promptly fills it up and leaves us to our conversation.

“What of this slave?” he asks. “You plan to keep her in America until Arman comes through?”

His words stir to life the mental image of the girl. Talia. It is the same image I have thought of many times since I met her only last night. She is more damaged than even I had foresaw. Franco was right. I have been over every detail of her life. Of her photos. But meeting her in person… seeing her in those conditions… I was not prepared.

She is skin and bones. A tangled mess of blonde hair and a gaunt, lifeless face. Those empty gray eyes were a painful reminder of someone else. Another ghost. One that haunts me often. And already, Talia is provoking memories I have no desire to revisit. I have questioned my strategy a thousand times over since the night before. And yet, even now, I am anxious to retrieve her and bring her to my home. To carry through on my plans before I can doubt it further.

“Yes,” I tell Viktor. “She will stay at my home.”

“At your home?” he questions.

“Magda will care for her,” I explain.

He does not challenge my judgment any further, and I am glad. But he does observe my obvious discomfort.

“You seem… impatient,” he remarks.

“Only to get home,” I answer.

He nods. “Ah, yes. Well that makes two of us. We will give Arman one week to come through. And if he does not, then we will move forward. And we can both get back to our sanctuaries.”

“Agreed,” I tell him.

I already know that Arman will not come through. Because I have designed it that way. And yet when Viktor holds up his glass to toast, the traitor inside of me toasts him back.

4

Talia

Arman announces that he will be away on business. It’s a rare break for me, and I should feel relief. But I never feel anything. My world has returned to normal. White noise. A dissociative static. Numbness blankets me, and I try to forget that I’ve only just started counting my pills again. There are too many days yet to replenish my stash.

I have this plan. It is the only thing I have. The only motivation that breathes life into me from one day to the next. I will be the one to set myself free. It will be my choice. Time does not matter. Time does not even exist in this place. Or in my heart. Only the light in the distance. The angels waiting for me on the other side.

I’ve built a wall of invisible armor around myself. And it works almost all of the time. There is no warmth, no fear, no pleasure. Not even in the smallest thing. But I do still experience sorrow on occasion, so deep and violent that it feels as if I am an endless chasm of despair. And anxiety. I experience that too from time to time. There is only one cure for someone like me. I accepted this truth long ago. But it’s a hard concept to explain to anyone else. Feeling numb, yet sad and anxious at the same time. They are three conflicting emotions, and by definition, I shouldn’t be able to feel them