Page 80 of Maksim

But her eyes… Her soft, caramel eyes pleaded with me, opening up a door she’s never let me through before. This matters to her in a way I could never understand. When I left Russia, I had no plans to see my father again. No desire to make the effort. He did not love me, and that was something I accepted before the plane touched the ground.

Elira is a little behind.

But we’ve been here before. I’ve already crushed her by pointing out her unrequited love. If this is what she wants, what she really wants…

Well, we’re sitting on a plane bound for Chicago, aren’t we?

She’s quiet the entire plane ride, but when we descend, I can feel her nerves. Her palms flatten on her knees, subtly patting away sweat.

I check my phone, unsurprised to see Anya hasn’t returned any of my calls. The tracking app shows she’s actually at school.

I type out a message.

Just landed. Should be back tomorrow morning. I love you.

Within seconds, it’s marked as read, but I don’t expect a reply. I’m about to put my phone away when it dings.

Can you bring back Piggly Pie?

In the middle of a busy airport, I’m so caught off guard that I freeze to reread the reply.

Finally, after a week, she speaks to me.

Piggly Pie. I’d all but forgotten about the little bakery around the corner from the one-bedroom, roach infested slump we lived in when we first left the farm. It was a time I only remember as miserable and terrifying, dragging around a three-year-old, trying to find work, sorting through the dark web and black market, anyone who could get me paperwork I’d never had to have.

Every night, I would stare out the window of our apartment we had sublet with a handgun behind my back and Anya in my arms, tensing every time I heard footsteps pass our door. I was eighteen, just a kid back then. It would take a year of petty crime as a way to survive before I’d be introduced to the Bratva. First as an associate, then as a soldier in Chicago before meeting Hugh and transferring to Vegas. Then finally, under Nikita’s father, I became a lieutenant. If I’d known a man like Nikita would become Pakhan, I would’ve gladly stayed in Chicago, tainted memories or not.

That’s all I thought the place was for me. Tainted. Struggle. Suffering. Those pastries Anya’s talking about were pulled from the trash cans, I’m ashamed to admit. The owner used to throw away stale scones at the end of the day, and every morning, Anya would have one for breakfast.

Eventually, I was caught, with Anya in tow to make things worse. Instead of shooing us away, the woman smiled kindly and left the boxes on the curb the next day. And the next.

When I made enough money for us to move from the apartment, Anya still wanted her scones, so every Sunday, we stopped in for one, my head hung in shame, the woman smiling kindly.

Now when I think of it, I smile and send a reply.

Okay.

“Maksim?” Elira calls, sounding nervous, probably because people are getting irritated.

Thanks… Love you too.

I stare at my phone another second before putting it away and continuing through the airport.

Elira

I wonder what happens if you puke in a rental car.

Do you have to pay extra? Can they tell? Does it leave a smell?

I’ve never owned a car, but last year Bora got sick all over her bedspread, and it took multiple washes to get the smell out.

Glancing at the controls on the door, I press and pull on one until the window lowers, but the clean air doesn’t quell my nausea. If anything, it worsens it.

It smells like flowers and money. We left the busy city my father used to describe to me a while ago. Now we’re surrounded by towering houses with pristine lawns and long driveways to park SUVs I once heard dubbed, “mommy cars.”

Maksim says he found my father’s address, but there’s no way he got it right because the car is slowing, and the line on the GPS is shrinking.

“This is it?” I ask. “This is the neighborhood?”