Silence greets me with brutal familiarity. Some days, I have trouble recalling that shit-eating smile of his.
“I might be a father now,” I continue. “Esme will be past nine months at this point. She’s most certainly had the baby.” I run a hand through my hair. “And I don’t even know if I have a son or a daughter.”
I can hear the anguish in my own words. Like seeing my reflection for the first time in months.
The mutt moves closer and butts my hand with his head. Without thinking, I start stroking his head.
He looks at me with shocked eyes. I realize this is the first time I’ve interacted with him in any real way.
“Aracelia is a crazy bitch. But she thinks I need to find Esme,” I muse. “Ending Budimir is more important, though. Isn’t it? If you were here, you’d know what to do.”
A wind rustles through the trees. I’d like to believe it’s a sign, but I know it’s not. It’s just wind.
There are no signs. Only fools stupid enough to look for them.
“Maybe you’d tell me to forget the Bratva and go find Esme,” I guess bitterly. “Maybe you’d tell me to take back the Bratva and then go in search of Esme.”
But I can only guess.
I remember the time he’d told me about the girl he’d left behind in Ireland.
The girl he’d sacrificed everything for.
Would he give it all up to be with her?
It kills me that I don’t have the answer.
The mutt settles down next to me and places his head on my knee. I rest my hand on his head and take a deep breath.
“It’s time to be honest with myself,” I say out loud. Like I’m testing the possibility before I commit to it.
The mutt looks up at me. I feel the truth that I’ve been hiding behind all these months. The truth I’ve pushed back behind a rigorous training regimen, bottles of whiskey, and a lot of pent-up anger.
“I have to take back the Bratva,” I announce. “And I have to find Esme.”
It feels right. Both of them.
One can’t exist without the other.
The mutt looks at me with big clear eyes. Ignorant to what is to come. Thankfully, he won’t be around for any of it.
The wind fades away and silence takes over again.
I turn my attention to the creature next to me. “I know I’ve been an asshole since the moment we met,” I tell the dog. “But thanks for sticking around anyway.”
Fuck, I’m actually gonna miss the mangy fucker.
I pet his head slowly and then I get to my feet.
It’s time to stop planning.
It’s time to stop pretending.
It’s time to do what I was meant to do.
I have a mission, and I intend to see it through.
But first…
I need back up.
20
Esme
The first thing I’m aware of is a constellation of stars.
They blaze across my eyelids, illuminating the murky darkness that’s enshrouded me.
The second thing I’m aware of is the feeling of emptiness.
Not a raw, biting emotional emptiness, but a physical ache that makes me want to reach for something.
I’m missing something.
Or I’m not remembering something, because the more aware I become of new state of consciousness, the more I realize that something is not right.
Where am I?
Who’s with me?
What am I missing?
The questions keep tearing around in my head and I can’t seem to clear the fog long enough to answer them.
But I can see the answers on the periphery, right behind the confusion.
I hear a strange beeping sound. I feel something connected to my arm. An IV drip? But I can’t be sure. I could just be hallucinating.
After all… I’m at home in my bed, aren’t I?
And at any moment, Cesar’s going to walk through my door and pull me back to reality.
I try opening my eyes but they’re heavy and I don’t know why but a vague feeling of fear grips me.
Cesar…
Cesar?
There’s another name floating around in the ether, just out of my reach. I want to say it, its form etched on my lips, but for some reason I can’t quite grab at it. It feels too far away.
I shouldn’t worry so much. I’m just in bed at home like always. Sleeping in on a lazy Sunday, perhaps.
Maybe Tamara visited this weekend? That would make sense. She always manages to find liquor when she comes to stay with us. Sometimes, she convinces me to indulge with her.
I only do it when Papa is away.
But still… I don’t want to be caught. And Papa could come home at any minute.
I try and say Tamara’s name but I’m distracted by the sound of footsteps, the hush of voices carrying through to me as though from a distance. Perhaps from another room?
The maids never enter my bedroom when I’m in here. Certainly never when I’m sleeping.
But am I sleeping? This position feels a little foreign. And forced.
I sleep on my side with a pillow between my arms. So why am I on my back?
Then I hear a cry. A sharp wail that sends an electric bolt of realization straight through me, shocking me back to reality.
I am not a child anymore.
My home was destroyed months ago.
I don’t know where Tamara is.
Cesar is dead.
Artem is gone.
And my baby… my baby is…
Where is my baby?
The shock forces my eyes open but I have to squint against the bright light that assaults my irises. I struggle to sit up, reminding myself to breathe before a panic attack sets in.
I’ve been living on the edge of a panic attack for months now.
Once my vision starts getting clearer, I look around at the small, run-down hospital room I’m lying in. I don’t recognize it at all, but then again, why would I? I’ve never been here before.
This is not my city.
This is not my home.
I can see the profile of a nurse. Her hair is dirty
