Kostya: A Dark Mafia Romance (Zinon Bratva) by Nicole Fox (my reading book .TXT) 📕

“One of us had to.” She can argue all she wants, but nothing she says is going to change the fact that she bailed on us. Both of us. Maybe now isn’t the time to rehash all of it, but I’m so close to the edge of collapse, I have to keep the fight fresh or there’s no way I’m surviving this day.

“Why? She’s the mother, Char. She’s supposed to be happy when we spread our wings and fly.”

“Flying is one thing, but you took a freaking rocket ship out of here. You left and then pretended she didn’t exist anymore.” No way can she deny that. It’s the truth, straight-up and objective.

“It isn’t like that, Char.”

She smiles a half smile and pulls her lower lip between her teeth. Her happiness is a stab in my gut. The least she could do is have the courtesy to be even one-tenth as miserable as her leaving made me. But no, she looks honest-to-God happy.

“Dave came along at a time when things with Mom were crazy. Being with him was the only time I had any peace. And he made—he makes me happy. I have a normal life. No shocking tantrums of craziness except my own.”

“I’m happy for you.” I scowl. Maybe I would be if she’d bothered to at least call me. To help out with Mom, even if it was only once in a blue moon. But even that was too much for my darling sister, apparently.

“I can’t go back to dealing with her tantrums and her narcissism or her whining when things don’t go her way. I have kids who do enough of that.”

Kids? I’m an aunt? “You have kids?” It’s surprising enough to me, and if Lila thinks Mom’s just going to let her disappear again once she finds out there are grandbabies out there, she’s so wrong.

Lila wiggles her phone from her pocket and opens her photo app. After a couple swipes, she hands it to me and points to an older girl—a darling brunette—sitting with two much younger girls, both Lila lookalikes with blonde hair and big, bright blue eyes. “Ally, Maddie, and Loralei,” she says proudly. In the background of the picture, I catch a glimpse of Stanford University’s sign. The campus is beautiful; Lila probably took the girls there to play in the fountains.

But … Stanford as in Stanford University, preeminent institution of higher learning located … less than a day’s drive away from here?

“You still live in California and never even called me?”

The news hurts worse than I might’ve expected. She was here this whole time. When I needed her, when I hated her, she was never quite that far away. It hurts. Bad.

But since there’s so much to process—Lila’s home; I’m fired; I have nieces I’ve never met; I’ve lost Kostya and Tiana; Lila’s been close all this time—I don’t concentrate on any of it. There’s going to be plenty of time to sort through it later. For now, I choose numbness.

“I wanted to call you a thousand times.” She glances at my death grip on her phone. “I just didn’t want you to have to lie to Mom.”

More like she probably thought I wouldn’t be able to lie to our mother. I can’t fault her on that one. I’m not a very good liar.

I don’t have an ounce of fight left in me. “I’m glad you’re here now,” I sigh, sagging in my seat.

We hug because she’s my sister, and no matter how angry I am at her, I’ve missed her. When we break apart, she drives the last blocks to Mom’s and pulls up in front before she turns to me again. “At least tell me she’s doing better.”

I stare at the house and try to see it the way Lila does. The outside is normal—stucco with a Spanish tile roof and a couple cacti plants on each side of the door. Looks like every other house on the street. Nothing ominous that would tell the neighbors the stories that the walls inside could tell. Those walls could tell of so many bad memories—the yelling, the fights, the blame, the humiliation.

“She will be once she sees you.”

I pop open the door and wait for Lila to do the same, but she’s still sitting behind the wheel, breathing one slow, deep breath after another, probably wishing she’d never taken Kostya’s call.

“One dinner, Char. Then I’m going home.” Her stomach rumbles and I have hope. Maybe Mom can concentrate on cooking for Lila, on being happy that she’s here, and not devolve into someone who only wants us to note the pain she suffered at Lila’s “betrayal” of our family. I certainly don’t want to end up being forced to take sides.

I walk into the house first because Lila needs the luxury of another minute, but I need to pee and my bladder waits for no dramatic entrance. “What are you doing here?” Mom’s voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard and I flinch as I pass her. She’s angry at me over Kostya and the last thing I really want is to listen to her “I told you so,” but she was right, even if she’s the catalyst that brought on my job loss, the implosion of my love life, and the fact I might end taking a long walk off a short pier, wearing concrete shoes to boot.

“Was in the neighborhood, brought you something, have to pee. Take your pick.”

Mom, being herself, follows me down the hall then stands outside the door. “I didn’t cook.”

“We can get something delivered.” Not that I care right now.

“I don’t know if I want to share my table with you.” She wants me to apologize for yelling at her. Just this once, I’m almost certain she’s going to let it go. But I’ve been wrong before about her moods and her capacity for forgiveness so I’m not exactly dancing a jig. “Are you going to answer me?”

“Did