Page 113 of Arranged Control

“Why the money?” I ask suddenly. I can’t help myself anymore. All my anger begins bubbling out, overwhelming my fear for Taras.

He looks over sharply, almost surprised that I’m still in the room. He squints at me for a moment, and I wonder if he’s thinking about lying. But in the end, he sits back in his chair with a tired wheeze and tilts his head to the side, old tongue licking his dry lips.

“It was a promise I made her a long time ago. Back when you were born. I swore I’d take care of her, but that wasn’t enough for your mother. She wanted an exact dollar amount. I’ve been putting her stipend into that account since the day you were born.”

I let out a soft laugh. “That’s almost sweet.”

“It was delusional.” His eyes roll back to Taras as he speaks. “I thought she might come back for a couple of years after she left. I hoped she’d get tired of living on the road, bouncing from place to place, taking assassin and spying work. I kept putting the money in the account, hoping she’d see that I’m true to my word. But the years kept passing, and even though it was obvious she was truly gone, I suppose hope never completely disappeared.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? You knew at the wedding, didn’t you?”

“I had guesses. I’d heard she was in town, and I knew the way she typically took care of her victims.”

“But you still had hope.”

“I don’t anymore.” He touches Taras.

“Stop it.” The words come out hard, far sharper and angrier than I meant, but I can’t stand watching him anymore.

He pulls back in surprise. “I’m trying to tell you the truth.”

“Too little and too late. You could’ve told us about the accounts a while ago. You could’ve mentioned the safe house.”

“I had no idea she’d stay there.”

“But you knew she could have. You’ve been maintaining it for a while, haven’t you?”

He glances away, maybe out of shame, I can’t be sure. “Hope is a brutal thing, Alina.”

“You’re disgusting. Youknew. She had money. She had a place to hide. Taras is nearly dead, and it’s your fault.”

“No.” His voice is small and he looks so old. “That’s not right.”

“You know what the doctors said. They did what they could, but Taras might not ever fully recover. That’ll be on your head.”

“When did you start talking to me like that, Alina?” He draws himself up. A flash of his old self shows through.

“Ever since I realized you failed us. You turned your back on your own family.”

“She wasn’t killing Russian,” he hisses at me before shrinking back, probably realizing what he just said.

I can’t help it. I laugh at him. “So it was fine because she was killing my husband’s family, right? You let it all go, even though they’re supposedly our allies.”

“What should I have done?”

“Told us everything.”

“The Whelans would’ve still blamed me.”

“They would’ve seen you for what you are, a pathetic, old, lovesick asshole, but at least you wouldn’t have been complicit. Instead, you kept your mouth shut, and you nearly lost your only son.”

He slumps back like I punched him in the face. I’m breathing hard and shaking. I’ve never spoken to my father like this before in my life.

All I’ve ever known is obedience. I was raised to be meek and good. I took refuge in schedules and organizing. Everything in its right place. That way, I’d be a good girl and make my family proud.

Now I don’t care about any of that.

Slowly, I push to my feet.