Page 103 of City Of Thieves

Pausing on the sidewalk to watch them cross the road, it strikes me how every life is like a painting. We all have imperfect layers and chipped frames. Some of us are discarded, and so many of us are damaged…

But, in the end, it’s our scars and flaws that make us the real masterpieces.

Epilogue

Tatiana

One Year Later...

“Apple.”

“Spinach.”

“Seakale.”

“Seakale?” Anastasia starts giggling, her delight so infectious that even Renzo’s lips are twitching. “What’sthat?” She scrunches up her eyes at him. “You made it up.”

“I did not,” he says, sounding affronted. “It’s a green vegetable. Ask your mom.” He swings his gaze across the terrace to me for back-up.

I shrug, refusing to confirm or deny, as I make my way over to the table beneath the old wooden pergola that’s drenched in vines. When your heart is divided and overflowing on both sides, I’ve learned it’s best to stay neutral for these kinds of discussions. There are two photos in my locket now, and I love both equally.

His eyes narrow for a fraction of a second, and I know exactly what my punishment will be later.

Bring it on.

Power and choice are so intertwined with our fucking, it’s hard to imagine anything else. We push each other to the limit, filling our spaces with crossed lines and smashed boundaries, and he always comes as hard as I do.

“You lost,vita mia,” he says, bringing his palm down on the table to confirm his victory. “You know the penalty for that.”

“I’m not sure she understands the rudiments of drinking games yet,” I whisper, stopping behind his chair to wrap my arms around his shoulders as Anastasia pouts into the fruit smoothie in front of her, prodding at it like it’s a dead snake.

I hide my smile in my husband’s shoulder as she drops her head, letting her dark hair flop over her eyes on purpose to hide the glass from view.

Slipping away from Renzo, I feel his fingers trail across my ass as I navigate the table to reach our daughter. “Come on, you.” I crouch down next to her and stick my tongue out to make her laugh. “We made a deal, remember?”

But she gives me the sad face back, the one that makes me want to squeeze it all away.

She’s made amazing progress after switching her first language from Russian to English. She’s practically fluent already. To keep her confidence up, we’ve been playing these kinds of word games the whole time on vacation in Italy. If she doesn’t think of an answer quick enough, she loses a round and has to drink her smoothie.

If Renzo loses, he drinks from a bottle of whiskey.

Up until now, I swear he’s been losing on purpose.

With a huff, she finally relents, taking the smallest of sips that leaves a faint rim of pink on her upper lip.

“Good girl,” I say, swiping it away. “Maybe we can have somegelatolater.”

The grin she gives me makes me want to do very bad,very grateful, things to the man sitting opposite us for risking everything to keep a promise.

“Next round,” Renzo says, glancing at his phone as it lights up with a message. “Pick another color,vita mia.”

“Orange,” she says.

“Easy.” He slides the device to him and glances down at it before deadpanning, “Blackberries.”

“Blackberries!?” She gasps in disbelief. “Silly, Daddy.”

He winks at her as he rises from his seat to attend to New Jersey business.