Page 47 of Devil's Vows

“That’s good,” I say, somewhat relieved. If Mother Lucia spilled the beans about my American brothers, all roads could lead to Stephano and the Trapanis. I already hate myself for it. “What about church news? I mean, is there anything more like what happened to Mother Lucia?”

For what feels like an eternal beat, Dominic is quiet. “Why are you asking,cara? Wasn’t what happened bad enough?”

I close my eyes. I’m still digesting, keeping up a massive front. “Yes, but our community…we were all sisters, and if the perpetrators are caught, or if they are still at liberty to carry on?—”

“There’s been nothing more,cara. No more murders. The latest news is that they’ve apprehended two men, refugees, who seem to have been involved.”

My stomach fists. More innocent people who will pay the price for me. “I see. That’s great news. Thank you.”

We touch on a few more things while I try my best to hide my inner turmoil, but when Katya tugs at my hand, I have the perfect excuse to cut the call.

“I’ve got to go, Nicky. The girls need me, and I’m trying to contain the mess.”

He gives a dry chuckle. “We’ll chat again later. Let us know?—”

“Yes, I will. Thank you. Bye.”

As I hand Yuri his phone back, I couldn’t be more grateful. His one eye burned into my back the whole duration of the call, watching me.

“Oh, sweetheart,” I say, pinching the wet page between two fingers to take it from her.

“I messed it up,” Katya whimpers, tears shallow in her voice.

“No, you haven’t, sweetie. This is perfect.” I glance up at Yuri where he stands close by. I might have spoken in Italian with Dominic, but Yuri’s read my body language like a book. I’ll have to keep my wits about me around this man or he’ll be on to me.

I force my attention to Katya’s art. Many prints of messy blue and green hands, but the last one is a violent red, blotchy and thick where she planted her palm on the page and dragged her fingers along, making a child-sized hand stain that looks like blood dragged to the last corner of pure white on the paper.

My stomach turns. It looks like a premonition.

24

GABI

I don’t have time to think much of premonitions. Time slips away as Ivan’s one night away turns into three. My prayers have been answered. My temptation is at work, and so am I.

It doesn’t take much to get into a routine with the girls. I do my best to keep them busy and distracted so they don’t miss their dad. With the massive grounds, there’s a lot to do and explore, and anything I want for the girls is just a call away, what with Kostya always on standby to go shopping on my behalf.

Yuri delegates, watches, observes. He’s slowly relaxing around me being with the girls, even giving me free rein when we’re outside, but I twist ever tighter in fear of exposing myself to him in some way. My latest worry adding to my pile is that this old Russian somehow knowsmydecrepit Russian. They are in the same age bracket and the world is a small place.

It helps that Ivan phones every morning and evening to check in on us. He first talks to the girls, but it’s a quick and fruitless conversation. He needs to be here, and I can sense he misses them. When it’s my turn, he makes sure I’m fine and that I’ve spoken to at least one of my brothers that day.

After my last conversation with Dominic, I’ve been dreading more bad news, but speaking with Ivan makes me…happy? Lately, there’s been a smile in his voice, small jokes when I tell him something about his daughters, and it hits different—deeper. I’m helping here, I’m good for the girls, some stability after some unknown disconnect in the family. I can’t look too far into the future, but I can’t be here forever, either. While I’m here, though, I’ll make it count.

It’s midmorning and we’ve already had our morning call, but Yuri is handing me his phone again. “Pakhan, for you. Again.”

This is not to our schedule. Something must be amiss.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I answer.

“I’ll be home for dinner tonight,” Ivan says. “Do you think you can manage to put something together for us?”

My heart leaps in my chest.

Dinner. Tonight. Him. Home.

The visual of Ivan, in only a towel, still glowing with the heat of the shower, water droplets running down a masculine chest just begging to be lapped up by my tongue, invades my mind.

There can be no repeat of that night.