Page 13 of Lovely Venom

A shudder snakes down my spine.

The truth.

The envelope.

The letter from Mom that I never opened. Was I supposed to contact someone? Find someone?

I peek at this guy through my lashes. Or did that someone just find me?

Fuck.

Pulse ticking up, I force a bored expression to throw him off. “What truth? What the hell are you talking about?”

He pulls out a 4x6 worn matte photo with rounded edges and slides it across the table. I keep my eyes on him, waiting a few beats to pick it up. A woman in her early twenties with mouse-brown hair, tired eyes, and chaffed hands sits on a park bench and holds up a smiling toddler.

My mother and me.

A slow, creeping dread slithers through my gut. “Where did you get this?”

Valdrin Sokolov eyes me with steady scrutiny. “Your mother kept you hidden from us.”

Us.The word sends ice down my spine. Who in the hell is us? By the look of that spiderweb scar on his arm, he’s associated with people I try to put in jail.

Great.

“A nurse who works for us spotted her in Madison Hill Hospital during one of her treatments. I paid her a visit a week before her death.” Valdrin sits back.

Feeling like I want to vomit, I utter, “Did you threaten a dying woman?”

He leans forward. “I’vekilledmany people. But aggravating a sick woman on her deathbed is not something I need on my conscience. I needed to know if she was indeed the woman who disappeared with our princess.”

“Wait.” I must not have heard right. Any of it. “What?”

“There is much to explain.” He glances around.

“That was a year ago. Why did you wait?”

“She promised to tell you about us. I’ve been waiting for you.”

The letter I never read.Christ.

“I, I didn’t know.” I lower my head. “Why are you here now?”

“I worked for your father. Levin Berisha was no ordinary man, Raina. He waskyreof the Albanian Brotherhood. The reason your mother hid you.”

Myfather? The unanswered question I’ve asked my mother over and over. Two minutes into meeting this stranger, he tells me what I’ve wanted to know my whole life.

The Albanian Brotherhood is a fairly new mafia syndicate in the New York area, but my knowledge of them is limited.

Jesus Christ, it figures. And explains a lot about all these crazy, reckless instincts I fight every day.

No ordinary man.

No shit, if my father was the head of the Albanian fucking mafia.

Holy fuck, the long-lost princess fantasy is materializing before my eyes. For a moment, I worry this is a fever dream. Was I shot?

Shaking that away, I say, “Youworkedfor him? Hewasno ordinary man?”