Page 109 of Ruthless Rustanovs

However the pawn broker had told her no deal as soon as she called him up. “Sorry, sweet thing. Can’t sell it back to you.”

“But you said I had three days to change my mind!”

“Sure you did,” he answered. “But I didn’t say it would still be here if you decided you wanted it back, now did I? A private buyer came through. Ring’s all his now.”

Thel’s stomach froze with dread. “What do you mean a private buyer came through? Was he…?” Thel found herself lowering her voice to say the next part. “Was he Russian?”

“Beats me. It was somebody from one of them big auction houses. Called me up about ten minutes after I threw a pic of the piece online. Them guys move fast when they see something they want.”

“Did…did he ask about me?”

“Nah, just looked it over, made some verifications, paid, and left. It was a real simple transaction.”

Yeah, she bet it was. And the weasel had probably made a pretty profit off her ring.

She inwardly cursed as she hung up on the broker.

“You see, my little siren, this is why we Rustanovs do not ever make business with the ticks,” Bair had told her once as he guided her away from a woman selling baubles in an open air market they were visiting during a day trip to Munich.

According to Bair, she’d been trying to charge his siren a lot more than the bracelet was worth.

“The ticks?” she’d repeated with a laugh, looping an arm around his thick waist as they walked away.

“Da, the people who live only if they can suck the blood of others. Never do business with them, Siren. This is good advice I give you. You will take it, da?”

Nyet. And damn, that had been a mistake. She knew she should have trusted her instincts when it came to the slimy broker. But they’d been in such a rush…

“Psst!”

Thel rubbed her eyes, trying to ignore Marian’s voice hissing at her from the front door of their house.

But her mother was as insistent as a boy hanging out on the street corner. “Psst! Psst, oldest daughter. You hear me!” her mother said with a cackle.

Thel dropped her head, giving her chin a little rest before turning to look at her tall and overly thin mother.

Marian was dressed like something out of an old Kipling novel in hiking shorts, a worn UNC t-shirt, and a safari hat she’d gotten from God knew where. Striking a heroic pose, she announced, “Trevor and I had a nice walk, and now he’s out playing with The Well Girls.”

“Okay, Mama,” Thel answered, voice flat as melted-down sweet tea. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” Marian answered, walking over to the front room’s far left wall, which like all the walls in the house, save for the ones in the room Thel shared with Willa, was completely covered in books.

Their entire home basically served as a shelf for Marian’s treasure trove of books.

Many of them leather bound and/or first editions she’d come by with money that wasn’t hers.

Thel thought back with real bitterness on the money Marian had recently drained out of her and Willa’s savings account in order to buy some obscure book that she’d then given away to Lord knew who. Over ten thousand dollars, literally gone in a matter of seconds.

And Thel couldn’t even be mad because this was her mother they were talking about. She’d long ago gotten used to money simply disappearing for strange literary reasons or “because the spirits asked me to.” The former nurse hadn’t earned the nickname “The Crazy Librarian” for nothing.

“So much sturm und drang with that Grant boy today—that’s a humorous reference to you and Willa’s rather fantastical time in Germany, dear,” Marian informed her, chuckling at her own joke as she trailed a finger along the row of books, looking for a specific one.

“But seriously, poor Willa and Trevvie—and I’m afraid they still have a lot more drama to come. ”

“I guess so,” Thel answered, not really knowing what else to say about the situation between Willa and Sawyer. Florence was chewing on her chest again, practically begging for Thel to take over the verse.

“One story at a time,” Marian said, her voice rather thoughtful. “That’s what I always say, and you really don’t want too much drama descending all at once, do you, dear?”

Thel looked at her mother, shaking her head, barely able to comprehend her over the song looping in her head.

Marian, however, continued on as if her words made complete sense. “Too much drama all at once makes for a rather convoluted storyline, don’t you think?”

“I guess…” Thel said again, still confused.

The more her mother talked, the louder the song got.

Marian came over to her with a hardcover novel in her hands. “Sadly there’s not much in our library that fits your situation, but this ought to do for your bus trip, and it’s one of my favorites from the seventies…”

She handed Thel the hardback, and her heart filled with horror when she saw the front cover with its iconic typography and the line drawing of a hand manipulating an unseen marionette. The Godfather by Mario Puzo.

“Now be careful with this, dear,” she somehow heard her mother say over the song raging in her head. “It’s a first edition.”