Page 82 of Trust

But I won’t let go.

Anyone who comes between us will get to know my gloved fist.

FOURTEEN

MICAH

I stare at the aquarium in the living room as Ilya feeds the fish. They dart out of their hiding spots to get their food. I marvel all over again at how beautiful it is, so much more than a little bit of sand and a fake sunken ship.

Ilya steps back and smiles at me. “You like my fishes?”

“Very much,” I tell him, glancing at him with a smile of my own before looking back at the fish. I’m entranced by them. “I’ve never seen a real aquarium before. Just those cheesy little fish bowls with a goldfish or something.”

Ilya scowls at that. “Those are bad. Too small for goldfish. Goldfish need at least one hundred liters.” He stops. “Thirty gallons? I think.” He pulls out his phone and taps at it before he nods. “Yes. Thirty gallons. Goldfish grow big. Small tanks like that, they hurt fish. But goldfish is better in the pond.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say. “I’ve always seen them given out as prizes for fairs and things. I?—”

Ilya is glowering, and I eye him. It isn’t that I expect him to get violent or angry — I don’t — but I don’t want him to get upset with himself later on if he realizes he got too passionate about fish.

“I want to learn more,” I tell him instead, offering my hand to him. “Will you teach me?”

I know how to navigate angry men.

Ilya huffs and nods. “Of course.” He glances at his fish tank again. “I know most people don’t care about fish. But I like them. They are simple creatures, but delicate. It’s important to take good care of them.”

How can a man entrenched in organized crime be so caring about fish, of all things, that most people dismiss as worthless?

It doesn’t surprise me, somehow, that Ilya is as passionate about taking care of fish as he is about taking care ofme.

“I’ve never had a pet at all,” I tell him, stepping in close to him and encouraging him to wrap an arm around me. “Not furry ones, not ones with fins.” I smile up at him, though. “But these are so pretty.”

“Thank you.” Ilya points to one fish. “That’s a tetra fish. I bought ten of them, but now I have over thirty. If you give them a good home, they reproduce.”

I study the fish, which is silver with a red swipe along the side. “What other kinds do you have?” I ask. “How do you keep them all straight?”

Ilya lists off a bunch of names, some of them in Russian. There’s no way I’ll remember all that. At least not yet.

If I memorize all these fish, will he trust me more? Will he give me more information about his work that I can pass on to Adam?

My stomach twists.

I don’tlikethe idea of passing more information to Adam even though I should want to. I should want to make him happy, should want to help him get his promotion, but instead, I’ve found myself learning about a man who loves his aquarium offish.

I haven’t told Adam about Ilya’s past in Russia even though I think it would help him track down more details about him. It doesn’t feel right to spill the details of a story Ilya had told me in confidence.

Besides, Adam would dismiss the whole situation, like he dismisses the “bullshit domestics.”

I keep asking Ilya questions about the fish, which he answers with passionate authority. I think he knows as much about fish as I do about the cello or more.

Ilya stops talking and looks at me.

“Yes?” I prompt, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Do you want to go to an aquarium? The big one.” Ilya laughs. “There are two in New Bristol. The big one, which is good, and the small one, which should not be allowed.”

“You’d take me somewhere?” I blurt out, unable to hide my surprise. “In public?”

“Why not?” Ilya asks.