“Is it anything I can help with?”
I have to remember that the last time we talked, she had accused me of being in love with her son. Thefact that she may be right about it seems inconsequential at this moment.
She purses her lips and nods like she knows I’m full of s**t. Her eyes shift upward to a portrait of theVorobevs hanging over the fireplace. Vitaly, Nikita, Isaak, Bogdan. They all have the same hard glintto their eyes, the same cruel angle in their jaws.
“He was never an easy man to be around,” she says unexpectedly. “I understand that better thananyone.”
“He’s your son. It’s different.”
“I wasn’t talking about Isaak,” Nikita clarifies. “I was talking about my husband.”
“You mean the abusive monster you were married to.”
She arches one eyebrow. It’s one part l
