48. April

48

APRIL

In the end, I don't manage to ask. Not that night. Not any of the others that follow.

I keep telling myself I should find the right time. Catch him in a good mood, maximize my chances of success.

But Matvey's never in a good mood anymore.

When he comes home, he's as silent as the grave. If I try to coax him out of his shell with a joke, he'll only give me the ghost of a smile. A twitch of his lips at best, and then it's gone just as quickly as it came.

While we're eating, he doesn't look at me. He doesn't speak to me, doesn't ask about my day. Even after Dr. Allan's visits, I'm the one who volunteers the information. I've started to suspect he's got someone looking into her files just to avoid having to bring it up with me. Having to bring anything up with me.

Except at night.

"Couldn't sleep?" I yawn from my room's doorway.

Matvey's head turns to me. "Just getting some water."

"Any chance I can get some, too?"

It's a new routine of sorts. When the moon is high and we're both losing our battle with sleep, we'll meet here, in the kitchen. It's always well past midnight, and there's never a single light on.

But at least, while we're here, Matvey will look at me.

I don't know why the night's different. Maybe it's the dark that makes it easier. Maybe we're both just really thirsty. Either way, I've begun to look forward to these quiet, honest moments. With family dinners having turned into grim staring contests between us and our plates, it's the only chance I get to truly see him again.

"Thanks." I accept the full glass from his hands. "Is work giving you trouble?"

Matvey shrugs. "Something like that."

"The tough life of a Peking."

" Pakhan. "

"One day, I'll remember how to say that."

I can't be sure in the dark, but I think I glimpse a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "I'll believe it when I see it."

It makes my heart ache.

"Your work seems to be going well," Matvey comments. "A little too well, even."

"Oh, don't start growling now," I laugh. "I asked Elias for the extra load."

For once, Matvey doesn't press. Maybe a part of him is aware of the why . Maybe he'd rather keep the pretense alive.

Sounds like we've been doing that a lot lately: pretending .

"You like it," Matvey says in the end. "Sewing."

"I do, yeah," I reply. "It's the only thing I've ever known how to do. The only thing that's ever felt good."

"So you always wanted to be a tailor?"

"A designer." The word's out before I can stop myself. It seems to be another mystical power of these nights: stripping us bare. No disguises. No pretty little lies. "I love tailoring, don't get me wrong. But I always wanted to sew my own ideas. Even had a school lined up and everything."

"But you never went."

I nod. "But I never went."

"Was it about money?" Matvey asks after a moment.

I shake my head. "No. I mean, yes, but—it shouldn't have been. My grandma, she had savings. She was going to help me out. Then…"

Fortunately, Matvey doesn't make me finish that sentence. "I'm sorry, April."

I give him a grateful smile. "Yeah. Me, too."

Then I gather the strength to continue.

"What happened after was…" I hesitate. It's hard, putting certain things into words. All these ugly feelings. "All I ever wanted was to mourn, but my dad had other plans. He cleaned out the bank account, sold the house…"

"And you were left with nothing."

"Pretty much, yeah."

I curse myself for ruining our one moment together. For dragging bitterness into it. But now that I've opened the floodgates, they just won't close again. Not until everything's come rushing out. "The worst thing, to me, isn't even the money. It's that my grandma's will was ignored so blatantly. Everybody knew what she would've wanted—they just decided to pretend otherwise. It was the worst kind of betrayal."

Matvey nods gravely. "Blood should never betray blood."

"Mhmm. You've said that before."

I leave my question unspoken: Why? What happened to you? Who betrayed you so badly you couldn't ever forget?

I have an inkling of who that might be. After that talk with Yuri, and after seeing how Matvey reacts whenever a certain person is mentioned, it'd be hard not to guess.

But I still want him to tell me.

At first, I think he won't. That his answer will stay unspoken, too. The silence stretches for so long that, in the end, I almost lose hope. I get ready to stand up, to leave our little haven behind.

And then he speaks.

"When I was seven, my mother got sick."

I don't say anything to that. This moment feels fragile—like it could shatter with a single word out of place.

"Winters weren't like the ones here," he rasps. "You think Times Square at New Year's is cold? Try Karelian spring. It'll make January here feel like beach fucking weather."

"Is that where you're from?" I whisper. "Karelia?"

Matvey gives a curt nod. "Everybody dreaded the winter there. The coast was warmer, but we weren't on the coast. We were smack in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but snow for miles every which way."

It must've been terrible. I choke back the words. Matvey wouldn't want that: pity.

"I didn't dread it, though," he adds with a twitch of his lips. "Because she was there. My mother."

Unconsciously, I put a hand on my belly. Matvey doesn't miss the motion. "What was she like?" I ask.

"Warm."

He doesn't say it, but I try to picture it: Matvey and his mom, huddled up in front of a flickering fireplace. Finding strength in each other to get through the night.

I wonder if that's why night's easier for him. If the memories are good enough to sweeten it, even now.

"It sounds like she truly cared about you."

"She did." Then his face darkens. "She was the only one."

Here we are , I tell myself. "So your father…?"

"My father was a scumbag," he growls. "Always disappearing to God knows where. For days on end, he wouldn't show. My mother used to wait up for him all night. It was freezing cold, but she refused to go to bed. Then he'd come back with an excuse and everything would be forgiven. But every time that happened, she grew paler."

I can't even begin to imagine how that must've felt. My parents gave up on each other right away. But if one of them had made the other suffer like this…? I'd have carried that with me for the rest of my life.

"One night, she passed out. She was feverish in the morning. I did what I could, but I wasn't really any help."

I reach for his hand. "You were just a kid," I murmur. "You couldn't have done anything."

"I should've," Matvey snarls. His face twists into something vicious. Something animal. "Instead, I went out like a fucking idiot. To search for him. "

Of course you did , I want to say but don't, because Matvey would hate it. He was your dad.

"By the time I came back…"

I shudder. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." His grip grows tighter, tighter. "He'll pay. With his fucking blood, he'll pay. Until the last goddamn drop."

He's hurting me a little bit with how hard he's squeezing my fingers, but I don't say anything. Right now, I want to feel this. Want to share in his pain in any way I can.

Wordlessly, I start rubbing circles into the back of his hand. My thumb presses into the tense muscles until, eventually, it manages to pry them loose again.

"That's why you became Bratva?" I ask. "To make him pay?"

"Yes," Matvey answers without hesitation. "But not only that. My grandfather used to be Bratva. He'd founded his own organization when he was orphaned. By doing that, he survived." He pauses. "I needed to survive, too."

"And then you met Yuri."

"Yes. He's the only family I have left."

I thought it'd hurt less to hear him cut me out like that. Now that I know where the venom comes from, I shouldn't fall to it so easily.

So why do I?

"Thank you," I breathe in the end. "For telling me this."

Matvey doesn't say anything, but I don't need him to.

And then, as I'm heading back into my room, suddenly, I stop. I turn. Matvey's still there, looking at my retreating back. Our eyes meet over the table between us.

I should go back to my side of these dark waters. I shouldn't make this messier than it needs to be—messier than it already is.

I'm not family. I'll never be family. But when has that ever stopped me before?

I linger on my doorway. Twenty-three steps between us, and they feel like an ocean. But my grandmother taught me that oceans can be crossed. And someone else taught me that, if you really want something?—

Take it.

"Are you going to make me sleep alone?" I ask.

And, for once, Matvey doesn't.