“Yeah, I did.” He looks down as he speaks. “It was a promise I made when I was in my twenties and you were a teenager. I never thought it would come back like this. I never thought I’d catch feelings for Leah.”
Seriously, why do I want to cry all of a sudden? “And then you did, and instead of talking to me like a motherfucking adult, you hid it from me. You and her. You both shut me out.”
Dmitri frowns. “I didn’t want to hide it from you. And I promise to never hide something like that from you again.”
“Because you’re going to fuck another one of my best friends?” Maybe it isn’t fair, but I can’t help but take the dig at him. “Oh, wait, you can’t, because you took the only one I have.”
“Christ, I’m not taking your friend, Danica. She’s still your best friend. She’s waiting for you to call her because you said you needed space.”
“Great, so it’s my fault.” I’m a judgmental idiot, and I deserve the misery of being apart from my best friend.
“It’s not your fault entirely. I should’ve been honest. Leah should have, too, although I have to admit, I didn’t want her to tell you.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Dmitri says, “There’s something else you need to hear.”
“What is it?”
“There’s shit you don’t know about Granddad.”
“Are you trying to distract me from Leah?”
“No. Fuck. I’m trying to explain—I want to tell you everything because I’m fucking worried, okay?” He turns his arm to show me his tattoo, the crown and dagger. The one that matches mine. “This is more than our family symbol—the Aseyevs are a gang.”
“Yeah, no.” I shake my head, grinning. What a fucking joke. First Grady, the tattoo artist, said it. And now Dmitri? No way.
His gray eyes, so much like mine, don’t look away. “We are. I didn’t realize it when Mom allowed me to get the tat. Granddad suggested the design, saying it’s something all the Aseyev men wear. Mom said it was fine.”
“You’re serious.” I put things together, flashes from the past running through my mind. Mom and Dad having a quiet, and chilly, argument. They barely spoke for days. “I remember back then. Dad was pissed after you got the tattoo.”
“Yeah.”
Well, this is just shitastic. Grady was right—it is a gang sign. And now it’s on my leg.
I say, “I was going to surprise Granddad. I’ve wanted it for a while. And then I wanted to make up after the big blow-out, convince him that…I don’t know. Fuck. It was impulsive. I just feel like our family is imploding. I wanted to do something to make it feel like I’m still a part of the family.”
“Dani?” Dmitri clears his throat. “What are you talking about?”
I lift my pant leg.
He gawks at my tattoo.
“So.” I laugh—I can’t fucking believe this. “Guess I’m in the gang now.”
8
Edmund
Three generations sit in Grandfather’s office, arguing over things like revenge, money, and the family image. My father is more hung up on revenge, Grandfather is more hung up on family image.
I’m more hung up on Arky, who has positioned himself at my feet, leaning his solid body against my leg.
I drink my coffee and take a croissant from the tray brought in by the housekeeper. Troy stands back by the wall, blocking the view of Grandfather’s favorite painting—an abstract watercolor of London’s Tower Bridge. It reminds Grandfather of his youth.
My buddy Caleb, who works with my family, sits next to me. I’d rather Troy sit, too, but he hates this shit and prefers to keep an eye on us.
I wonder if he has his phone ready to blare more Backstreet Boys.
