Page 98 of Arranged Control
“This is Molchanie.” I hold the picture at him. My hands are shaking. “This is my mother.”
He makes a low, strangled noise in the back of his throat. His eyes shake as he looks at the image in my hand. I’m struggling not to get sick, but he doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t say anything at all.
I remember that night. The first night I saw this picture. The only time he ever showed me.Take a good look, Alina. This is the woman that broke my heart. This is your mother. Beautiful, isn’t she? I see her every time I look at you. Take a good look, because you’ll never see her again.
He was so hurt and angry back then.
Now he just looks small and terrified.
“I wasn’t sure,” he whispers as he walks over to the bar cart in the corner. He pours himself a vodka, hesitates, and pours a second for me. I accept the drink before he collapses into his chair behind the desk.
I throw the drink back, savoring the dull warmth, needing something to wake me from this nightmare.
I take the seat across from him, still holding the picture of my mother.
“But you suspected, didn’t you?”
“I’d heard rumors about her after she left. Things didn’t go the way she expected back in Russia. She decided to turn freelance. A part of me thought she might show up here again one day, but she never did. And she still hasn’t.”
He sips his vodka. He looks so small and old all of a sudden. His shoulders slump, and he stares ahead like he’s looking through old movies in his head.
“Who is she?” I whisper, wanting to know, but afraid of the answer. “No more games. No more pretending. Who is Molchanie?”
“You guessed correctly. If Molchanie is the woman in that photograph, then she’s your mother.”
I let out a long, painful breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“There was nothing to say. Your mother left a week after your first birthday. She was never a part of your life. She made it clear she didn’t want to be here anymore, and I wasn’t ever to contact her. I respected her wishes. And now she’s back.”
“How is she doing all this? The murders… I don’t understand. Who is my mother?”
He sits back in his chair with a groan. His eyes squeeze shut, and they’re glistening when he opens them again. I feel small and confused. A part of me wishes I’d never come here. It would’ve been better never to find all this out.
“Her name is Darya Sokolova. I met her during one of my trips to Moscow back in those days. I told the truth before. She worked for the SVR in those days, which is the modern foreignspy agency in Russia. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was assigned to report on my movements and my business.”
“She was your spy handler?”
“Something like that. I knew what she was the moment she picked me up in a bar, but I didn’t care. Your mother was too charming to ignore, even if she was dangerous. I couldn’t keep away. I fell hard for her, harder than I’ve ever fallen, and I still wonder if the feelings were mutual…” He trails off, staring at his drink.
“They must’ve been if I was born,” I say, prodding him to keep going.
“Yes, perhaps. I don’t know. She got pregnant during one of my visits and came back with me to the States. We weren’t married long, but they were good days, very good days.”
“That picture is from Moscow, isn’t it?”
“During my third visit. She got pregnant on the fifth. We had a relationship by that time. I’m sure her superiors at the agency loved it right up until she ditched them to move in with me.”
I stare at the picture, trying to make sense of this. Why would my father sleep with a woman he knew was spying on him? It’s hard to fathom, knowing him now. He’s so closed off and difficult. Nothing’s ever good enough, and God forbid he ever shows emotion. She must’ve been incredible to break through to him.
“Why did she come back?” I ask, my voice shaking slightly.
“I don’t know. Your mother was extremely talented, even back then. I can’t say for certain but I think she was high up in the SVR and likely would have continued her meteoric rise if she hadn’t gotten pregnant.” He looks at his hands and slowlycurls his fingers open and shut. “I did what I could for her. I really did. I tried to make her happy. I offered to bring her into the business, but even that wasn’t enough. Motherhood didn’t sit well with her. Nannies didn’t help. They only made her feel worse. And in the end, she left without a word. I tried to find her in the years after, but she was like a ghost.”
“Now she’s Molchanie.” I look up from the picture of my mother’s face. The same face as the assassin in the shop earlier tonight. Only she’s slightly older now. “How did she go from spying for the government to working as a hired killer?”
“I don’t know. I was never sure Molchanie was her, but I had my suspicions over the years. Then when I heard she was back and she was circling around you… I just knew it had to be my Darya.”
“What does she want with me, Papa?”
