Page 66 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

I nod, barely suppressing a shudder at the thought of what horrors a man like him might be keeping hidden from sight.

His eyes flicker to Theo. They linger there for a moment as if searching for something. Then he turns and leaves the room abruptly.

Charity turns to me and raises her eyes. “Not much of a people person, is he?”

I almost smile. “Go back to bed,” I tell her. “Get some rest. I won’t be more than an hour or so.”

She glances at Anna and then back to me. “You sure? I can wait with you.”

“No, I’m good. Thank you, though.”

She comes forward and gives Theo a little kiss. “If there’s anything…”

“Just yell,” I finish for her. “I know.”

She gives me a wink and heads out of the room, leaving Theo and me with Anna. The woman’s attention is firmly fixed on my son, her expression already painted with maternal fondness.

“He’s a beautiful boy,” she comments.

“I know,” I say with a smile I can’t hide. “He’s perfect.”

“You and your husband must be so proud.”

I feel a bizarre spasm of loss at the assumption. I wish I could tell her who I am. Where I came from. I wish I could make her—and everyone else who’s ever looked at me with the same pity in their eyes—understand my story.

Even more than that, I wish I didn’t have a story that required understanding.

I saw a television show on one of the first nights I stayed at the shelter, not long after my midnight run through the desert. It was something old, I think. Filmed in black-and-white. The opening credits showed a woman waving from behind a white picket fence. She was dressed in a simple, beautiful dress and watering her sunflowers with a gardening can as her husband came out the door, kissed her, and left in his car for work. Her children played in the manicured lawn around her.

What a simple life. What a beautiful life.

It’s pathetic how much I want that.

I realize it’s been awkwardly long since Anna spoke. “I… I don’t have a husband,” I tell her, my cheeks coloring at the admission.

“Oh.” Her eyes bore into my face. I wonder what she’s trying to find. I like her, but as with anyone who tries to figure me out, I feel the need to pull away.

“Anyway, thanks for taking care of Theo,” I say. “I’m just gonna take a little walk.”

“I’ll come with you,” she says, botching that particular escape plan. “I can show you around.”

“Oh. Right. Er, sure. Thanks.”

We leave the airy den and start to meander through the Kovalyov mansion. There’s lots of glass, but the rustic painted brick walls keep it from being cold and overly austere. There’s also a surprising amount of greenery dotting each crevice and cavity in the house.

Paintings hang on some of the larger, blank walls. Mostly desolate landscapes, with a few colorless abstracts thrown in, all spiky and sharp and violent. That seems very on-brand for Phoenix.

As we walk, I notice darkness seeping out of the house slowly as the early morning sun starts to rise. It illuminates the grass just outside the mansion. It looks almost magical.

“This place is beautiful,” I mumble.

Anna nods. “Master Phoenix has exquisite taste.”

Something about the way she says that makes me shiver. She’s given no indication that she knows all the particulars of my sudden appearance here. But I get a little spooked nonetheless.

I glance at the older woman, noticing that she’s limping pretty noticeably. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“Broke a hip a few years ago,” she replies. “Now, the limp is part of my walk.”

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