Page 36 of His Tesoro

I cocked my head. Her Russian sounded accented. “You’re not from Russia, are you?”

Katya shook her head. “Ukraine.”

I smiled and switched languages. “My grandmother on my mother’s side was Ukrainian.” My baba had lived with us when I was little. She’d died before I turned six, but I only had happy memories of her.

The girls relaxed at hearing their native language, and I even got a little smile from Stasya.

“What happened when you got to Boston?” I asked.

“We were put in a cramped apartment with three other women, and all our documents were taken. We worked cleaning homes at night. I’m not sure how long we were there… a few weeks? A month? And then one night, as we were getting ready to leave for our cleaning job, a group of masked men came into the apartment. They put us in the back of a van. We spent a few days going to different warehouses and homes until… until three men took us to a house.”

I couldn’t stop my tears from coming as she told me what they’d endured in that house for two days before Matteo found them.

All three of us were crying now, but the tears felt right. How else could we express the suffering they’d been through?

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” My words weren’t enough, but then, nothing would ever be enough.

The three of us sat in silence for a while. “Do you want to go back to Ukraine?” I finally asked. “Or we could try to find you another place to stay?”

“There’s nothing back there for us,” Stasya whispered. “But there’s nothing here for us either.”

I leaned forward and grasped each of their hands. “We’ll find a place where you belong, I promise. In the meantime, you can stay here. And I’ll come visit.”

We lapsed into silence again. Katya offered me another candy bar and I took it. We ate quietly, all lost in our own thoughts. The girls looked exhausted, so after a few minutes, I put the empty candy wrappers in my pocket, said my goodbyes, and slipped out into the hall. Matteo, Angelo, and Dr. Amato were all waiting. To my horror, a sob slipped through my lips.

Dr. Amato put a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go to my office and talk.” Once we were situated in her large office, she handed me a box of tissues and I told them what I’d learned.

“They didn’t see who took them from the apartment in Boston?” Matteo asked.

I shook my head. “They just said masked men. They didn’t see anyone’s faces until they were in the house where you found them. And those men…” I broke off with a sob. “Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled, wiping my tears.

“You’ve done a wonderful job, Sofiya,” Dr. Amato said kindly. “And we’ll find a safe place for them. Don’t worry.”

I sniffled and gave her a shaky smile. I stole a glance at Matteo, wondering if he was angry I was crying. But his expression was unreadable.

“We need to find who took them,” Matteo said.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Dr. Amato responded. “But don’t jump to conclusions yet.”

I didn’t know what she meant, but he just grunted.

She turned her gaze to me. “Matteo said it’s been a long time since you’ve seen a doctor for your EDS. Why don’t you come in tomorrow? I can examine you and you can talk with the girls again if you want.”

“Tomorrow won’t work,” Matteo said. “Sienna’s insisted on coming over.”

“Day after, then. I’ll be sure to have plenty of embarrassing stories prepared,” she said with a wink.

“No fucking respect,” Matteo muttered.

Angelo held out a small trash can for me to throw my used tissues into. I kept a few clean ones for the tears that might still come. I felt so fragile. Seeing Katya and Stasya clinging to each other made my heart ache for Mila. I’d texted her throughout the day, but she hadn’t answered.

“Come on, let’s go home,” Matteo said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “And I will push you.”

I was too tired to argue. I sat tensely in my chair as we returned to the car, every bone and muscle in my body screaming in pain, and my heart along with it.

“What did Dr. Amato mean when she said she knew what you were thinking?” I asked once we were back in the apartment.

Matteo’s jaw clenched and he stared out the living room window. “The Irish are in Boston.”

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