Page 33 of Deceitful Promises

“That’s very generous of you, son.”

“What do you want to do?”

“What doyouthink we should do?”

“Like I said, if you’re objective?—”

“No, not a cold analysis. Your opinion.”

I pause momentarily, trying not to let this thing inside me grow even more—this whatever-the-hell-it-is. All the moments with Ania replay in my head seem more important than they should be.

“I should arrange a meeting with the brothers,” I say. “Let me see what they’re about.”

“That sounds vague.”

I grit my teeth. “You asked for my opinion.”

Dad leans back, toying with a letter opener, then finally nods. “This can’t get worse. In a proper fight, we’ll win. We both know that, but the cost, son …”

He’s talking about business. About loss of life. Bloodshed and pain.

“It won’t come to that,” I say, hoping I’m right.

CHAPTER 14

ANIA

In the apartment, I mentally prepare to make some toast, repeating what Aiden said over and over in my head. Since my eating habits started, I haven’t been motivated to stop. I know it won’t bethateasy. Maybe with Aiden’s help, I can make small, even tiny changes.

I almost leap out of my skin when a doorbell sounds, cutting through the apartment. Moving to the front door, I say, “Yes?” On the wall next to the door, there’s a small button withcontactwritten underneath it, with a small speaker attached. I wonder if it links to Aiden? Is that what I want?

“It’s me. It’s M-Molly.”

That’s exactly what I did, the stuttering thing, trying to decide between calling her by her name orMom. I almost tell her to go away. I want nothing to do with her, but then she says, “I’m sorry for before, Ania. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. Please let me in.”

“I don’t have any way to open it from in here.”

“I mean, can I come in, then?”

I mutter a smallyes, trying my best to sound composed. When she opens the door, she looks more human, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. Something in the way she moves reminds me of, well,me. Maybe it’s the way she has her arms folded across her middle.

“Do you want a drink?” I say, turning away.

“Anna,” she says. Then, she quickly corrects herself. “Ania …”

“I think there’s coffee or soda or juice or?—”

She grabs my hand, turning me toward her. Her eyes are glistening. Her lips are trembling. I try to be strong, but all the times I’ve imagined this moment are stacking up and slamming into me—all those times I dreamed of this. After searching “mother-daughter reunion literature” online, I read all the books, binging stories I never dreamed could come true.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, stroking her finger over my knuckles like she’s trying to convince herself I’m real. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ve dreamed of seeing you countless times again, and I ruined it.”

She bursts into tears, and then I’m crying, too. She pulls me into her arms. I can’t believe how natural it feels as I collapse against her, wrapping my arms around her and clinging to her tightly. I can’t believe howrightit feels, just me and my mom—mymom.

“We’ve got so much catching up to do,” she whispers, fighting past her sobs as she strokes my hair. “The last time I saw you, you fit in my hand. You were such a small baby.”

“People say I’m a pretty small grownup, too.”

She laughs, wrapping her arms even tighter around me. We stay like that for a long time. Finally, she says, “Let yourmothermake you a drink and a snack, okay? Let’s start with the basics.”

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