Page 59 of A Life Chosen

“Why’d you need to see Tony?” Rayan pressed.

Mathias sighed. “I’ve been covering Belkov’s port fees in exchange for his cooperation,” he said, guarded. “We’ll need the Russians when the time comes.”

Rayan knew little of what Mathias had spent the last few months machinating. He’d deliberately kept him in the dark. But he did know, from the snatches of information he’d managed to assemble, that it involved Belkov, the boss’s dwindling health, and a growing alliance with the head of the Hamilton Red Reapers. How each of those pieces fit together, he still wasn’t sure.

“You could have told me.”

Mathias gave him a sharp look. “Why? I don’t need you to sort out my business.”

Rayan exhaled, rubbing a hand across his face. The man was right. And what was worse, it only served to illuminate how little he’d needed to be involved. As Mathias had said, he wasn’t his second anymore. Rayan no longer had a reason to be kept informed of his former capo’s activities.

“Tell me when you’re in town,” he said, relenting. “I don’t need to know why.”

Mathias speared another chunk of lamb. “No promises.”

It was dark, and Rayan’s body was folded into his mother’s embrace. He was small again, fitting against her softness, drawing her scent into his lungs—cinnamon and anise. She was saying something quietly, her lips moving in his hair. He smiled and pulled away, staring up at her as he had done as a child.

She ran her hand across his forehead, smoothing his hair. “Where is he?”

Rayan looked at her, confused. “Who, Mama?”

His mother’s smile faded, and fear began to gather in her eyes. “Tahir. Where is he?”

Rayan took a step back, then another. His vision narrowed, and with each step, he felt himself growing taller until he towered over the small woman. Rayan looked down and saw he was dressed in his suit. His hands were sticky, and when he opened his fists, they were covered with blood.

“Where is he?” His mother’s voice had taken on a shrill pitch, and she was fumbling with her headscarf, pulling it off to reveal her long black hair. She snapped her gaze up to meet his. “Who are you?” she cried, digging her fingers into her hair and beginning to tug. “Where is my son?”

“It’s me, Mama.”

Her voice spiraled into a mournful howl, her hands latching onto chunks of hair and tearing them from her head. “Where are my sons? What have you done with my sons?”

A child once again, Rayan stood outside the bathroom door of their old apartment—the door, always the door. His brother’s desire to protect him had instead cursed him to return to this moment, reliving his own gruesome reimagining over and over again. He no longer knew which was worse—what his brother had seen or what the dreams had conjured. He reached out, against his will, and gripped the cold metal handle, every cell of his body trembling at the thought of what he would find when the door opened.

“Rayan.”

There was a hand on his shoulder, jolting him awake. He lurched to the edge of the mattress, away from the man, his chest heaving. Rayan swiped the back of his hand roughly across his face, feeling a wetness on his cheeks.

Mathias was sitting up, eyebrows knitted. “You were talking.”

Rayan realized how thoroughly he’d exposed himself. He’d been a fool to think the dreams wouldn’t find him while Mathias was here. He cursed the boy he’d seen by the metro, unleashing thoughts of his brother, exhuming the dead.

Rayan turned to get out of bed. A hand gripped his arm. He yanked it out of reach, standing.

“Sit down, Rayan.”

He began to dress silently, forcing his hands to remain still.

“I said, sit.” Mathias’s voice—flat, hard—cut through everything else.

He stopped, lowering himself to the bed, his back to Mathias. There was a creak as Mathias moved behind him, arms encircling his shoulders, pressing Rayan to his chest.

“Breathe for a second, would you?”

He could feel the slow thump of Mathias’s heartbeat along his spine and the steady rise and fall of his lungs. Rayan tried to match his breathing, but his pulse slammed in his throat, refusing to cooperate.

Mathias rested a chin on his shoulder, speaking in a low murmur by his ear. “Fibonacci. Each number the sum of the two before.” He eased him back into bed, the numbers falling from his lips like a spell. “Three… five, eight, thirteen…”

Arms wrapped around him, Mathias held him as Rayan’s mind began to still, his breath finally leveling. He closed his eyes and focused only on that voice.

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