Page 16 of A Life Betrayed

Belkov shrugged. “Only that they’ve sent someone new from HQ. And that they’re very interested in certain members of the family. Might one of those be you?”

“I need intel on Inspector Frances Allen. She’s the one they’ve pulled in from the capital. She’s taken over the investigation from Lapierre. I’ve got feelers out among my people here, but Gurin’s better connected in Ontario. I want to know who she’s talking to and where she’s going.”

The Russian took a swig of his drink. “That can be arranged. You’re welcome to our eyes and ears. I’ll let Gurin know.”

“There’s something else,” Mathias began cautiously. “I’ve got a leak. Wondered if I might find it out there.”

Belkov raised his eyebrows and turned the glass in his hand. “Are you saying…?”

“The man’s got a big mouth.”

Belkov laughed. “No doubt, but surely he’s got more sense than that.”

“Does he?” Mathias countered. “The more clout he gets, the bigger his head becomes. He’s cocky, thinks the rules don’t apply.”

“Truman’s been burned by the family before. He knows what that tastes like.”

“Gets harder to recall the longer it’s been.”

Belkov gave him an amused smile and threw back the remainder of his drink. “You want to see if you can catch him with his fat fingers in the cookie jar.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to find out what he’s been up to.”

“Consider it done.”

Mathias raised his drink in acknowledgment and knocked it back.

“After all,” the Bratva boss said cannily, “where would we be if we didn’t look out for each other?”

It took Rayan leaving the family for him to truly understand how different his life had been. He shared none of the hallmarks of adolescence that had shaped the cohort of fellow students bustling around campus. No school dances or sports games or keg parties. No parents who gifted cars for birthdays and helped with college applications and attended graduation ceremonies. While he didn’t pine for these experiences, he felt the way that their absence had shaped him. Then there were the things he had done, which forced Rayan from the other students’ naive little world altogether. He might as well have come from outer space for how little he shared with the kids sitting next to him in class.

Rayan was packing up after his last tutorial on a Thursday afternoon when the tutorial leader, a master’s student named Lily, announced that the group was heading out for drinks.

“That means you, too, Ayari,” she said, stopping by where Rayan stood, pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “You’ve been suspiciously absent from our Thursday-night socials. Come chat with the group about something other than philosophy.” She cocked her head, waiting expectantly, and Rayan felt he had no choice but to nod.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy their company. For the most part, everyone in the group seemed able to form coherent, sometimes even compelling arguments. But he still wrestled with the need to remain invisible. The more involved he got, the more likely he was to be seen.

He was also impossibly lonely. He ached for Mathias in a way that seemed shamefully juvenile, and he thought constantly of what the man was doing and where he might be. Though small, his apartment seemed cavernous when Mathias wasn’t there—which was still the majority of the time. Throwing himself into his studies helped some, but more often than he cared to admit, Rayan found himself unable to concentrate and itching for Mathias’s touch.

When they’d worked together, he’d spent most of his days with Mathias and had been privy to his sparing yet withering observations on how the world operated. Now, surrounded by idealists, Rayan missed his pragmatism—the way he distilled even the most daunting situation into practical, manageable action. Mathias had taught him to work hard, keep his head down, and trust his instincts—tactics that had saved him from being swallowed by the circumstances of his past.

Rayan followed the rest of the tutorial group to a popular dive bar a block away from the university. On the walls hung signed photos of mildly famous Canadian celebrities and banners for local sports teams. They found a booth, sat down, and passed around a stack of beer-stained menus. While they were waiting for their drinks to arrive, a young man dressed in a burgundysmoking jacket approached the table, and Lily leapt from her seat to kiss him on the mouth. He was short, with close-cropped blond hair, and his blue eyes were rimmed with black eyeliner.

“This is Noah, everyone,” she announced, and they all shuffled over to make room.

Noah raised a hand in greeting and slid into the booth across from Rayan.

As promised, philosophy was off the table. Instead, the group jostled from one topic to the next—college parties, faculty gossip, music concerts. Rayan sat nursing a soda he didn’t want, while in front of him, Noah was knocking back beers like they were water. He kept looking at Rayan like he was sizing him up, and it was starting to get annoying.

“Rayan,” Lily called from down the table. “Give us a reality check here. We could use a non-Anglo take on this.”

Rayan shrugged. He hadn’t been following the conversation. “I don’t really have an opinion.”

“I didn’t pick you for a Quebecer,” Noah said with a coy smile. “That is, until you opened your mouth. Love the accent.”

Funny how it was the same assumption no matter where Rayan went, only presenting in different ways. In the family, the prejudice had been overt. There was a name for his otherness—estraneo. Here, they all thought it—they were just better at hiding it.

The conversation bounced past them, and Rayan met Noah’s probing stare. “Why’s that?”

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