Page 44 of Mountain Mens' Curvy Obsession

“My brother,” I whimper, tears quick to sting my eyes.

Somewhere deep down, I think I already knew. Or I suspected he was no longer alive. It doesn’t hit me as I thought it would. I’m not shocked. I only feel grief over the memories I have yet to recover. All I can do is lean into Chance, terrified and exhausted.

10

Anya

“Aleks is dead,” I say again.

Back in the Hayes lodge, nestled in the armchair by a roaring fire, I sit and wait for the painkillers to kick in. After a brief visit to the hospital, an MRI, and an X-ray, I was formally diagnosed with a concussion and amnesia, and told I needed to take it easy.

“We’re sorry,” Nico says as he brings me a cup of jasmine tea. I hold the mug close to my face, letting the scent soothe my frayed nerves. “We were here when we heard. We couldn’t do a thing to stop it or to protect you.”

“It’s time,” I tell the brothers. “You can’t keep me in the dark anymore. You heard Dr. Rollins yourselves. I’m going to be fine. There’s no major damage to my brain.”

Booker and Nico weren’t too far behind when Chance found me. They’d spread out to search for me. Luckily, shortly before midnight, cell reception came back on, and they were able to liaise and regroup outside the sheriff’s station.

“She’s right,” Booker sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What happened?” I ask. “What happened to my brother? And what about my parents?”

Pieces of them come back to me in random memory spurts.

“He was killed,” Nico says. “Your entire family was killed.”

“What?” I can barely breathe.

“You’re Anya Asimova,” he replies, his eyes never leaving mine, “daughter of Paul and Maria Asimov. Paul led the Asimov faction within the New York Bratva. Your brother was going to inherit the position and take over. For a while, Aleks wanted to get away from it all. That’s why he followed us into the Navy.

“But duty called once threats from the Sokolov faction became louder and harder to ignore,” he adds. “Your family was the target of the Sokolovs. They wanted your father’s turf and ownership of his business fronts. It was a hostile takeover of his supply routes.”

“Supply routes?”

“Drugs, guns, you name it, your father provided it. Unlike most mobsters, however, he had an ethical side. He kind of held the New York Bratva together, if you ask me,” Nico says.

My stomach tightens, nausea building up in the back of my throat as I try to process everything. I never imagined in the two weeks I’ve been without a past that this would be my story.

“My father was a mobster,” I mumble. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I wish it weren’t true,” Booker sighs. “But yes. To his credit, Paul kept you away from most of it. Aleks was supposed to inherit everything, and he, too, shielded you, perhaps even more than your father. They loved you, Anya. Your parents, your brother, they loved you.”

“How did they die?”

“Two years ago,” Chance says, taking over, pouring himself a double scotch, “there was a territorial dispute. Aleks convinced your father to renegotiate a deal with the Sokolovs. For a short time, it appeared to have worked. There was hope for peace between the two families despite the changes in terms and conditions.

“But then came the Dalton Festival,” he adds, “a big event just outside of New York City. Your father owned a percentage of that business, and he took the whole family out to enjoy it. Street food, drinks, live performances. Clean family fun. It had been on the city’s event map for a few years by then. It was packed.”

“You were there with your parents, your brother, and a few cousins when masked gunmen stormed the fairgrounds,” Nico says, lowering his gaze. “Automatic weapons. It was a bloodbath. A couple of dozen people died and over a hundred were injured. The authorities confirmed that your parents died instantly. Aleks held on until the paramedics arrived, but they couldn’t resuscitate him. And I think this is where the confusion emerged. There was also a young woman there, injured beyond recognition.”

“Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick,” I manage, yet still keep it together. “Beyond recognition?”

Nico gives me a troubled look. “The problem with automatic and semi-automatic rifles like the AR-15 is that they can do a hell of a lot of damage… the girl didn’t stand a chance. And her description fit yours pretty closely. Nobody bothered to check fingerprints or dental prints because she was found next to your parents and brother. Your cousins were there, too. They didn’t make it either. I’m sorry, Anya.

“The cops crossed you off their list and declared you dead,” he continues. “Once you remember, you’ll be able to tell us how you got away and where you’ve been for the past couple of years.”

“We mourned you for two years,” Chance says.

“And you were here when it happened,” I repeat what was said earlier.

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