Page 50 of Vasily the Hammer

It’s not my place to judge him, though. He’s my brother. And he’s saved me. He’s taken me in when he didn’t have to. My son, too. For better or for worse, I’m going to be here for the long haul.Now knowing that I’m unmarried and on the opposite side of the country from a business I doubt I’ll be able to return to any time soon, if ever, there’s this other level of uncertainly I haven’t yet considered. I don’t even know if I have health insurance.

“I’ve taken care of everything,” Tony assures me. “We have connections there, too, of course. They were able to close the case without any pushback. We were just lucky those guys rescued you. What did you say their names were?”

A tingle of doubt shivers down my spine. Thisismy brother. Thisismy childhood home. Thisiswhere I’m supposed to be. But the way Tony asked me that, the way his eyes, so similar to my own they could be mirror reflections, glimmer with interest despite the casual way he asks that question, makes me feel like nothing good will happen to Sasha or Gio if I give Tony names.

“Oh, everything was so crazy that I don’t even know. They were...” I laugh for effect. “They were angels. Do angels have names?”

“Usually, you’d be the one who answers that question,” Tony points out, and already I’m listing them. Twelve named archangels from the Kabbalah, but only two in the Christian bible, Michael and Gabriel.

And Lucifer. The fallen angel. The Morning Star. The Shining One.

Vasily has the face of an angel.

“Well, the guys who saved me, I didn’t know their names. I had a concussion. It wasn’t until later that I understood what was going on.”

“When Baranov picked you up?”

I nod, pushing away that familiarity. For a week, that was my name. Ana Baranov. Turns out, I’m Lacey Lombardo.

“Yes? But the moment he got me, he had me on a plane and flying cross-country, telling me we were going home when—can you take me to my house sometime? I know it’s going to be a big trip, and I don’t know what I have here, but I don’t have anything here. Everything in the closet is too small. Vasily bought me a whole new wardrobe—”

“Don’t think he was doing you a kindness.”

I shake my head and slump forward, tenting my elbows on my thighs. I can’t sleep, but I am tired. Exhausted. I’m so relieved that Tony has reunited me with my son, but I don’t feel comfortable here. Not like I did at Vasily’s.

But that doesn’t mean anything except he’s very manipulative and this isn’t my home and no one’s comfortable with uncertainty.

“No, it seems he did everything he could to prevent me from getting my memories back.”

“Not just that,” Tony says grimly. “You know he was trying to hurt you, right? He was trying to hurt both of us, but... he’s sick, Lacey.”

I recall all the medications in the drawer in his office, the syringe, too. There were so many of them. He never said anything about it, and what with everything else I found and everything else that happened, I all but forgot about it.

“In the head,” Tony clarifies. “He’s a sicko. I’m serious, Lacey. He’s a bad man.”

I should agree with him and move on. Tell him I think I’m ready to go to bed now and attempt to go back to sleep. Read in my room if not, or go snuggle with Artom in his bed, way too big for such a small body because nothing in this house is child-sized.

But Tony doesn’t make me feel nearly as safe as Vasily did. I know that’s because Vasily’s safety wasn’t real, but I’m still chafingfrom it. “Well, aren’t you a bad man, too? And our dad? I mean, have you killed anyone before?”

A blip. A crack in the facade. A slip in the Botox. He’s killed, I can tell by that glint, and I don’t think he feels an iota of guilt. I think he might enjoy it.

“It’s different,” he bristles. “It’s—he’s going to come for you, Lacey. He’s fucked up, and I need you to get that he’s gotta be fucking pissed right now. He’s going to be pissed that Artom, his own son, was the one who convinced you to leave. You’re both in danger.”

“I—no.” I bridge the gap between us, stretching my hand to his to give it a squeeze that’s a promise. “I don’t have any plans on seeing Vasily, Tony, but he’s not going to hurt me either. Maybe he was a monster before, and he shouldn’t have kept me like he did this time. But he wouldn’t physically hurt me. And Artom? No way. He wouldn’t hurt his own son.”

Tony takes his hand back to pull something up on his phone. “I didn’t want to show you this, Lacey. But I don’t think I’ll be able to explain the monster that he is without it. He sent this to me three days after he kidnapped you. Not just me either. He sent it to most of the men on our side. His men, too. Everyone saw it. Your classmates saw it. This was why you went to culinary school instead of finishing out your bachelor’s degree when you came back. It’s—oh, here it is.”

I have no idea what he’s about to show me, but my stomach’s already going all loose as he spins the phone around.

It’s a video. Looks to be a basement at first, but then I notice the wall in the background is mirrored, giving a back view.

Of me.

Dressed, but my hands are linked to a chain and Vasily is standing in front of me, holding a knife. The video is muted, but my mouth is moving. I’m talking to Vasily. I think I’m begging him to stop. And then he slices the knife straight down.

I gasp. I don’t have any scars on my sternum so I know he’s not harming me in the old movie, but I still put my hand on my chest as though to make sure my pieces are together. But then Vasily pushes the two sides of my shirt away, and everything showing there is smooth, unmarred.

My breasts are... nonexistent. I was nineteen; I hadn’t had a kid yet. My back was bowed, my chest sticking out. Any shape my chest might have had is contorted to nothing except my nipples. Tiny, taut peaks.

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