Page 68 of Her Darkest Possession
Marcus leans his broom against the wall and crosses his arms, a wry smile playing on his lips.
"Maybe so." he glances between me and Anatoly. "But it's not just me getting assistance, you know. That bodega down the street? The one run by Mrs. Diaz? They got all new refrigeration units last month. And Manny's Dominican spot on the corner got their kitchen renovated."
I look at Anatoly with surprise, but his expression remains carefully neutral.
"Even Alfonso McClusky's diner on the other end of the block got help with the rent," Marcus continues. "And have you noticed? The trash is actually getting picked up on time. Streets are cleaner than I've seen 'em in twenty years."
"Now that you mention it, yeah."
"And it's all thanks to you," Marcus says in matter-of-fact tone.
"Me? You mean Anatoly," I laugh it off then correct him. "I haven't done anything except make people worry."
"Without you, he would never have given a damn about this place." Marcus gives me a look he used to give me when I was being deliberately thick. "Without you, this neighborhood would always just be another piece of territory to fight over, not somewhere people actually live and try to have something decent."
The words strike me in my gut with how true they are.
Marcus continues, "You taught him how to care about something other than fighting and money. And if you didn't teach him that, then you reminded him that little people like us are worth protecting."
I find myself looking back at Anatoly as Marcus speaks. He stands there, straight as a stick. For the first time since I've met him, he seems almost like he's not quite sure what to do with himself.
I'm sure he's been praised by people before. Just as I'm sure that he's never been praised so genuinely by people whose lives he can improve with the snap of a finger.
I can't help but smile at the thought that this feared pakhan of the Baryshev bratva being uncertain of how to handle himself and the praises he's hearing.
And it's all because of me.
"Thank you," I say softly to Anatoly. "You didn't have to do any of this."
Anatoly shrugs, his eyes meeting mine. "I did it for you."
"See? Exactly like I said." Marcus puts the broom down, and when he looks back at me, his eyes are crinkling with concern. "How's your sister Amara doing, by the way? She okay after everything?"
"She's doing alright for now," I nod, grateful for his asking. "She's actually just finished her application essay for Columbia today."
Marcus's eyebrows shoot up, clearly impressed. "Columbia? That's something. Girl's got ambition. I guess she wants to follow her big sister's footsteps."
"Yeah, I guess she does," I say, feeling a sudden warmth at the thought.
And for the second time today, I can't help but think how nice it might be to go back to Columbia myself. To finish what I started. To reclaim that part of my life that was stolen from me.
"So, what are the three of you doing for Thanksgiving next week? Not for nothing else, I know this whole block will be pretty damn thankful for everything that Mr. Baryshev has done for them. And we all want to repay that favor."
I blink, surprised by the question. Thanksgiving hasn't even crossed my mind with everything that's happened. But I guess it is coming up on us, isn't it?
"And not just because he's helping us out," Marcus continues, "but because he's allowed all of us to breathe a little easier by letting all of us know that you're alright." He nods toward Anatoly. "In fact, that's why I called him down here. Wanted to extend that invitation in person."
I turn to Anatoly incredulously. "Hecalledyouhere?"
"As it turns out," Anatoly replies. "I'm not the only one who wouldn't accept no for an answer."
I look back and forth between them, trying to process this revelation. "Wait, you have Anatoly's number?" I ask Marcus.
"Of course he does," Anatoly says, his hand finding the small of my back. "Mr. Jackson has done me a great service." His blue eyes meet mine, serious and sincere. "He may not be bratva, but he's important to you. And for that reason, he's important to me. I take care of my own."
The words settle over me like a warm blanket. It's strange how Anatoly can make something that should sound possessivefeel like protection. Like belonging. My throat tightens unexpectedly.
Marcus is looking between us with knowing eyes. It strikes me that in his own way, he's been taking care of me too—worrying about me, making sure I was safe, and even reaching out to the most dangerous man in New York just to check up on me.
