Page 118 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

“Ernestine, someone is here!” I call as politely as I can.

“Would you answer that, dear?” she calls back. “I’m almost done. These darn insulin needles are always such a hassle…”

June gets up and goes to the bathroom. I feel weird answering the door of someone else’s home, but I get up to do it anyway. I’m assuming it’ll be a neighbor or a friend stopping by to say hello.

When I throw the door open, though, I know immediately the person standing on the porch is no friend.

The man is tall and skinny—the kind of skinny that speaks to a long history of addiction. His cheeks are sunken and pocked and his hair is greasy and pushed back away from his face. He has on a ratty black t-shirt and even rattier black jeans.

I can also see a gun sticking out of his front pocket.

His eyebrows raise briefly before he narrows his eyes, looking me up and down. “Who the fuck are you?”

Acting on instinct, I try to push the door half-closed, but the man wedges his shoe in front of it, keeping me from closing it any further.

“Who are you?” I ask, parroting the question back at him.

He spits on the porch and runs his thumb along his nose. “I’m not going to be asked those kinds of questions in my own house. So, bitch, who are you?”

I’m confused, blinking at him, when I feel Ernestine move up behind me.

She gasps. “Tommy!”

The man on the porch—Tommy, apparently—lifts his chin defiantly. “Let me in, Ern. I’m here to get June.”

“You can’t have her.” Ernestine motions for me to shut the door, but I can’t. Tommy is blocking it.

“Like fuck I can’t,” Tommy snarls, shoving himself into the entryway and forcing us both back. “She’s my daughter and she belongs with me.”

Suddenly, it all clicks into place.

June told me about her dad in prison, about how Rose was afraid he’d come to the house looking for them.

Clearly, Rose was right.

Here he is.

But there’s no way in hell he’s taking anyone anywhere.

42

Arya

Tommy pushes his way into the trailer.

Being as hunched and weak as she is, Ernestine totters a few steps backwards before standing her ground in the doorway of her kitchen, arms crossed.

“You aren’t welcome here, Tommy.”

“I don’t give a shit what you think, old lady. This is my house more than it’s yours.”

“No, this house belongs to Rose.”

Tommy paces into the living room and surveys it all with a scowl. “Sure, if you want to call this dump a house. Is this really where my daughter has been living?”

“It’s better than anything you’ve ever had,” Ernestine snaps. “Especially since you never really had anything. You’ve stolen and grifted your way through life. It’s why you were locked up.”

Tommy narrows his black eyes at her. “I’m out now, you old bitch. It’s why I’m here. To get June.”

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