Page 50 of Titan

He was shot during an armed robbery.

His death will be investigated.

All of us are at risk of being charged with a crime.

I know what I should do — I should call the police and come clean, do the right thing, but my father has suffered enough, losing two sons in the space of one year. He needs me totake charge and manage events, which I suspect will be very dangerous and chaotic over the coming weeks and months.

The theft of the diamonds alone will inspire payback from the Russians. On top of preparing for war, we’ll have to quietly make it look like Ethan has taken a long vacation — maybe to Ireland to visit family back in the Old Country.

He’ll just go missing, and his body will have to be buried somewhere that it will never be found.

While I’m busy thinking about hiding my brother’s body and wondering what manner of revenge the Russians will take against my family, I think of Natalia.

Brave Natalia, who tried to save the life of a bank robber, despite the danger to herself.

All I can think is that I want to go to her, fall into her arms and find solace in her body.

I put her life in danger by agreeing to this stupid operation. I should have stopped it.

I should have stopped it…

When the meeting is finished,when we’ve decided where to bury Ethan and how to do it so that no one knows, I sit in the empty living room at my father’s house and think once more about Natalia. I wonder how she is, and how traumatized she must be to have been caught up in a bank robbery that went wrong and how she tried to save one of the robber’s lives.

It has to be a terrible shock.

I want to go to her, see how she’s doing. Part of me says hell no. Don’t go. Don’t expose yourself to her any more than you already have. Don’t involve her in this anymore than you already have.

But the weak part of me — the part that craves her company and her touch — can’t say no.

Not in the current state I’m in.

I take out my cell and call.

She answers on the second ring.

“Hey,” she says, her voice sounding pleased that I called. Despite my pain, I smile in response.

“Hey,” I say, imagining her sitting in her tiny bedroom in the old brownstone, cell in hand, maybe watching Netflix on her laptop. She lives such a chaste life, so different from my own lavish lifestyle.

I think in part that’s what attracts me to her.

She’s real.

“I’m lonely,” I say, and even saying the words threatens to make my throat choke. “I could use some company. Can I come by and see you?”

There’s a pause, and I wonder if she’s still too traumatized to want company.

“Actually,” she says, and I hear her inhale deeply on the other line. “I could use some company. My Gramps and brother are both out for the evening, so I’m alone and had a bad day. In fact, I had a really bad day.”

I feel a stab in my chest at that. “I happen to give a great massage in case you need one. I guess working on a prison psych ward must be stressful.”

“You have no idea. It wasn’t my job. It was actually something entirely unconnected, but you’d never believe it if I told you.”

“I’ll be right over, and you can tell me all about it. Do you want me to pick up a bottle of wine or something on the way?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Red or white?”

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