Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(15)

Carrying on without answers is no longer an option for me. The torturous dreams that visit me in my sleep demand to be solved. Her ghost has long haunted me, tainting every aspect of my life. Triggering fears that no grown man should have inside.

You are filthy and disgusting, and it’s no wonder you fill your life with meaningless encounters. Who could want you?

Perhaps, the beautiful little dancer was right. Perhaps, there was truth in her words, and that was why I was so desperate to silence them.

I shut off the engine and look up the street.





The maid’s apartment is not far removed from Nonna’s living quarters at mine. Sparse, with only the essentials for a comfortable living and little else. The space is absent of the usual racket in modern homes, and it smells like tea and freshly baked bread.

I find her rocking in a chair at the end of the hall, her hands making quick work of two knitting needles and some yarn. The woman who I’d estimate to be in her seventies barely blinks when she notices me looming on the threshold of her room. The bedside lamp illuminates her pajamas and the pistol she keeps beside her.

“What do you want?” she asks.

She doesn’t care to know who I am, and I don’t imagine this is the first time she’s had an unexpected guest. Nor will it probably be the last. If Manuel Valentini had any consideration for his former employee, he would have sent her off to a warmer climate where nobody knows her name and she could enjoy her retirement properly. But as it stands, it doesn’t look like this woman received much of a severance package.

“My name is Nikolai,” I tell her. “You have no reason to fear me.”

Her hands pause long enough for her to look up and study my features. And more notably, my visible tattoos.

“You are Vory,” she observes. “Thief in law.”

I nod, unfazed by her sharpness. Her many years of service to Manuel undoubtedly gave her an intimate education of the many different criminal factions on the East Coast. The answer to be determined is where her opinion falls on my brotherhood.

“So, thief?” She squints at me in the dim light. “I will ask you again. What do you want?”

“Answers.”

Her attention once again diverts to her knitting, effectively dismissing me. “Then you may as well leave. Or kill me if you intend to try, but I will warn you not to judge me by my size or age. I am a quick draw, and I will not succumb to torture, try as you might.”

Her response warrants respect, and I intend to show it. While there is a time and place for violence, it isn’t with elderly women. Or women, in general … if I can help it.

The pretty broken doll haunts my memories, her body limp in my arms. She is so strong of mind that I did not anticipate her body to be so frail. The incident further proved the need to rectify her behaviors before she dimmed her own light forever. It also proved that I am incapable of defending myself against the toxic words she flings my way so carelessly.

Filthy. Disgusting.

Who could want you?

My fingers itch for a cigarette, but it isn’t the time. I need to focus. I need to remember why I’m here.

“Your name is Aida, yes?”

The maid doesn’t answer. Her hands are absorbed in her knitting, but I have no doubt her mind is conscious of every movement I make.

“I believe you worked for Manuel Valentini for a number of years, and I have some questions about his mistresses.”

She snorts. “Then you are better to ask him yourself.”

The creaking of her chair is the only sound left between us, but it does not deter me. I understand her reluctance to talk. If she even entertained the idea of snitching on Manuel, she could easily be dead come tomorrow.

It is not often that I change my approach. If a Vor wants answers, he simply commands them by any means necessary. But women are softer, and I know I must find a way to appeal to this side of her. If I had to venture a guess, this woman would have been in Tanaka’s life at the time she needed a mother figure most. It’s not the thing I want to discuss, but for now I will entertain the notion.

“Perhaps you can assist me with something else. What about Tanaka Valentini?”

Aida stops knitting. “What about her?”

“She is a temporary guest at my home,” I answer. “But it has come to my attention that she doesn’t like to eat.”

It’s minor, but I don’t miss the drooping of her features. Tanaka was special to her. There was a connection there. And I need her to tell me everything about it.

She sets her knitting aside to rest her hands in her lap. “How do I know you are telling me the truth?”

I fish the phone from my pocket and access the live feed of Tanaka’s room. The doctor is gone, and she is resting, the trauma of earlier events forgotten in her sleep. She looks like a goddess on her white satin sheets, but it pains me to see the tube taped to her nose.

I show the image to Aida, and she studies it for a few moments to be sure. When she has drawn her own conclusion, her attention returns to my face.

“What is she doing with you?”

“It’s only until her father pays his debts. But I can’t in good conscience allow her to desecrate her body.”

Aida shakes her head. “Then you will try until you are blue in the face. If you want her to eat, I am not the person to ask. To be frank, I’m amazed she has survived for this long.”