Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(17)

My blood burns, and it only serves to bolster my case against him.

“And what about Tanaka? Did his violence touch her as well?”

Aida’s brows come together, and she pauses to take a sip of her tea. “I never witnessed it.”

“She flinches at the slightest movement. There must be a reason.”

“I never witnessed it,” Aida reiterates, “but it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. There were times she would be locked in her room for days, and I was not permitted to see her. But I saw the bruises, and that was enough. She blamed it on the dancing.”

Her response satisfies my suspicions, but there is no satisfaction in discovering the true nature of Tanaka’s father. Manuel Valentini destroys beautiful things. Manuel Valentini doesn’t deserve to breathe. And one day, when I am certain I have wrung every ounce of suffering from his soul, I will destroy him too.

“You inquired about his mistresses,” Aida observes. “There must be a reason you have kept Tanaka alive. So, who is this woman you seek?”

I finish my tea and move the plate away. There is no point skirting around the topic. This is what I came here for.

“Her name was Irina. I believe she came into Manuel’s life around fifteen years ago.”

Aida folds her wrinkled hands across the table and studies me. “And who is Irina to you?”

I could lie, and I probably should. But like me, Aida is not a woman to be trifled with. She values honesty, and I respect her enough to admit the truth.

“She was my mother.”

Her face wrinkles, and she hunches forward with a sigh that I suspect she’s withheld for years. “I don’t know of an Irina, but that doesn’t mean anything. Manuel had many mistresses who he kept outside the home. I only hope for your sake that you are mistaken in assuming she was one of them.”

My pulse throbs as I look at her for the answer. “Why?”

“Because they are all dead now.”





For seven days, I have remained captive to my newly acquired NG tube. Every morning without fail, the doctor comes to my room at six to begin the all-day ordeal that is my feeding schedule. In the blink of an eye, my life has been reduced to a series of nutritional shakes and nothing more. Today is no different, and I have the urge to retch when she appears with the meal replacements and syringes I have come to hate.

Dr. Shtein tells me it could be worse. She explains that this is the least invasive option as far as tubes go, having it inserted directly through my nasal system and down my esophagus. Her words came with a warning that if I had any bright ideas about pulling it out, the tube could also be inserted directly into my stomach through surgical means. Needless to say, I haven’t had the courage to remove it.

The tube irritates my nose and it feels like I have a garden hose stuffed down my throat. The liquid nourishment she forces into my stomach disgusts me and makes me wish I could vomit at every meal.

I’ve been granted no other choice than to accept the complete loss of control over my body. As a skilled liar and manipulator, I thought I had a wealth of tactics at my disposal. But Dr. Shtein is not one to be easily swayed. My pleas have gone unanswered, and bartering only makes the doctor shake her head. She can’t be won through false claims of illness, and it seems there isn’t a circumstance in the world that will get me out of the constant feedings.

Since her abrupt seizure over my life, I’ve had little else to do but wonder who this woman is. The amount of time she spends with me throughout the day indicates she has no other post. She is a doctor for the sole purpose of being on the Vory payroll. The array of medical equipment at her disposal dictates that she has a long leash as far as finances go, and since our first encounter, I have found myself subject to a host of tests under her direction.

Outwardly, I hate her. I want to curse her name and subject her to as much pain as she has given me. But inwardly, she is my only source of comfort. Nikolai has not returned. In his absence, there is only Nonna, who speaks very little. When she comes to my room, she will not meet my eyes, and I know it’s because she betrayed my secret.

I am restless and irritable and on the verge of fracturing. If I allow my thoughts to drift to the weight I’ve gained over the past week, it will break me. If I ruminate on the length of time it’s been since I’ve trained, I will lose all hope completely.

While I seek asylum from my own mind, the doctor checks my vitals. Pulse, temperature, blood pressure. It’s more than I ever had tested as a child. Other than my childhood vaccines, I never had the occasion to visit a regular health clinic. I can only remember that when I was sick, the doctor on my father’s payroll would write a prescription without even seeing me. My father ruled his kingdom with an iron fist, and outsiders were strictly forbidden. But such does not seem to be the case with Nikolai. His home seems to be a revolving door of outsiders, which has now come to include my physical therapist and Dr. Shtein.

“When will I be free to eat on my own again?” I ask.

Dr. Shtein looks at me, and her face is blank. This is business for her, but I know from the conversation I overheard with Nikolai it was her idea.

“When you can prove you are capable of doing so on your own,” she answers.

“How can I prove it if I’m restrained?” I argue.

She wheels one of the machines out of the way and pulls her chair closer to the bed. “How long have you had this behavior toward food?”