Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(55)

There is a moment of silence, and it feels like a death. Grief has swallowed me whole, and in a time of mourning, silence is only appropriate. Maybe that’s why Sarah isn’t so bad. I talk to her, not because I should, but because she knows when to ask questions and she knows when to stay quiet.

Every week, she comes back here. She invests her time in me. She tells me she believes in me and tries to keep me healthy. We discuss body image and dancing and whatever else comes out of my mouth. But I’m under no illusion it’s because she cares. Nikolai pays her to fix me.

As if she could.

“During our past few visits, I was under the impression that your practice was improving quite steadily,” she says.

“I was lying.”

Another bout of silence follows my admission, and I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from crying. I feel like a child again. This loss is as great to me as my own mother. I’m fragile and I’m broken, but I always have been. Maybe I’m okay with that, though, even if Sarah isn’t.

“You started ballet at a very young age,” she remarks. “I know that studies have shown it’s not uncommon for dancers to suffer severe injuries under your circumstances.”

“I don’t care what the studies say,” I tell her. “It’s the only thing I ever wanted to do, and now I can’t.”

“Maybe instead of focusing on the loss of your professional career, you can adapt your expectations. You can still use that passion for good. You could teach—”

She stops herself midsentence, realizing her mistake. I’m a prisoner to the mafia, and teaching or finding another outlet for ballet is out of the question.

“Sometimes, we get so focused on what we can’t do that we forget what we’re still capable of,” she amends.

I don’t answer her. The power of positivity isn’t going to work for me today. My grief is a process, and eventually I will tread water again, but I will do it in my own time.

“How are your eating habits this week?” she asks.

“They’re fine.”

“Nikolai tells me otherwise.”

Betrayal pierces my thoughts, and I turn to look at her. I have been good. I’ve been doing mostly okay. But I know he’s referring to the Christmas party. It isn’t fair for him to count that against me.

“It was one time, and it was only because I was in an uncomfortable situation.”

“Nonna also says that you haven’t been clearing your plates, even though they are small portions. It’s a very slippery slope, Tanaka. They only mention it because we all want you to succeed with your program.”

“I’m fine,” I reiterate. “If anything, I’ve been eating too much. I had to buy two sizes up in my clothes, and I don’t like it.”

“You are at a perfectly reasonable weight,” she says. “The doctor mentioned that you’ve finally reached a healthy body mass index. Do you remember how we discussed changing the way you see yourself versus controlling your food to maintain your safety zone? Should we go over it again?”

“No,” I answer.

“How do you feel right now?” she asks. “Do you feel healthy? Do you have more energy? Tell me something positive about your new eating plan.”

I tap my fingers against the desk. I do feel like I have more energy, but I don’t want to admit it to her because right now she feels like the enemy. I feel like she is conspiring with Nikolai and Nonna to make me miserable, and I am angry with all of them, no matter how illogical it might be. I decide that while I can’t control my food, or my body, or my dancing anymore, there is still something else I can control.

“I’m done with therapy,” I tell her. “I want you to leave now.”

There isn’t a response. I expect her to argue, and I’m preparing my mental arsenal. I will go to war with her if she makes me. But I’m done giving away my secrets like candy. She just needs to say one thing. One protest. One argument. And I will let her have it.

But she doesn’t give in to my tactics.

Instead, she disappoints me by leaving the room without another word.





I find Nakya in the gym, stretching her leg against the barre I provided. She is wearing only a pink leotard and leg warmers today. Since I gave her free rein with my credit card, there has been a dramatic change in her wardrobe. Lately, I’ve enjoyed seeing her in the high-waisted jeans and bodysuits she purchased. She’s a different girl than the prim little dancer I first met. She is wilder, perhaps.

But she is also self-conscious of her healthier new body. I enjoy the way her thicker flesh feels against me. There is nothing like getting lost in the softness of a woman. It calms me. And I get lost in Nakya as often as I can now.

Seeing her healthy is important to me, and as long as she’s in my care, I will do what’s necessary to keep her that way.

“Sarah tells me that you think it’s up to you to fire her.”

She returns my gaze in the reflection of the mirror. “I don’t need therapy anymore. I’m better now.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

She releases her leg and turns to face me, meeting my eyes in challenge. “I don’t have anything else to say to her. She’s wasting my time.”

“That is for me to determine. Besides, what else do you have to do?”