Page 20 of The Bratva Sinner

I always wondered why we never visited him. Why didn’t he visit us or send us Christmas presents? Part of me wondered if he even existed. I had vague images of a man with a thick black beard, bringing me a birthday present. My mother nevertalked about my father. I always understood that she hated him, and that was that.

According to the map on the phone, Little Havana is a forty-minute walk from where Maksim dropped me. I grew up walking fence lines and pastures. Forty minutes is nothing.

I find the church, and from there, I ask around. An old woman points me two blocks east. I find the building and realize it wasn’t just me and my mother that were poor. Our trailer looks like a luxury resort compared to this place.

I ask an old man sitting out front in the shade of the building. He directs me to the third floor. I can’t believe I’m about to meet family. It’s been just me and Mama for so long that I just assumed we were it.

I knock on the door, and a woman answers.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Dritan."

“You are?”

Do I tell her? No. That feels risky.

“A friend.”

She doesn’t believe me, and I don’t care.

The apartment is small and dark. There is a hospital bed in the living room. The man in the bed is half-sitting, watching me.

"Dritan?" I ask.

"Elira." My old name. The one I’m not supposed to remember. "You look like your mother."

I don't know if that's a compliment. His tone says it isn’t.

"Do you know why I'm here?" I ask.

"I know you're in trouble."

"Why?"

He laughs, and it turns into a cough.

“Why?” I don’t bother to hide my irritation. I don’t care that he’s obviously dying.

“Because you’re here.”

“I didn’t come to Miami willingly.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. If you’re here, your mother is dead.”

I ignore the pain his words cause.

“Do you know why I was brought here?”

He stares at me with glassy eyes. He’s bald, but there is dark stubble along his jaw. I have no way to know if he’s the man from my memories. Maybe. But I don’t feel love from this man. He knows me, and he doesn’t like me. Why? What could I have possibly done to have my only family not like me?

"Your father stole from Arlind Derveshi. Too much for us to pay back. He offered the only thing he had that Arlind might want."

"What was that?"

His eyes lock on mine. "You. What you carry."

"I don't know what you’re talking about."