Page 92 of Ruthless Dream

“I don’t like Wallen,” I say with a shrug. “But as you said—I am but a cog in the wheel.”

He’s got another thing coming if he thinks he can speak of my uncle like some fucked-up man, as if the Zimins aren’t some inbred Russian psychopaths. I won’t give him any more power by appearing rattled. I’ll allow his speech to be nothing but a non-issue.

Boris smiles slightly.

I smile back. “Adeline told me you have a family tradition of making paninis with leftovers.”

I know I’ve made the right play when his fingers tighten around his vodka.

My first Thanksgiving takes place around the Akatov table. Adeline to my left, her brown eyes curiously peeking over because she’s desperate to know what happened. Her brow pinches every time I tell her everything is fine. I’ll deal with her pouting later and not when I’m being served mounds of mashed potatoes and turkey.

“Was it everything you dreamed of?” Nat asks later. We’ve moved into the living room, an American football game playing. Dessert plates are scattered on the coffee table.

“It was,” I tell her, my chest oddly light considering my girlfriend’s father threatened to kill me hours earlier.

Adeline and I are sitting in a chair big enough to be a small sofa, our socked feet propped on an ottoman. Lennie is curled in another armchair, a book in her hand. Gia keeps wandering back and forth between the kitchen and living room.

“Did Seamus make a pumpkin pie?” Adeline asks, licking her fork clean of whipped cream.

I dig my phone out of my pocket, showing her the photo he sent me. My family made the day into an excuse to participate in eating a shit ton of food.

“Ian even texted me to say Happy Thanksgiving.” The message popped up, one of the few I’ve received from him since traveling here.

Adeline perks up, understanding this. “Is that all?”

I nod and push her hair out of her face. She sucks on the fork, lost in thought.

A commercial blares on the TV, catching my attention. When my head swings, I notice both Boris and his eldest daughter blatantly watching us.

“Adeline, what happened with the Christmas decorations?” Boris asks.

Nat hides a smile. “Mom is hauling down boxes.”

“And no one wanted to help?”

“She shooed us away!”

This tends to happen. Gia likes help about as much as her youngest daughter does.

“Go check on her,” Boris says. “All three of you.”

“But I’m reading,” Lennie says, and at first I think her soft-spoken voice is being serious, but I catch the twitch of her lips.

Boris is at risk of overplaying his hand.

“Dad, go check on the plants or something,” Adeline advises, setting her plate on the coffee table.

His chest ripples with a deep sigh.

“Are you tired?” Adeline asks me, like we haven’t all descended into a lazy post dinner haze.

“It’ll be okay,” I reassure her, knowing she’s worried about me getting home late.

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” Nat asks.

Boris goes completely still.

“I wouldn’t⁠—”