Page 84 of The Wrong Monster

“I didn’t choose who my father was. He didn’t raise me.”

“No?” His voice is dangerously quiet. “You knew there was something tying you to this, Matilda. When Kevin saw you the first time.”

“I knew I had a biological father named Semiyon. That’s it. I didn’t connect the two.”

He steps closer, boxing me in against the table. It’s cold on my lower back where my shirt has rucked up.

“You expect me to believe you have no idea who he is?”

Shaking my head, I plead, “I’ve spent twenty-eight years making sure I don’t know.”

Please, let him hear the truth of that.

His expression shifts. Not to something softer or forgiving, but more complicated—curious. Untrusting.

I swallow. “I am not him. I know…I can understand why Kevin…” The words get caught in my throat. My cheeks burn with shame that the man I don’t know, whose DNA I have, could beat a teenage boy almost to death.

Vasily stares at me.

Then his gaze flicks toward the bloodstained floor.

“That’s what every criminal says.”

The room seems to get smaller by the second. Vasily says something else, but I barely hear him. My stomach rolls violently, and before I can stop it, I turn toward the side and vomit.

Humiliation burns through me.

I brace a hand against the wall, breathing hard. Vasily has gone completely still, except for the fingers of his right hand flexing.

For one terrible second, I think he’s going to use my weakness against me. Instead, he steps closer.

“You have one chance.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to ignore the bitterness coating my mouth.

“Tell me the truth, Matilda. Now.”

“I am related to him.” The words finally come, though my voice is hoarse now. “He’s my father, but he left. We didn’t know where; I didn’t want to know. My mother married Ed; he’s my real dad. He raised me. I didn’t know that…Semiyon”—it feels so strange to say his name—“was here.”

Vasily’s expression doesn’t change. The room is silent except for the discordant dripping of water on the roof.

“He isn’t my dad,” I insist quickly. “I don’t know him. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know what he’s done.”

Vasily watches me like he’s trying to decide whether I’m worth believing.

“My mother met him in Lake Placid twenty-nine years ago. That’s all I know. She went home. She raised me with Ed.” I swallow. “I’ve spent my entire life avoiding the subject.”

His jaw flexes. “You never met him?”

“No.”

“Not once?”

“No.”

“Then how…”

“I didn’t know about the mark. I’ve never seen him.”