Page 31 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

A woman appears beyond the bars. She’s beautiful. Composed. A gracefulness that seems effortless. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face and falls down her back in glossy waves. Her posture is straight and assured. And her eyes…

That same cobalt blue.

“Hello, Sandrine,” she says gently. “It’s me, Ksenia. Welcome home.”

Hearing someone else call me that name again hits me like a blow. I rush forward, gripping the bars.

“Please,” I say, my voice breaking despite my effort to keep it steady. “Please, there’s been a mistake. I’m not Sandrine. My name is Jessica. Jessica Parker.”

“Why are you doing this?” Her brows knit together. “You were happily married. We loved you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I cry out.

She studies me for a long moment, confusion on her face the same as…

“I told that man⁠—”

“That man is your husband. My brother.”

“I told your brother this, and I will tell you the same thing.” I rush my words in a desperate garble. “My sister is married to Ares Zervas. He runs the Greek Mafia in New York. He...he’ll come for me. He’ll pay you for me.”

“We don’t want his or anyone else’s money, Sandrine. We want you,” she says calmly. “Ares knows who you really are.”

The man said the same thing, but I thought he was lying.

“And Ares knows you belong to Kirill.”

Kirill. That name makes my brain twitch and my breathing go offline.

“No.” I shake my head, backing away. “You’re lying.”

Sighing, she looks me over, frowning at my shorts and flip-flops. “Are you hungry?” she asks.

The question throws me completely. “What?”

“I’m going to bring you a tray of food,” she continues, as if we’re done discussing why I’m here in a cell. “When you’re ready to talk, you let us know.”

She turns and walks away, but another flash cracks behind my eyes.

Soft hands in my hair. Careful. Gentle. A tender moment.

And then, it’s gone.

I press my palms to my temples while I pace, fighting the rising tide of panic threatening to pull me under. I will not lose control. I can’t. I sit on the floor again and meditate to calm down. The way therapists taught me to deal with stress.

Other amnesia patients in Lakeshore Neurological had heart attacks after learning truths they didn’t want to hear.

But loved ones told them. Like Lourdes told me stories.

Ares knows who you really are.

Everyone’s got to be lying. I don’t know who these people are!

Ksenia appears in front of the bars a few minutes later, or maybe it’s longer. Holding a tray in her hands, she hisses something to a guard. The man steps forward to open a small slot in the bars and pulls out a narrow shelf.

When she slides the tray forward, the smell hits me immediately. It’s rich and buttery.

My stomach tightens. “What is this?” I ask, warily.