Page 82 of The Wrong Monster

Kevin’s eyes go straight to her face, and he clams up.

“Um, Mr. Borisov, I⁠—”

I watch as he searches for an excuse. There’s a rustle from outside the room, and Matty shifts to the side a bit, revealing Mrs. Harris, who looks distrustfully between the two of us.

“Kevin. You should rest.”

He stares at his mother, nodding mutely. The relief on his face hurts, but I can’t blame the boy. I should have forced Matilda to stay behind.

Standing, I take a deep breath to ground myself and tell him, “I hope you’re feeling better soon, Kevin, and that the arm heals well in time for baseball season.”

Then I leave the room. And Mrs. Harris, despite being almost two feet shorter than I am, herds Matty and me down the hallway. We end up back in the kitchen.

It’s uncomfortable for a few beats as Kevin’s mother stands beside the table, watching Matilda with an expression I can’t quite place.

“What is going on?” My voice has changed; there’s a burst of quiet anger behind it, because I don’t like not understanding the truth of a situation. And something is happening here.

The softness I reserved for Kevin is gone. His mother looks at Matilda.

“She has it.”

I stare at the short, haggard-looking woman. “Has what?”

“The mark.”

“What mark?” Matilda asks quickly, looking back and forth between us.

“The same one.” Stomping forward, Mrs. Harris gestures toward Matty’s cheek. “The man Kevin was working for. The man who found out about him. He had the same mark.”

I turn. Matilda is standing near the doorway, completely still.

My eyes go to her cheek.

The tiny star.

I’ve kissed that spot. Run my lips down to her jaw, her throat. I’ve been making that mark a ridiculous little focus of fantasy this whole time. How the hell did I never see it?

My mind races backward through everything I know about Semiyon. His face. His history. The few details we’ve been able to piece together about his personal life, which is next to nothing, and impressive.

He appeared in the Adirondacks back in the late 90s, a low-level criminal looking for work. Scruffy enough to go unnoticed and sly enough to get himself into trouble. When he was working under my men, I wouldn’t have been sad to see him lost in an alley knife fight or left out in the winter cold to walk back to the town, or try to.

But Yuri took him with him. I haven’t seen Semiyon face-to-face in years now. I rarely saw him face-to-face back when he was an errand boy for my syndicate.

I look at Matilda again.

“How are you related to Semiyon?”

Her expression goes blank. Too blank. There was a flicker of recognition before that perfectly calm demeanor swept over her features.

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

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

Kevin’s mother looks between us. When I take a step toward Matilda, Mrs. Harris stumbles back, catching herself against the table.

I’ve stayed too long. Pushed the boundaries too far. Men like me aren’t supposed to exist in these places.