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CHAPTER ONE
Lina
Secrets.
A word that has dominated my life more than any other.
Some people love them because they involve beautiful surprises.
Unfortunately, I’m not one of them since the hidden truths so skillfully kept from my hands involved family skeletons, not balloons and cake.
Let it go. No one is stopping you from stepping into the future.
Shaking off the old poor-me story, I turn toward the window and notice the sun’s rays pouring into the apartment.
A shower of dazzling dust particles surrounds the Faberge egg, and I can’t help but laugh at Mother Nature. “Perfect timing. Thank you for highlighting the object Mama spoke about the most.”
Sliding my finger over the small treasure, I remember how often it starred in her tales and how wildly the value flip-flopped. If her bipolar train was approaching the manic station, the egg was worth untold millions. But if it happened to be bearing down on the one where the dark dragons resided, it was worthless and should be thrown out immediately.
So many mysteries. And not one clue left behind to explain them.
A sharp knock interrupts my musing, making my well-honed fight-or-flight response kick in. “Breathe.” I press my hand against my chest. “All is well.”
“Lina, do you have a man in there?”
“Coming.” I stride to the door and swing it open. “Damn, Stasia. You look stunning.”
“Of course I do.” Twirling in a circle, she bows. “This is your creation, isn’t it?” She holds up a garment bag. “I brought the blue dress as well. I can’t decide which one says,take me on a date, you beautiful Bratva beastmore.”
She stops just inside the foyer. “Have you been rolling around in old memories?”
“A little.” I run my hand over my cheek. “Does it show?”
“Just to someone who knows you well.” Taking my hand, she squeezes our fingers together. “Are you ready to enjoy Polina’s wedding tonight?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Because we’re going to speak with every delicious man in attendance and find a shestyorka. Polina is thrilled with hers, so we should consider getting one of our own.”
“That’s a big switch.” I follow her into the living room. “Last week, you suggested we troll the museums for intellectuals.”
“That was two weeks ago.” She snaps her fingers. “Keep up.”
“How can I when our target keeps changing?”
“We are now interested in finding the perfect mobster bad boy.” She drapes her garment bag over a chair. “A sexy beast who admits his sins is much better than a dude who pretends to be decent but is a narcissistic psychopath under his pinstripes and khakis.” Opening her tote, she pulls out a pink box. “Treats.”
I flip the lid and study the green cookies inside. “Is this one of your new recipes?”
“It is, and I sadly must report, that the babushkas turned their wrinkled noses up at my matcha tea cakes.” She drops down on the couch. “My artistry is wasted. None of the bakery customers have an open mind and all but refuse to try something new.”
“At least Mrs. Titov allows you to continue to test your recipes.”
“The woman knows which side her rye bread is buttered on and wouldn’t dare let another bakery get their floured hands on me.” She crosses her legs. “I’m the reigning queen of cakes, and if I leave, the brides will follow.”
“Speaking of brides, is Polina’s cake safely delivered to the banquet hall?”
“Yes. I made a three-tier Korokevskiy, which looks beautiful if I say so myself.”
