I pick up my coffee. “So they want us to do surveillance on her?”
“It’s more than that. They want someone to get close to her. Get to know her and gain her trust. But they’re also concerned for her safety. They have reason to believe one of Orlov’s enemies has issued a contract on her.
“The Feds obviously can’t put her under witness protection because then Nikolai won’t be able to contact her, and they won’t be able to nail him.”
“What do we know about her?” Jayden asks.
“She’s an elementary school teacher. Single.” Liam pushes the manila folder in front of him toward me. “And she’s about to become your girlfriend…”
2
Chloe
“There’s our favorite ray of sunshine,” Lawrence says as I approach his table in the recreation room of the seniors’ retirement residence. His voice is like antique paper—brittle but at the same time, full of wisdom.
His friends are sitting with him in the brightly lit room, as is usually the case when I volunteer here. Half the tables are filled with various groups of individuals, gossiping, knitting, or playing chess.
“I don’t suppose your little ray of sunshine brought a bottle of whiskey to really brighten our day.” Samuel flashes me a hopeful grin.
I pat his weathered hand and smile at him. “You know I’d never do that. It’s not what the doctor ordered.”
His grin transforms into a disgusted grunt. “What the hell does that kid know about medicine anyway?”
The kid he’s referring to is at least fifteen years older than me. And at thirty, I’m hardly a kid myself.
“Given that he has a medical degree on his office wall,” I say, “I’m guessing he knows a fair amount about the topic.”
The other three men snicker.
“But I can get you some yummy lemonade if you’d like.” I’m not being sarcastic. It really is delicious.
Although from what I’ve heard, it was especially popular during the Fourth of July celebrations last year, when someone spiked it with vodka, and the seniors showed everyone how to really party.
Even Mrs. Witherspoon with her walker.
Some of the residents are still talking about the conga line.
The men agree that a glass of lemonade wouldn’t kill them—but only if I’m heading that way.
I return a few minutes later with the pitcher and glasses. I fill the glasses and hand them out, then sit on the empty wooden chair between Frank and Ivan. “So, what game are we playing today?”
“Monopoly,” Ivan says on a sigh. “Why they won’t let us play poker is beyond me.”
Frank guffaws, and his belly jiggles like Santa’s does when he laughs. With his long white beard and large girth, he reminds me of the jolly old man himself. “That’s because strip poker’s against the rules. Which is why they made us stop playing it.”
I feel my eyes widen. “You guys were playing strip poker?” Now that’s something I’m glad I didn’t witness.
“Not here in the rec room. We used to sneak into Hattie’s suite and play it there.”
“We? You mean Hattie and you four gentlemen?”
“Not at all,” Lawrence says with a cheeky grin. “By the time the nighttime staff figured out we were up to no good, we’d been holding weekly strip-poker nights for a few months, and there was a fair number of us.” He lists around twenty names, which includes an equal number of males and females. And I must admit I’m surprised by some of them.
“And we would’ve gotten away with it if the nighttime staff hadn’t checked on Agatha and found her missing.” Frank grunts.
Samuel removes the lid from the Monopoly box. “The way they acted, you’d have thought she was the Queen of England. I’m surprised they didn’t call in the secret service to locate her.”
“They practically stormed the room,” Lawrence adds, “surprising the shit out of us.”
Frank laughs even louder this time. “Which wasn’t a bad thing for the individuals dealing with constipation.”
I smile at the four men who, in the past year, have become more like grandfathers to me than my own grandfather ever was.
I’m referring to the one on my mother’s side. I never got to know my other biological grandparents. Nor did I get to know my stepfather’s parents.
As for my remaining grandfather, the last I heard—according to the news—he’s currently facing the possibility of life in prison. The list of charges is long and includes activities associated with the Russian mafia.
That’s right, I’m a mafia princess. Or I would’ve been if I hadn’t escaped that life, thanks to my mom. But leaving it came at a price. I had to walk away from my entire family, including my mother.
Squashing down the pain of missing her that perpetually bubbles beneath the surface—along with the pain that my family so easily turned their backs on me—I help Samuel set up the board and hand out the game pieces and money. Because Samuel worked in the financial industry before he retired, he’s always the banker.
“Do you have any plans for Christmas, Chloe?” Ivan asks after we’ve been playing for several minutes.
Frank rolls the dice. “Christmas? That’s not for another six weeks. We haven’t even had Thanksgiving yet.”
“I have no plans,” I say, “other than visiting the residents who’ll be spending the holidays here.”
“Why not spend it with your family?”
“Or with a husband?” Lawrence adds.
I don’t answer, pretending both were rhetorical questions, pretending to be super enthralled with the game.
The men aren’t fooled. I can feel their curious gazes on me.
“Do you realize,” he says, “we’ve all shared about our past lives, and about our families and loved ones, but we really know nothing about you, young lady? Other than you’re a kindergarten teacher, you love your job, you volunteer here several times a week, and you’re single. That’s it.”
“And you’re an artist,” Frank adds.
“A graphic artist,” Samuel clarifies, “who would one day like to illustrate children’s books.”
All of that is true. I went to art school and had planned to have a career illustrating children’s books and creating kid-friendly artwork. I ended up taking some art therapy courses, worked in a summer day camp for a few years, and decided I wanted to be an elementary school teacher.
And I couldn’t be happier.
Happier than I ever would’ve been as a mafia princess.
“Then you know everything there is to know about me,” I say, adjusting my property cards on the table, ensuring their edges are all even, so I don’t have to make eye contact with the men.
“What about your family?” Lawrence asks. “Do they live in San Francisco, too?”
“No.” Or at least I’m assuming none of them still live in the city. I haven’t heard from any of them in seven years. Not even my cousin Nikolai, who I was close to growing up.
My grandfather had explained to my family that due to my decision to not be a part of the family business, they weren’t to contact me anymore.