Chapter 8

I threw the phone into the Atlantic. Then I spent six months waiting for Katya Volkova to walk out of the fog. She never came. My belly grew. So did my paranoia. I kept a scalpel in every room. A pistol under my mattress. Leo learned to shoot cans off the fence. "She was bluffing," Lucia insisted. "That girl lost everything. The engagement. The alliance. Her father's respect. She's too busy drowning." Maybe. But I'd learned the hard way that the people who smile at you are the ones holding...