Chapter 2: Dm
The warm, garlic-heavy air of the trattoria wrapped around Svet like a blanket. It was a welcome change from the open expanse of the plaza. Here, tucked into a worn vinyl booth, the world shrank to the size of their table, to the flickering tea light and the half-eaten basket of focaccia.
Elin was mid-story, gesturing with a breadstick. “...and then the steam wand just let out this screech, like a horrified pterodactyl, and covered Leo in oat milk. His expression? Priceless.”
Svet smiled, the gesture feeling easier now, more natural. Her phone, face-down on the table, buzzed. A soft, insistent hum against the wood. She ignored it. She was here, with her people. The world outside could wait.
It buzzed again. And again. A short series of bursts. A notification stream.
Mary’s eyes flicked from the phone to Svet’s face. “Someone’s popular.”
“Probably my dad,” Svet lied, scooping up a forkful of spinach ravioli. “Last-minute ‘urgent’ query about invoice codes.” The lie tasted bland. She knew who it was. The knowledge was a little live wire in her stomach.
Elin wasn’t buying it. Her eyes widened, a grin spreading. “It’s him, isn’t it? Mr. Instagram. The canine-loving Canadian.”
“His name is Andre,” Svet said, a little too quickly. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, the coarse paper scratching her lip. “And it’s probably just…” She trailed off, her willpower crumbling. She flipped the phone over.
The screen lit up, illuminating the cracks from last month’s drop. Three messages from `andre.t._`.
The first: A photo of a menu. Not as good as the place you’re at, I bet. I’m stuck with a sad burger at the airport hotel.
The second: Hope I’m not being a nuisance.
The third, sent just seconds ago: Okay, now I feel annoying. Last message. Your smile at the plaza was a highlight. Had to say it.
A genuine laugh escaped her, surprising her. Elin immediately started patting the table. “What? What did he say? Show us!”
Svet angled the screen away. “He’s at an airport hotel. Says his burger is sad.”
“Aw, the poor thing,” Elin cooed, clutching her heart dramatically. “All alone with his sad burger. You have to save him.”
Mary took a sip of her wine. “Airport hotel? Is he leaving?”
The question landed like a splash of cold water. Svet’s fingers hovered over the keypad. She typed a quick reply. Sad burger crimes are the worst. Our pasta is winning. And you’re not a nuisance.
She hit send before she could overthink it. Then, fueled by a sudden shot of courage, she added: Heading back to Canada?
The three dots appeared instantly. Elin leaned across the table, trying to see. “He’s typing! He’s typing!”
Svet swatted her away, her heart doing that clumsy tapping again. She watched the dots pulse, a tiny digital heartbeat.
Yeah, tomorrow morning, his reply came. Back to the Great White North. Duty calls.
Disappointment, sharp and unexpected, pricked at her. Of course he was leaving. Why had she even let herself forget that for a second? This was supposed to be a bit of fun, a fleeting distraction. A closed loop. The明亮, untethered feeling from the plaza evaporated, replaced by the familiar, heavy weight of reality. Men leave. They always do.
Ah, got it, she typed, her fingers feeling sluggish. Well, safe travels.
She was about to set the phone down, to shut the door she’d just cracked open, when the dots appeared again. They danced for a long moment.
Look, this is probably too heavy for a DM, he wrote. But since I’m leaving… I felt something when I saw you. Really felt it. And I don’t want to just disappear.
Svet’s breath caught. Elin was whispering, “What? What is it?” but Svet’s world had narrowed to the glowing rectangle in her hand.
It’s cool, she replied, her throat tight. You don’t have to explain.
I kinda do, he responded. There’s a guy out here in LA. A real piece of work. Business type. The reason I had to… reassess my life. Join up.
The ravioli felt like a brick in her stomach. LA. Business type. The phrases were too vague, too common. But a cold trickle of dread started down her spine. Her father was a business type. The only business type she knew who could inspire that kind of visceral reaction.
Join the forces, you mean? she typed, stalling.
Yeah. Needed the structure. The clarity. This guy… he screwed over my family. Took everything my dad built. Left us with nothing but lawyers and debt. My dad never really recovered.
The sounds of the restaurant—the clatter of plates, the murmur of other diners—faded into a dull roar. Svet’s vision tunneled. She could see her father’s desk, piled with contracts. He’d justified those early, ruthless deals as “necessary growing pains.” She’d heard him on the phone, his voice cold and final, talking about adversaries he had to “crush.”
I’m so sorry, she typed, the words ashes in her mouth.
Don’t be. It put me on a better path. But it’s why I can’t stick around here. Too many bad memories. Seeing him… I don’t know what I’d do.
Svet looked up from the phone. Elin and Mary were watching her, their playful curiosity replaced with concern. Her face must have given something away.
“Svet?” Mary’s voice was low, steadying. “Everything okay?”
She forced a nod, but it was robotic. Her mind was racing, connecting dots she desperately hoped would not line up. It couldn’t be. LA was huge. The business world was vast. It was a coincidence. It had to be.
What’s his name? she typed. The question was a risk, a leap into the dark. Her thumb trembled slightly over the send button. She pressed it.
The three dots appeared. They pulsed once, twice. Then disappeared.
He was typing. Stopped. Was he hesitating? Was it too raw?
The dots reappeared.
Kovac, the message read. Alexei Kovac.
The world stopped.
The name glared from the screen, unmistakable and horrific. Her name. Her father’s name.
A cold nausea washed over her. The garlic scent turned suffocating. The laughter from another table sounded harsh, mocking. She saw Andre’s easy smile at the plaza, the genuine warmth in his green eyes. She pictured her father, his proud grin when she agreed to help with the business, completely oblivious to the wreckage he’d left in his wake to build it.
She had accepted a DM from a man who despised her father, who saw Alexei Kovac as a monster. A man who had no idea the woman he was trying to flirt with was the monster’s daughter.
“Svet?” Elin’s voice was small now, worried. “You’re white as a sheet.”
Svet dropped the phone onto the table as if it had burned her. It clattered against her water glass. She couldn’t breathe. The walls of the cozy trattoria felt like they were closing in.
Andre’s final message lit up the screen, a stark, unforgiving verdict.
Yeah. So that’s my baggage. Pretty heavy for a Friday night, huh?
The phone screen glowed like an accusation. Kovac. The name was a key turning a lock deep inside her, sealing shut the brief, bright door of possibility. Elin’s and Mary’s voices became a distant buzz, their concerned faces blurred at the edges of her vision.
“Svet, talk to us.” Mary’s hand was on her arm, firm and grounding.
“It’s… it’s him,” Svet whispered, the words tasting of ash. She clutched the edge of the table, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat flushing her cheeks. The rich garlic scent of the pasta now churned her stomach, a nauseating wave of memory and guilt.
She stood abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the tile like a scream. “Bathroom,” she managed, clutching her phone as if it were a live grenade. She weaved through the crowded trattoria, thelaughter and clinking glasses a jarring counterpoint to the silence expanding in her head.
Pushing into the single restroom, she locked the door and leaned against it, the cool painted surface a relief against her back. Her reflection in the mirror was pale, her green eyes wide with a kind of horrified clarity. Andre’s easy smile from the plaza, the way he’d talked about hisfamily’s loss—it all clicked into a terrible, inevitable picture.
Her father’s voice echoed in her memory, a justification she’d heard too many times: “Business is war, Svetlana. There are casualties.”
She looked down at the phone. His last message waited. Pretty heavy for a Friday night, huh? An understatement that threatened to drown her.
Her thumbs trembled over the screen. She couldn’t let him leave tomorrow carrying this… this lie of omission. It wasn’t fair. The connection she’d felt, however brief, deserved honesty, even if it was the kind that burned everything to the ground.
She typed, erased, and typed again. The truth was a simple, devastating sentence.
She took a sharp, shuddering breath and pressed send before she could lose her nerve.
His name is Alexei Kovac. He’s my father. I am so sorry for what he did to your family. I understand if you don’t wanna talk to me anymore.
She stared at the sent message, the words glaring back at her, a confession that hung in the digital space between them. The three dots did not appear. There was only silence, absolute and heavy, broken by the frantic beating of her own heart.
The fluorescent light in the bathroom hummed a flat, industrial note, bleaching all color from her face in the mirror. She gripped the cold porcelain sink, her knuckles white, waiting for the verdict to flash on her screen. Each second stretched into a miniature eternity.
Her phone remained dark, a stupid black rectangle. She could hear the muffled rise and fall of the restaurant’s din, a world continuing on oblivious to her personal earthquake. Had she just torched the only interesting thing to happen in months?
Then, a vibration. A single, sharp buzz against the sink.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she snatched it up. The screen glowed with his name. There were no three dots. Just a message, sitting there.
I’m still at the airport hotel, it read. The lobby bar. Come here.
Svet stared, reading the words over and over. Not anger. Not a block. An invitation. Her breath hitched, a confused mix of relief and terror. This wasn’t the reaction she had braced for.
Another message followed, quicker than she expected.
I don’t care who your father is. I want to see you.
The simplicity of it undid her. He still wanted her. The weight in her chest cracked, not lifting entirely, but shifting into something lighter, more precarious. This was reckless, probably stupid, but the pull was undeniable.
She typed a single word. Okay.
Pushing off the sink, she unlocked the door and stepped back into the noise of the restaurant. Elin and Mary were on their feet by the booth, their faces etched with identical worry.
“What happened?” Elin asked, her voice hushed. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“He knows,” Svet said, her own voice sounding distant. “I told him. About my dad.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “And?”
Svet tucked her phone into her pocket, a strange calm settling over her. “He’s at the airport Hilton. I’m going.”