[READ Have Vengeance FIRST]
"Long time no see."
"Fuck you."
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After three years, Alyona finds herself back in New York after fleeing from the memories it left behind. With the killer of her best friend still not brought to justice, Alyona w...
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•°. *࿐
ALYONA ISN'T AN Ivanov anymore she says.
It's kind of comforting to hear that considering I was left in the dark about everything that happened after Celine died.
I asked her why she isn't - if there's a specific reason - and she says she just took back her name. That her mother's suits her better and that Faith's is more deserving. A fuse of sorts.
I wonder what her father thinks about that. He seems like a guy who would be wounded over such trivial things as a name change.
"Has she...said anything about me?" TK asks as he washes out a glass from behind the bar.
It's currently midday with slow business. TK cleans whilst I drink. It's a ritual we have.
I look up from my glass, "No. And I don't want her to. I also don't want to know whatever you've done that made her so hostile."
"She has a right to be hostile." He mutters, turning around to place the cleaned glass up in a cupboard I can barely reach.
Okay. Now I want to know.
"Did you...do something illegal?" I ask.
I have no idea whether TK knows of Alyona's heritage or any of the illegal things that happened three years ago. I do know that he doesn't refer to her as Alison though. Meaning he must know a smidge.
"You told me you didn't want to know." He grins.
"Well you merely piqued my interest." I twirl my glass of limoncello in the air.
TK's smile loosens when Rowan comes out from the back with a crate, the mood instantly dampening.
Rowan's worked longer for me than TK has, and when TK came to work for me, they quickly didn't get along.
Whether it be some toxic masculinity, competitiveness, stupidity - I don't care. As long as they do their jobs.
"You really shouldn't drink in broad daylight like that while we're open." Rowan says to me placing the crate down behind the bar and leaning over the counter with a smirk.
"None of my customers are snitches. And even if someone does, my last name can get me out of anything." I roll my eyes, still playing along.
You have to be twenty-one to drink in America. You can be eighteen and sell alcohol as long as you aren't handling it or consuming it - but still, it's a risky stretch for anyone.
Most of my workers - the ones handling the alcohol - are twenty-one and above. But TK is a different story. He doesn't really work for me. Not legally anyway.
He comes in, does his job, gets paid in cash rather than credit, and takes precautions so that his birth certificate doesn't get included in any part of this job. That way he can handle alcohol at eighteen, and no one suspects anything.
