She blanched. I could see how she was trying to come up with something to say. She reached for the cigarette and took a shaky drag. I’d never smoke again. Her jittery energy told me that she needed something stronger than tobacco. Drugs. I couldn’t believe I’d followed in her footsteps and also fallen trap to addiction. I swore I’d never touch anything ever again. I’d never become the despicable woman before me.
“Dinara,” she began hesitantly. “I never meant for you to get hurt. I was in a bad state of mind. I was full of despair.”
I staggered closer to her, furious tears stinging in my eyes. “Despair?”
“Your father—”
Her familiar, too sweet, too strong perfume penetrated my nose, bringing up vivid memories that almost made my legs buckle. “My father forbade you from taking drugs. He wanted you to take care of me. He provided for you so you could be a mother to me. He gave you money so you didn’t have to sell your body anymore.”
“I never asked for any of this. I was happy with what I had.”
I swallowed hard. She didn’t seem guilty at all.
“I didn’t know what those men did to you. They hurt you, not me.”
I couldn’t believe her audacity. “There are recordings of what happened. You are in many of them, telling me to be nice to those assholes. You recorded what happened. You knew, don’t pretend you didn’t!”
“I—I was drugged. Those men pressured me.”
“You can blame them or my father but you are the true monster, Eden. They at least didn’t know me. You should have loved me.”
She made a move as if to stand but Adamo sent her a warning look.
“I was too young when I gave birth to you. I didn’t even want to have a child,” she said, glancing from him to me. The cigarette between her fingers had almost burned down.
I pressed my lips together, remembering Dad’s words. My mother hadn’t wanted me. She’d wanted to get an abortion but Dad didn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow her to get rid of his child. I didn’t resent her for not being ready for a child, not even that she’d wanted to abort me, but I hated her for how she’d used me, how she’d let other abuse me only so she could live the life she wanted. That wasn’t something I could ever forgive.
“A mother is supposed to protect her child from all harm, not throw it in its way. I loved you. I trusted you, and you destroyed everything. You ruined my life.”
She motioned at me. “You are here now and you look strong.”
“I’m here because of Dad, because he protected me.”
“Don’t become like him, don’t kill me, Dinara. I can leave the States so you’ll never have to see me again.”
“Maybe you can run from what happened but I can’t. It’ll always be a part of me.”
Mother slanted an assessing glance at Adamo, as if she wondered if he might be her salvation. She didn’t know him. He was the last person to expect mercy from.
“Did you ever have nightmares because of what you did to me?” I asked.
“Remo Falcone made sure I couldn’t forget what happened,” she said, but she didn’t say it as if this had caused her distress on my behalf. Her voice rang with self-pity. She met Adamo’s gaze. “He’s your brother. You know how he is. Have you told her?”
“Whatever my brother did is nothing in comparison to what you did to your own daughter,” Adamo growled, his eyes flashing with violence.
My own hunger for blood answered. I wasn’t sure why I was still talking to my mother. Maybe deep down I hoped she’d realize what she did, how she broke a young child’s trust and ruined my life, but I wouldn’t get the satisfaction of an honest apology. My mother was incapable of seeing her mistakes.
I took the gun from the holster under my leather jacket. My mother jerked to her feet with raised hands. “Please, Dinara. You won’t feel better if you kill me. You’ll be guilty.”
“Guilty?” I rasped. “As guilty as you feel for what you did to me?”
I raised the gun, pointed it straight at her head. Her frantic eyes searched the room for an opportunity to escape, to save herself. My finger on the trigger shook. I only had to pull the trigger to end this but I was unable to move. I wasn’t sure what was holding me back. I didn’t love the woman before me, but until this point, a tiny, silly part had hoped everything would turn out to be a big misunderstanding, that there was an explanation that would prove my mother’s innocence. I knew that wouldn’t happen, but my heart had foolishly clung to hope. I’d wanted to find a mother I could love, a mother I could forgive. The woman before me wasn’t that mother.