disappearing assailant. Dark and brooding was the new black in the Belarus family. I kept my mouth shut and headed for the back hall that led off to the stairs to the other floors. Maybe I could salvage my evening if I could just leave them to their creepy little viewing party, obsessing over the latest financial stories on the news. I hoped so, anyway, backing myself into the hallway slowly so as not to draw attention.
The tiniest hint of interest awoke on my father’s face. He scratched at the little semicircle that remained of his black hair.
“How was your day?” he asked, shifting his focus to me, his words coming out pointed beyond his hint of an accent. His blue-green eyes, my own eyes, stared back at me.
I stopped where I was halfway down the hall. “Oh, fine,” I said, words rushing out of me, breaking the strange wall of silence. “You know, the usual…showed some apartments, met up with some contractors…” I backed myself slowly down the hall as my words trailed off, but my father lowered the volume on the television with his remote.
“I heard from Randy Rosenzweig,” he said, all business tone, “at the Hell’s Kitchen project. You skipped out early on an appointment with him today, yes? Would you care to explain that?”
Something about his tone, switching from melancholy to business on a dime, hit me the wrong way. I stopped in the hall again, then hurried back into the main room. “Do I get a choice? Any chance I can convince you not to be concerned…?”
“What I am concerned with,” he said, stern this time, “are your growing issues in timeliness when it comes to ourbusiness, what you’re doing to sabotage our family’s name in certain real estate circles. This is a family business, Alexandra. It will be
your
business. Do you understand that?”
My mother
tsk-tsk
ed behind closed teeth. “Alexandra, tell me…what is so important that you have to keep shuffling appointments around?”
I sighed and spoke. “Remember that envelope Rory gave me for my birthday back in August?”
My mother’s face winced at the mention of my oldest friend, but I let it slide. Like most mothers, she blamed my oldest friend for every bad idea I’d ever gotten mixed up with. I was pretty sure she’d be doing the same thing when I was fifty.
“She’s seen how ragged learning this business is running me, so she just thought I might relax a little if I spent a little more time with my passion, so…she enrolled me at the Tribeca Y for one of the artist-in-residence series they offer as part of their art studio programming.”
“
Art
again?” my father asked, treating the word like I had just said I was entering the drug trade. “Alexandra, we have been through this. I fail to see how
that
will remotely help your future. We want you to be prepared to fully take over the family affairs if—
when
—the time comes.”
“You had Devon all polished up for all that, didn’t you?” I asked. I tried to bite back my words, but I couldn’t. “I didn’t ask for all this. I never wanted it.”
My father sighed, his voice going dark. “We’re talking about you right now, Alexandra,
not
your dead brother, God rest his soul. You did not ask for this choice, but it is a better one than your brother faced.”
“I nearly faced death, too, you know,” I said, snapping. I reached into my purse with caution and pulled out the knife. So much for not saying anything. “Tonight. I almost got accosted in an alley on the way home.
This
is what my attacker had at my throat.”
My mother was up like a shot, running over, but stopped short of where I held the ornate knife. My father got up a bit more slowly, his eyes full of concern, and walked over to me.He took the knife from my hand, inspecting the carvings along the white of its handle. Something that looked like a black serpent with four heads wrapped up and down it. “This is something ungodly,” he said, meeting my eyes with all seriousness.
My
The tiniest hint of interest awoke on my father’s face. He scratched at the little semicircle that remained of his black hair.
“How was your day?” he asked, shifting his focus to me, his words coming out pointed beyond his hint of an accent. His blue-green eyes, my own eyes, stared back at me.
I stopped where I was halfway down the hall. “Oh, fine,” I said, words rushing out of me, breaking the strange wall of silence. “You know, the usual…showed some apartments, met up with some contractors…” I backed myself slowly down the hall as my words trailed off, but my father lowered the volume on the television with his remote.
“I heard from Randy Rosenzweig,” he said, all business tone, “at the Hell’s Kitchen project. You skipped out early on an appointment with him today, yes? Would you care to explain that?”
Something about his tone, switching from melancholy to business on a dime, hit me the wrong way. I stopped in the hall again, then hurried back into the main room. “Do I get a choice? Any chance I can convince you not to be concerned…?”
“What I am concerned with,” he said, stern this time, “are your growing issues in timeliness when it comes to ourbusiness, what you’re doing to sabotage our family’s name in certain real estate circles. This is a family business, Alexandra. It will be
your
business. Do you understand that?”
My mother
tsk-tsk
ed behind closed teeth. “Alexandra, tell me…what is so important that you have to keep shuffling appointments around?”
I sighed and spoke. “Remember that envelope Rory gave me for my birthday back in August?”
My mother’s face winced at the mention of my oldest friend, but I let it slide. Like most mothers, she blamed my oldest friend for every bad idea I’d ever gotten mixed up with. I was pretty sure she’d be doing the same thing when I was fifty.
“She’s seen how ragged learning this business is running me, so she just thought I might relax a little if I spent a little more time with my passion, so…she enrolled me at the Tribeca Y for one of the artist-in-residence series they offer as part of their art studio programming.”
“
Art
again?” my father asked, treating the word like I had just said I was entering the drug trade. “Alexandra, we have been through this. I fail to see how
that
will remotely help your future. We want you to be prepared to fully take over the family affairs if—
when
—the time comes.”
“You had Devon all polished up for all that, didn’t you?” I asked. I tried to bite back my words, but I couldn’t. “I didn’t ask for all this. I never wanted it.”
My father sighed, his voice going dark. “We’re talking about you right now, Alexandra,
not
your dead brother, God rest his soul. You did not ask for this choice, but it is a better one than your brother faced.”
“I nearly faced death, too, you know,” I said, snapping. I reached into my purse with caution and pulled out the knife. So much for not saying anything. “Tonight. I almost got accosted in an alley on the way home.
This
is what my attacker had at my throat.”
My mother was up like a shot, running over, but stopped short of where I held the ornate knife. My father got up a bit more slowly, his eyes full of concern, and walked over to me.He took the knife from my hand, inspecting the carvings along the white of its handle. Something that looked like a black serpent with four heads wrapped up and down it. “This is something ungodly,” he said, meeting my eyes with all seriousness.
My
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