Lena looked out through the serving window from the kitchen, watching the new group of men step into the diner. She didn't pay much attention to them after they were sat at one of her tables. Her feet ached, her head was throbbing, and the last six hours behind her were a faint memory.
"You should stop taking peoples shifts." Alex chuckled beside her. He worked in the kitchen at this shitty little diner on 1st Avenue for fun, a small reprieve from all the heavy shit he did online when at home. Lena had spent her first week here looking for work, but besides the strip joints, not many people were partial on hiring her without verification of her name.
"Jane! Table 15 is set for you."
Lena nodded at Barb, the 60-year-old waitress that covered the bar counter by the window. Alex chuckled, giving her a small push to which she flipped him off before heading out the serving doors onto the diner floor.
It had been a year. She thought about it every day, every night, every minute. She'd sleep in the shitty little bed in Alex's living room, dreaming of Lip beside her, feeling his ghost lips on her skin, the warmth that he provided. She dreamed about memories with Ian, Fiona, Debbie. When the 4th of July came around and the fireworks were shot off, she felt the sadness deep inside her chest at the memory of Carl.
She thought maybe after a year it would go away.
In her own world, Lena pulled out her order pad and pen, trying to push the memories and thoughts away so she could take their order.
"Welcome to Mari Vanna, what can I get you to drink?" She glanced up from her order pad, staring at the three men sitting in the booth in front of her. All of them wearing black coats, the soft snow of New York and the bitter winter air brutal outside. They were laughing to themselves, sharing in a joke, and she almost didn't notice the conversation in Russian that was happening while she was approaching them.
The man on the left, alone on his side, looked up, a grin from ear to ear on his face. His eyes made contact with hers and she felt her stomach drop, death itself staring her in the face. He studied her, eyebrows pinching in the center with confusion. One of the other two asked a question in Russian but it was ignored by the big man, his eyes trapped on her.
All she could think about was running. She was mapping out the interior of the restaurant in her mind, her foot stepping back. Of all the fucking places, of all the fucking people. She was smack in the middle of the largest fucking place on the East Coast, a place he had vowed to never go, and here he was.
"Shit."
"Now, now, Lena, is that how you say hello?" His hand was on her arm before she could get away. The world was closing in on her. She glanced over to the kitchen, a pale Alex staring back at her, mouth ajar. Demtere's eyes followed her line of sight, but Alex dropped before he could see him. She was alone. The tears threatened to spill as she glanced back down at the man in front of her.
"How's my wife doing these days? I thought you were dead."
Mickey rolled over to see Ian beside him, sleeping soundly. His arms were wrapped around the brunette's stomach, but Mickey had to pee. And bad. His phone was buzzing beside his head but he figured it could go to voicemail, as he didn't want to stop staring at the man beside him.
"Fuck off Mick, didn't anyone tell you staring is rude." Ian grumbled, pulling Mickey closer, snugging into his neck as he stretched his legs out. "Get your fucking phone."
Mickey chucked, untangling himself from Ian before grabbing his phone and heading into the bathroom, naked. He quickly peed, checking the missed call and calling it back, seeing the 917 area code. Glancing over his shoulder he made sure Ian was still in bed as he listened to it ring.
"Mickey." It was a male voice, one he didn't recognize, British.
"Who the fuck is this?"
"Alex. Demtere found her. And he ain't happy."
Mickey slammed the phone shut quickly, throwing it down into the toilet. He finished peeing, his heart going a mile a minute as he quickly headed back into his bedroom. His hands shook as he quietly pulled his clothes on, Ian passed back out again, his back to him as he slept away. The house was quiet, the morning sun trapped behind the sheets he had pinned up on the wall.
He debated waking Ian as he grabbed a hoodie, his boots, socks, pants. But he slipped out of the room quickly, not wanting to startle him. Not sure on how he could explain himself, not sure on how any of this worked. He had killed her, but not really. He had lied to someone really important, someone so deadly even his own pops kept quiet around him. He had been lying to the Gallagher household this entire last year, but was it really his lie?
He couldn't explain what he wanted for breakfast and how he wanted it cooked let alone explain all that.
His hands shook as he gathered up the keys to the shitty truck parked out front, something Iggy had brought home a week ago. He pulled his last boot on, saying fuck all to the laces as he headed towards the front door. He grabbed his coat, pulling it on, opening the door up to the world.
"Going somewhere?" The voice was like cold water being poured down his back, a sudden reminder of the power his father had, even though he was locked up in jail. This was the group his dad was part of, this was the son of the man his father had grown up with. This was power. This was the man who had sent Svetlana over to be his wife, a prize for showing him where Lena was.
Demtere smiled, chuckling at his own joke that Mickey didn't necessarily find funny. Standing behind him, shivering, hair covering her face, head down, eyes on the ground, was Lena. And when Ian's voice called out to him from his bedroom, the ginger tucked away in his bed, unaware of what was going on, Mickey's world stopped.
"Why don't you invite us in Mikhailo. It's cold outside." Demtere didn't wait for him to speak, just pushed his way into the house. Lena trailed behind him, her hands shaking as she stepped up beside Mickey. He could see the bruises on her face, the blood on her lower lip dried up. Her had had grown longer, her skin pale. He hadn't heard much from her in the past couple of months.
Shutting the door behind them Mickey quickly made his way to his room, trying to push Ian back in, the pale skinned boy standing in the doorway, confusion on his face. He was staring at Lena, trying to figure out who she was, and Mickey was shaking, trying to get Ian back into their room.
"Now, now, Mikhailo, is this how you introduce company?" Demtere called out, putting Mickey's efforts to waste. "Let us say hello, I'm sure it's been a while for Lena."
"Lena?" Ian pushed past Mickey quickly, trying to crowd the girl. She was still shaking even though the house was relatively warm. She looked up from the floor finally, staring up at Ian, a faint smile of recognition on her lips. Demtere wouldn't allow him any closer though, putting his body weight between him and her. "What have you done to her?"
"Nothing she didn't deserve. When your wife fakes her death, she's got a lot coming to her."
"What the fuck?" Ian was brash, pushing himself into Demtere's personal space. Although the Russian man was smaller, muted by Ian's muscles and stature, there was no fear in his face; only a quaint knowing smile as he glanced over the gingers shoulder at Mickey.
"Ian," Mickey furiously whispered, grabbing Ian's forearm, pulling him back quickly, shaking his head. He wanted to make the boy understand, you didn't just talk like that in front of Demtere, you didn't stand up to him, you didn't back talk him.
"Now Mikhailo, Lena here has assured me that you were made to have a part in her death, that you weren't willing. She says she forced you?" Demtere looked over at Lena who was nodding, eyes locked on Mickey who nodded as well. "Even so, you lied to me Mikhailo. Repeatedly it seems, I've heard the rumors from you father in prison. Svetlana didn't fit your fancy?" Demtere glanced over at Ian, looking him from head to toe, a small grin on his face.
"We have a child together, and a business." Mickey didn't want to seem ungrateful, but it was clear as day.
"Oh really, I'd very much so like to speak with her."
"She's at the bar today."
Demtere nodded, glancing around the house, spotting the small feminine touches in the living room. Svetlana's influence had flourished in the house, as it was cleaner, organized, prettier. She had put the guns away, hid the booze, even put new paint on the walls. Demtere was not familiar with the Milkovich's house, which was only customary. When you stepped foot in a worker's home it was for ending a contract, not really anything else came of it.
"Set up a time tomorrow then. I'll bring Lena. You bring your boy toy and your wife. I'd love to see the dynamic."
Mickey nodded, his grip still hard on Ian who was trembling now. Demtere waited a moment longer before giving Lena a small shove towards the door, signaling that he was leaving. Ian tried to pull from Mickey's hold, but he wouldn't allow it, only letting go when the town car parked outside finally pulled off.