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Forgot this little chap. LOL
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Chapter 15
Here we were, seventy years after that bloody Christmas. Although it was already midnight, we neglected the celebration for once. We were wide-eyed, listening to Volkova’s silenced dream.
My grandfather was in fact a mafia? I couldn’t help but felt it was like a dream. He had an extraordinary bond with these two women, but somehow neglected to mention them to us. I was a little puzzled at first when reading the journal. Now, with Volkova’s side of the story combined with the journal, the pieces of puzzles gradually came together.
From the look on my relatives’ faces, I knew that we now wanted to know more than just our beloved Roland Myer’s life. Each of us never knew of the Irish’s existence, and it intrigued us of what she did, what she had become, or where she was now if she were still alive.
When I see the water in Volkova’s eyes, I knew she was starting to feel sleepy.
“A coffee, please,” Volkova said, taking me by surprise. “Oh, anyone else?”
“Yes, me too,” Kate quickly responded. She would be the last to miss this session.
“That would be great. Thank you.”
“Count me in for the night ride!”
“I’d like one as well.”
Volkova then looked at me, and I just smiled.
“A coffee for everyone then,” Volkova said to the maids, who were sitting on the chairs by the living room’s door. They hurried into the kitchen to make some coffee for their master and guests, fearing they might miss the next part.
“So did Lena—the Irish die?” Kate asked and glanced at me.
At this point, I wondered if it was just a coincidence my grandfather named me ‘Lena’. As far as I knew, my grandmother’s name was Teresa, and her hair was naturally dark brown. She looked nothing like what Volkova had described the Irish.
“We all die at some point, dear Kate,” Volkova said, perking her chin up, sniffing the soft brew of the coffee brought in by the maids. “Ah, I wish you two would work as quickly as this everyday,” she sneered.
I took a cup from the tray and asked, “Did he name me after her?” I kept my gaze down on the nicely carpeted floor, but I could feel everyone’s stare upon me. I still couldn’t figure out why my grandfather would pick me. I looked every inch of an Italian woman.
“I would have no reason to object your theory. Lena was always in our minds, our hearts. No matter how long it had been, she’d live and breathed through us. She’d never leave us… She’d never leave me…” Behind the pair of golden-rimmed glasses, Volkova’s usually fiery, blue gaze dimmed down in melancholy at the last phrase. And I could see that the truth was the other way around; the Irish left her.
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