I Don't Plan to Play Saint

Troy

“Does Maya know?”

The question hung in the air between us, simple but loaded with implications I wasn't ready to unpack.

It wasn't a strange question, objectively. But coming from Fiona, with everything she'd just confessed, it felt like she was probing for something specific. Testing the boundaries of what I was willing to admit.

I started walking again, buying myself time to think. The bodega's neon sign flickered ahead, casting uneven shadows on the empty sidewalk.

"No," I said finally. "She doesn't."

The answer felt inadequate, but it was the truth. Maya had no idea about our connection, and I'd worked hard to keep it that way.

My mind drifted back to that day when Victor finally told me everything. I'd been sitting in his study, surrounded by all that expensive furniture and artwork, feeling like I was in a museum instead of someone's home.

"Your mother wants to see you," he'd said, not bothering with small talk. Victor had never been one for gentle approaches.

I'd almost l