22. Fia
FIA
Over the next few days, I find myself falling in love with Emil like I had a feeling I would.
He’s impossible to ignore. I see him making coffee, kitchen towel slung over his shoulder, and my chest explodes with joy. Nobody gets to see this unguarded side of Emil apart from me, and I feel honored that he’s able to drop his guard around me.
For the most part, he’s been staying home.
The dockyard has become a danger zone. Thirty-three men were killed, four of their bodies manipulated, tied to the bow of a ship to symbolize the Gromov’s increasing power in the shipping industry.
Emil is well aware of this but still insists on heading to the dockyard, watching things.
I have my way every time when I lose my gown, stripping naked in front of him.
Now he’s the one trapped.
I sit at the kitchen table where Emil was eating breakfast with Ivan only a few days ago, slipping the shipping manifest from my pocket. I carry it everywhere in the hopes of having a eureka moment, but I’m still in the dark.
Ivan definitely wrote this, since he was the one in charge of shipping manifests.
“Were you telling the truth about monitoring the Vancouver port?” I ask Emil, glancing up from the paper.
“Partly,” says Emil. “If you’re referring to breakfast with Ivan and Luka, I had to jump in with a white lie to keep things neutral with Ivan, since I thought he was guilty,” says Emil, leaning into the countertop, watching me from the stove.
“While we do watch Vancouver in the general sense, we never send active ships over there and write cargo manifests.”
“Which means Ivan didn’t write this?”
Emil purses his lip. “Clearly not.”
“What about Luka?”
“I’m sure the man behind this wouldn’t bait himself out, writing his own name on the report,” says Emil, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Like I said last night, this person is sly. Maybe I was mistaken about them being in the Bratva.”
“How else would they be able to leak information?”
“By being close enough to someone who has connections.” Emil flashes me a pointed look, his mouth twitching with hesitation.
“No,” I say, reading his face. “If you’re referring to Chloe, she’s innocent.”
“We can’t afford to rule her out.”
“We can. She’s my friend.”
“Who could be feeding information to Alexander, destroying us.”
“Chloe has absolutely no interest in destroying me,” I scoff. “I thought you were better than this.”
“When our family pays the price, I will happily disappoint you if it means we can raise the twins without danger,” says Emil, switching off the stove to give me his full attention.
“The truth stings. Unfortunately, from where I’m standing, Chloe would have a motive as destroying my Bratva would bring her closer to her friend. ”
From where he’s standing…
Emil stands right at the top, observing the world from a bird’s eye view. What if he had a point? Being emotionally invested in something causes you to misinterpret logic.
As if right on cue, my phone rings with an incoming call from Chloe herself.
I sigh, rising from the table, heading into the next room.
“Who’s calling?”
“My bestie,” I say, glaring at Emil as I slip into the next room, heading upstairs.
I stare at her name, my heart splitting down the middle at the thought of the one person I trust pulling the wool over my eyes. She wouldn’t. Emil projects his insecurities onto everyone else. He’s wrong about her.
“Chloe?” I say, answering the phone. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” she sighs down the receiving end of the phone.
“I was worried this would ring through to voicemail,” she says, altering her tone.
“Look, Fia, about the gala a few nights ago—I’m sorry for the way I snuck in and yanked you away.
It was out of order, considering you actually looked like you were enjoying yourself up until I arrived. ”
“Where are you going with this?”
“I still stand by what I said, and I need you to listen.”
“I’m all ears,” I drawl, dumping myself on the bed upstairs.
“You’re in love with the wrong man.”
“You met Emil briefly and think you have the man figured out.”
“I don’t know the man, but I do know you.
In the hospital cafeteria, you told me you needed to get as far away from Emil as possible, unable to trust your body around him,” she says, taking a beat, like she’s pausing for dramatic effect.
“You know you need to take action and run far away from this man, who, by the way, is a murderer,” says Chloe.
“I understand why you’re reluctant to leave.
Your husband is the god of celebrity crushes, wanted by every female in the world, but that doesn’t change the facts of who he really is at his core, when you look at things objectively. ”
She’s encouraging me to think rationally, huh…
“He’ll ruin you, Fia.”
“But maybe I’m to blame for us meeting. Perhaps I ran into trouble with him. Inserting myself into people’s business is something I’d do for answers.”
“I know,” says Chloe. “And I see what you’re saying, but regardless of how you met, enough is enough. Talking to you about this is hard because I risk falling out with my best friend, but I don’t want to attend your funeral, Fia,” she sighs.
“Emil won’t murder me.”
“But you’re sucked into that world. You could become collateral. Think about the twins, about the promise you made to yourself in the graduation book…”
I screw shut my eyes, sitting back in bed and groaning. “I love him.”
Those three small words make me incredibly vulnerable, but my feelings for Emil is the only thing that is making sense at the moment.
“I know, but I love you, Fia, which is why I will never stop fighting for you. Out of all the people I know, you deserve happiness more than anyone after your rough childhood.”
“Then let me be happy.”
“Even if it results in your death?”
“Quality over quantity, right?” I joke, propping myself up against the headboard, the fingernail marks causing my head to spiral.
Emil shows similar characteristics to my father, but unlike him, I trust that my husband would never hurt me.
“I knew something before,” I tell Chloe. “That is why I was hit by the car.”
“You think you were set up?”
“No, I know,” I say, biting my lip. “Look, I have to go.”
“Think about what I said,” suggests Chloe. “Because in the real world, a man kidnapping you every time you run away is fucking weird.”
“Yeah,” I say into the receiver before ending the call. “I get where you’re coming from. See you later.” I end the call, tossing the phone across the bed so I can rub my face aggressively with both hands.
The kidnapping thing is fucking weird, but replace ‘man’ with ‘Emil’ and the scenario instantly becomes hot.
Deciding I’m well and truly fucked, I head downstairs and become even more fucked when my husband walks over, offering me scrambled eggs, toast, and a kiss on the lips to make the pain all go away.