Chapter 41
Hochesh Ostatsia Na Uzhin?
Roman
My life had no more meaning after the day I lost Isla in September. She ran away from me, taking my whole heart, my whole soul. All of me.
I was so goddamn broken.
Yeah, I cried like a baby. I stumbled back to my hotel room, about to reach for the bottle again, but then I remembered my lunch with Kirill.
I had to fucking pull myself together.
I stayed in New York another month. I worked at Kirill's, and I monitored her every move. I knew who her new friends were, where she lived, what time she came home, and where she worked.
Sometimes I would watch her myself, but...very rarely. Every time I saw her, I descended into madness.
Beneath all that, I was digging up everything we worked so hard to bury. I needed to show Isla that her father was just like me. I didn't kill him out of cruelty or because I wanted to hurt someone. I took him out because that was the game, and he played it.
If it wasn't him, it would have been me. Both he and I knew we lived in a zero-sum game. Winner takes all; winner takes everything. And there could only be one.
Getting all the documents together turned out to be way more challenging than I had anticipated. I couldn't call on Sergei for help, and Denis was a fucking idiot. On top of that, he had left for Russia for an undetermined amount of time.
To make matters worse, my stay in New York raised many questions with Sergei. "You there for the girl?" He questioned me over the phone one day, about two weeks into my absence from L.A.
"No. I'm here to discuss something with Kirill."
But he didn’t buy it, of course. He was a fucking snake, but my hands were tied—I couldn’t take him out in broad daylight, no reason, no cause. We had been partners for decades; such a power grab would set the whole business ablaze.
When I called him to make up all those months ago, he apologized for what he’d said to Isla, but he didn’t deny it. He brushed it off, saying it was a joke and she took it too seriously. He said he was just complimenting her on her beauty.
Fucking scumbag. I’d sit in my bed late at night and fantasize about slitting his throat.
And during the day, I was taking every possible step in the background to truly remove him from my life.
Slowly, so as not to raise any questions, I was altering all the incorporation documents on all the companies we owned, removing his name one by one.
Every time I’d fly back to L.A., I’d have another secret meeting with a partner or one of our trusted city and state officials.
I was setting the stage for Sergei’s departure, warming them up to the idea that he was planning to step away from the business—that he was planning to focus on family and his health. Planning to go off the grid.
And when in New York, I’d spend all day spying on Isla, getting constant updates about her.
She was moving on with her life. She was looking for an apartment, so I made sure both her realtors disappeared on her.
I threatened them both, and she finally called Mia after seeing the flyers that were delivered to her door, also set up by me.
Mia had no idea that Kirill and I set it up, but I wanted to make sure Isla was in good hands. Isla working with Kirill’s girlfriend was the safest and best outcome.
Weeks slithered by painfully slowly, but I was close—I had gathered almost enough to send her the information. Enough that she wouldn’t have any doubts. I flew back to New York for what felt like the hundredth time and had the package delivered the same evening I landed.
There was no way of telling how she would react—it was a risk, but I was willing to take it, willing to do anything to have a chance with her again.
My intentions were to show her that I never ever wanted to hurt her.
In fact, I’d given Dave an unprecedented number of chances to back down.
Maybe that's why he didn't…he thought he could push back forever.
Isla surprised me when she walked into the lobby of that high-rise—I didn’t expect her to meet with John.
I received a text with her location, all of me filling up with admiration for her.
She was taking this seriously, wanting to double-check with someone who was there, wanting to get to the bottom of it.
That's my girl.
John turned out to be the level-headed partner—a real pushover, unlike her father. If it had been just him at the wheel, everything would have been very different.
I waited in my car for her to exit the building and then followed her the entire time she walked back, second-guessing how I should approach her. She looked so deep in thought, I didn’t want to accost her again, but then someone else did. That motherfucker Sam latched onto her like a leech.
Rage, pure rage, overtook every single fucking corner of my body. He was so obviously interested. And then, when he approached her and grabbed her hand…well then, I couldn't just sit back.
After three whole fucking months, three agonizing, longest months of my entire shitty life, this was not how I imagined I would see and talk to her again.
I was touching her again, thinking that it was a hallucination. Her tears ran down her sweet cheeks when she finally looked into my eyes, expressing exactly how I’d felt. I’d shed so many tears, and inside I was still a complete disaster.
Without saying a word, she slid her hand into mine and led me inside her building and upstairs to her apartment.
Walking fast, she unlocked the door and pulled me in, both of us suddenly enveloped in the darkness of her new home.
We just stood there in front of each other, lost, broken, having nothing to say.
"Now I'm okay,” she whispered, flicking the lights on. Such pure innocence reflected in her eyes, just like when I first met her. I couldn’t stop looking her over. She looked exactly the same but also…completely different.
She pulled her pompom hat off and unraveled her huge scarf only to shock me with a new detail.
She cut off her long hair. It looked fucking amazing.
Isla could do nothing wrong. It ended a few centimeters above her shoulders, and while I was expecting to see her usual cascading waterfall, she was as enchanting as ever.
"You—you cut your hair." I breathed out a non-thought when she took her coat off. My hand reached over by itself, and I grazed my fingers on the soft ends of her hair, memories of our time together flashing in my mind.
She closed her eyes and took a sharp breath in…as if she was touched by ice.
"Yes. This morning." She strutted away, motioning for me to follow her.
I loved that I was in another one of her apartments while it was completely unfurnished and new. This felt just like the last time, except everything was so different between us back then. "You obviously sent all this?" She pointed to her kitchen island, overflowing with papers.
Fuck, I could not stop looking at her. It had been so goddamn long since I’d seen her, and here she was in front of me with a new haircut and energy. She looked exactly like the girl who got away…and at the same time, like a brand-new person.
I slowly nodded, unable to rip my eyes away from her. She nodded too, like she was making a concession.
"I spoke to John Clemens today. I believe you're acquainted?” she asked lightly and crossed her arms. “He said you were a very dangerous man, but he obviously has no idea what that means, exactly." She gifted me a small smile, one that I hadn’t seen in months.
I also had no idea what her words meant, exactly.
Expecting me to respond, she stood a few feet away, but I said nothing, absolutely lost for words. She was so close but so distant. Did a whole lifetime pass since the summer? Did I know this angel?
Slowly, she walked around the island, pinning me with her gaze when she stopped a few inches away from me. All of me broke out in goosebumps, like I had never been close to a woman before.
"Last time I wanted you to stay, I couldn't say it, but now...it looks like you're lost for words. Hochesh ostatsya na uzhin?"
Seconds ticked by while I clued in that Isla had just asked me if I wanted to stay for dinner—in Russian. With almost no accent. My eyes took in all of her beauty, that small smile stretching her lips once more. Fuck. She obviously decided to kill me slowly.
"That's basically all I know. Duolingo doesn't really teach you a whole lot,” she added playfully and headed to her fridge.
It dawned on me that I hadn't moved or said anything since I walked in—just stood there as if I were a tree.
"Okay, so for dinner, I have..." Isla peered into her half-empty fridge. "White wine, milk, a carton of eggs, some toast, a few blueberries, hot sauce—obviously, soy sauce, and…three onions!" She turned back around, her smile bright and cheerful.
I couldn't reconcile her light attitude with how broken I felt. Her smile was easy and playful, like she was feeling great and fully over our separation, while I…I was damn near suicidal!
Finally, I spoke. "It's rude to show up to someone's new home without anything. Let me order dinner. What do you feel like?" We settled on sushi, and she made sure I ordered extra wasabi.
I put the phone away just in time to see her hop onto the kitchen island. I approached and leaned on the counter with my elbows, somehow making it all feel forbidden.
Was I allowed to do this? To be this close to her? I’d been in the deepest pits of despair for so long, I couldn’t figure out how to behave around her.
"Are you going to stay and take your coat off?" Isla gazed down at me, holding my entire existence in her hands. I straightened out, and her smile turned into intrigue as I slid my coat off, her eyes glued to me.
Mm, yes. That's right, Isla. Your eyes should never leave me.
"I like your new haircut." I somehow found the courage to speak. She took away all my strength; all of me turned into incoherent mush beside her.