Chapter 18 – Lauren
Chapter
Eighteen
LAUREN
N icky Volkov is a live wire of a kid, even with his arm in plaster. Big Nick—the one who co-owns the law firm—has volunteered to keep him occupied while we talk with his mom. Nick has two kids of his own and has plenty of experience with nine-year-old wrangling. He lurks in the doorway of our meeting room and casually says, “Anyone here fancy a trip to the skate park, followed by a Big Mac?” Before anyone can answer, he shakes his head. “No? What a shame. Guess I’ll have to go on my own.”
The boy glances desperately at his mum, and she smiles and nods. “Me! I want to come, me!” He jumps to his feet and flies across the room, knocking chairs out of his way as he goes.
“Oh, okay. You’re Nicky, right?” The boy nods, blond curls bobbing. “Well, I’m also Nick, so I think we’re going to have to change your name. I was thinking we could call you Major Fart Face, what do you think?”
“No way. Not unless you’re Captain Poo Head.”
Their argument provides us all with a brief moment of levity. Samantha is here, along with Gabriel and Seb. Seb and I haven’t had any personal contact for over a week now, and I’m trying my hardest to ignore him.
Obviously, he makes that difficult dressed as he is in a muscle-skimming designer suit that perfectly offsets his gentleman-thug physique. It’s difficult not to notice the strain his thighs put on the fabric or the way the jacket clings to his wide shoulders. I make myself a deal—it’s okay to notice, but it’s not okay for him to notice me noticing. Apart from anything else, we are all here for one thing, and that’s to help Caroline and Nicky.
“How are you, love?” Seb asks, crouching down so he’s at her feet, deliberately making himself smaller and less threatening. Gabriel has no such luck, but at least he keeps his distance. “He’s been home, has he?” He gazes up at her pretty face, holding her shaking hands in his. He hasn’t missed the scab on her ear, and neither have I.
“Yes, briefly,” she murmurs, her voice croaky and hoarse. “He… He wasn’t happy. Something went wrong, I don’t know what. I didn’t want to know. The less I hear about his business, the better. He was mad, though, and he was screaming at Nicky for making too much noise. He wasn’t, honest, he was just watching videos on his tablet like a normal kid—he’s not a naughty boy.”
“Don’t care if he was making more noise than a fucking jet plane landing in the middle of a Foo Fighters gig, it’s no excuse to scream at him or lay a finger on him. You got in the way, did you?”
Her hand flutters up to the roll-necked sweater she’s wearing, and she hesitantly pulls it down to reveal livid finger marks all across her throat. That explains the voice. “I sent Nicky off to his room and told Ivan I lost one of the diamond earrings he bought me. It wasn’t true—I’d taken it off and put it in my pocket. I knew it would distract him. After he did this to me, he tore the other one out of my earlobe and rammed it down my throat.”
I hear Gabriel gasp from the back of the room, and Samantha shoots him a soothing look. We all know exactly how he feels, but we need to keep Caroline as calm as we can. Seb nods and stands up, meeting my eyes for the first time.
“What would they do to him in Florida?” he asks. I know what he’s referring to, but nobody else does. They probably think he’s talking about different legal systems.
“They’d do what they had to do—but only when there was no other option.”
Sam follows our conversation with a mild frown on her face but wisely keeps her concentration on the matter at hand. “So, are you sure now, Caroline? You want us to move forward?”
“I’m… Sometimes I am. I need to protect my son, and that’s getting harder every day. Ivan is unpredictable, and I’m never sure when he’s going to be home, when he’s going to stay away, when he’s going to throw one of his parties…”
“We understand. Can we convince you to leave the marital home now, for your safety?” Sam asks.
“No. Not yet.” She shakes her head. “I’m watched too closely. I couldn’t pack a bag or any of Nicky’s toys, and he’d have to drop out of his school, and… It’s complicated. I know I need to leave, but everything feels too dangerous.”
“We get that,” I say calmly. “We’re here to help. How long do you have today, Caroline?”
She glances at her phone. “Maybe another hour? I said I was bringing Nicky into town to buy a birthday gift for his father. The driver brought us to Mayfair, and we arranged to meet him later.”
“Will they check?” I ask quickly. “Will they expect shopping bags, gift boxes?” She looks suddenly horrified, and I call our receptionist in and hand her the company credit card with instructions to go shopping. Beth looks thrilled and promises to find exactly the right kind of thing.
“Make it flashy,” Caroline adds with a weak smile. “He likes flashy.”
“Talking of which,” she says, reaching into her Prada bag. “I have these for you.” She places a handful of necklaces and rings on the table, gaudy diamonds and rich gold chains glinting under the overhead lights. “I don’t have any cash of my own to pay you with.”
“That’s not something you need to worry about right now,” I assure her. “Let’s get this done and think about payment later. In the meantime, though, we’ll keep these safe for you. It might be a nice nest egg for you and Nicky in the future.”
Her face lights up at the idea of building a future with Nicky, and my heart constricts in my chest. She doesn’t want much, this woman. She told me that she hopes for a small house in a place where nobody knows her, near a good school, away from unlawful wealth and the abuse that underpins it all. She wants to feel safe and to be able to raise her son in peace. Her dreams are small, and everyone in this room wants to make them come true for her.
We discuss timing and our legal options. All she wants is a divorce—she has no interest in taking half of her husband’s properties or capital, but we’re here to protect her, and we insist she should at least seek enough of a settlement to secure her short-term future. Samantha and I have discussed this in advance, and we both recommend applying for a restraining order at the same time she files for divorce. “He won’t take any notice,” Caroline argues. “He says the law doesn’t apply to him.”
“I know that’s what he thinks,” I reply. “But we’ll prove him wrong. Before you leave today, Caroline, we’ll need pictures of what he’s done to you since you were last here.”
She laughs bitterly. “Pictures of my neck, my ear? That’s easy. I can’t help you with pictures of him raping me with the barrel of his Makarov pistol though. Didn’t have time to whip my phone out and capture the magical moment.” She immediately apologizes for her outburst and starts to cry, huge sobs racking her slender body.
I go to one side of her, Samantha to the other, both of us murmuring words of comfort and stroking her arms. “Oh god, what have I done?” she wails. “Why did I let that man poison my life? My son’s life? We’ll never be free of him. You don’t know what he’s like.”
“Caroline, love, look at me,” says Seb, his tone sharp. It’s like a slap across the face, and she obeys straight away. It hurts me to see how broken she is, but Seb has no intention of doing more damage. “I know a lot about your husband, actually, Caroline. I know a lot of his dirty little secrets, and I know you’re not the only person who hates him. Not by a long score. There’s a queue of people who’d like to see him go down, and a few of those people are equally powerful. He might have friends in high places, but he has enemies there too. In the police, in the legal system—even in his own household.”
I share a look with Samantha, and she shrugs in a clueless way. Gabriel doesn’t look surprised, so I’m guessing this has been a boys-only deal.
Caroline has at least stopped weeping. “In his own household?” she echoes as I pass her a box of tissues.
“Yeah. Do you know Irina and her husband, Vladimir?”
Looking confused, she nods. “Of course. Vladimir does the gardens, and Irina is his wife. She cooks and cleans, that kind of thing. They’re not my friends. They don’t speak English. That’s one of the ways he controls me, you see? He surrounds me with people I can’t communicate with.”
“I know. But just because people can’t speak English doesn’t mean they don’t have eyes. They’ve seen what’s going on. And yes, they’re scared, but they’re also angry. Irina has suffered at his hands too. She was working one of his dinner parties, and one of the bastard guests took a shine to her. Next thing she knew, she was forced into his car, driven away, and raped in the woods. They told her they’d kill Vladimir if she went to the police.”
Caroline sucks in a shocked breath and holds her hands to her mouth. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I think I remember that night. She was just doing her job, and the guy was clearly making her uncomfortable. I was so worried about what might happen to me that I didn’t give it a second thought, and when I was allowed to go to bed earlier than usual, I remember feeling relieved. It didn’t occur to me that some other poor woman was suffering instead. Oh, poor Irina. I feel terrible.”
“No,” Sam says firmly. “Don’t do that. Don’t take responsibility for that. I know that’s how he’s made you feel, but it’s not your fault. Will she help, Dad, this Irina?”
“Apparently she will. She and her husband. We’ll need to plan the timings, but I have a guy who is liaising with them.”
Samantha thinks about this for a moment, then a dazzling smile breaks out on her face. “Let me guess. Your guy is Sasha Stepanov.”
I have no clue who that is, but Seb winks at her, a twinkle in his eye. “Yep. One of your biggest fans, Sam.”
“He better not be too big a fan,” Gabriel grumbles. “Or he might not live to liaise another day.”
The news that she’s not quite as isolated as she thought seems to bolster Caroline’s spirits, and she agrees that the next time he’s away for a significant amount of time, she will allow us to proceed. The timing will be key, but with Irina and Vladimir’s help, we can make sure she isn’t stuck at home with him ever again once he finds out she’s filing for divorce. We warn her that she must be careful, that she mustn’t give any indication she knows she has an ally, and then we call Nick to tell him we’re done. I’m locking the jewels in the office safe when the Nicks saunter back in, still sucking milkshakes through straws.
“Thank you,” Caroline says from the doorway. “I know I’ve said it before, but every single one of you is so kind and so brave. You give me hope.” Nick looks embarrassed and offers to drive them back to Mayfair, where they’ll meet up with Beth and whatever expensive crap she’s bought. I notice the way Nick looks at her and wonder if he has more than purely professional feelings toward our lovely client. That, I decide, is his business—I am not in a position to comment on anybody else’s love life.
A heavy silence falls over the meeting room once they’re gone. Finally, Gabriel stands up and cracks his knuckles. “Fuck me. I’m half hoping the legal path fails. I’d love to give that fucker a taste of his own medicine.”
Seb nods, as do I. Samantha is the only one who looks even vaguely distressed at the idea.
Seb smooths down his suit jacket and makes to leave. “See you all later?”
Tonight, everyone is invited to a soiree at the nearest branch of the McIverson gastro-pub chain Archangel recently acquired. It’s a big deal for them, and whatever my personal feelings toward Seb, I must concede that they are a huge asset to the firm. I offer a noncommittal shrug, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, looking as though he’s about to say something else but changes his mind and leaves.
I hate this. The distance between us, the polite way we deal with each other, the pretense that we’re nothing but colleagues. It’s like nothing ever happened between us at all. Like it was a figment of my imagination.
“Right,” says Sam, standing up and stretching. “Come on, woman. Let’s make a move. Gabriel’s aunt and uncle are staying overnight, so I have childcare for once. Let’s get ourselves dolled up and head to the pub. Something about taking on Russian crime bosses leaves me parched.”
Gabriel grabs hold of her as she heads to the door, pulling her effortlessly against him and holding her ass with one big hand. “Get your paws off me, you Neanderthal,” she says, playfully swatting him on the chest.
“No way. You love it, Mrs. Sullivan. And I’m looking forward to getting you back to our hotel room later and showing you exactly how much of a caveman I am.”
She slips out of his grip and squeals when he slaps her backside as she skips past him. I have to laugh. These two still act like horny teenagers. They didn’t get much of a honeymoon when they got married because Sam was heavily pregnant, but before her maternity leave is up, they’re planning a proper trip to Italy. I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t leave the hotel room once.
“You’re so lucky,” I tell her on our way to the ladies’ room.
“Oh, believe me, I know.” She gives me a sly grin that quickly fades. “Are you okay, Lauren? You’ve seemed a bit down this last week. Not quite your normal self. Anything I can help with?”
I raise one eyebrow, and she nods. “Ah. He’s messed up already, has he? I’m sorry. Please don’t take it personally. The old cliché really is true—it’s not you, it’s him. I’ll set aside the fact that I’m biologically related to him and say the same thing I would to any woman—screw him. Move on.”
“That’s exactly the plan. In fact, I’ve got a date tonight.”
“Not the cellist again, is it?”
I shake my head. “No. That one felt doomed after I blew him off and went out with your dad. This guy’s a math teacher who runs ultramarathons and breeds prize-winning guinea pigs in his spare time.”
The look she gives me is completely deadpan.
“Seriously. It’s a wild world out there, Sam.”
Shuddering, she grabs her makeup bag from the shelf. “Clearly. You’re welcome to it. Is he… Is he safe? I mean, with everything that’s been happening with your family, are you sure a random guy you met online is a good bet?”
“He is who he says he is. I found him on a few running websites, and I actually called the school where he works too, just to make sure. I’m not being reckless, I promise.”
“Okay, good. Anything else going on?”
I shake my head firmly, but I am hiding a few things from her—mainly because they might be nothing. I got an email confirming my subscription for a magazine called Labrador Lover, which might of course be spam, and I got a delivery of dead flowers at my apartment yesterday morning. The courier who dropped them off seemed normal enough and was probably innocent, but when I opened the box, all I found were rotting lilies. Funeral flowers.
I told Jax and Alejandro about it, but I’m trying not to freak out. If Torres is behind these pranks, then that’s exactly what he wants, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I should probably tell Seb, but I’m not going to run to Daddy every time some asshole tries to mess with my head. Especially when Daddy is such a manwhore.
“Look,” Samantha says as she brushes her long dark hair, “this isn’t my business, but I have to say it. Bringing a date to this thing tonight might not be such a good idea. My dear old dad… Well, he’s got a temper, as I’m sure you know. I have no clue what happened with you two—please don’t tell me—but try not to push his buttons, all right? It’s supposed to be a celebration, not a punch up.”
I unzip my little red dress from its dry-cleaning wrapper and hold it up against my body in the mirror before heading into one of the cubicles to change. “You shouldn’t worry, Sam. He already moved on to some trampy little blond. No, I take that back— that was bitchy. She is probably perfectly lovely, and anyway, we didn’t make each other any promises. I was more reluctant than he was to make it anything bigger, so I have no right to complain now. It’ll be fine, honest.”
I walk out of the cubicle, and she gapes at me. “Lauren. That dress is indecent on you. Frankly, I’d fuck you, never mind your date.”
I study myself in the mirror and have to admit she’s right. As dresses go, there’s not much of it, and what there is, is covered in sequins. I turn around and admire my rear view. After I do my hair, add the makeup, and slip into my pumps, I’ll be ready for my close-up.
“All this effort for a maths teacher?” Sam says, giving me a dubious look. “I’m sorry—he might breed the best bloody guinea pigs in the known universe, but I’m not buying it.”