Chapter Thirty-Two
In which there is nothing you won’t do to protect a beloved, even if it’s the stupidest thing possible.
Caroline…
Shifting in my seat, I stare blankly at my computer monitor. There's a distinct throbbing in my center from Nikandr railing me last night like the fate of the free world depended on it. He left right after making me call out for a higher power. Several times.
I miss him already.
Crossing my legs, I try to take some weight off my girl parts. Nope. This does nothing. I should be able to revel in the fact that my husband and I are in… well, accord at least. I can definitely commit to saying I like him. A lot.
Johann, though, does not give a shit about my personal happiness. He'd be in touch, he said.
Pushing my keyboard away, I rub my eyes.
Nikandr is in Russia right now, being all Sovietnik.
I have a hotel to run. First up checking with our ad agency about a new ad we're running for spring weddings.
Going over the upcoming holiday menu with Chef Michalea.
Just after lunch, while in the middle of a meeting with Thomas, our director of security, I get a text.
I don't recognize the number and I have a Morozov special phone that should filter out unidentified callers. I pull it up on my computer.
"The remains of twenty-two people were found today in a mass grave just outside of Arlington, Virginia. The horrifying discovery came when excavators for a new data center unearthed the…"
"Thomas," I say, "can we finish up later?"
"Sure," he says, picking up his iPad with a quick glance at my monitor. "That's some brutal shit."
"Yeah." I don't hear the door close. The news anchor looks a little happy to have something other than politics to report.
"Preliminary information and the condition of the bodies indicates they've been interred there for close to twenty years.
Excavators were moved to that site due to an anonymous phone call received last night by the contractors. "
My phone rings. The same number. I stare at it for a moment. When I pick it up, everything changes.
"Why did you want me to see this?" I can't stop watching the clip. Masked workers are bringing out the first bodies, carefully wrapped up. That's good. Whoever these poor souls are, they deserve that respect.
"You are seeing the remains of most of the Bukharov Bratva."
"What?"
"Vladmir Bukharov," Johann repeats, his tone genial and amused.
"Dritan Krasniqi ambushed and killed him and seven of his family members in 2006.
They were here to purchase a few thoroughbred horse farms. Vlad always fancied himself as an expert on all things equestrian.
" He chuckles. "He'd shorted Krasniqi on a crucial arms deal, and since Dritan was in Washington DC at the time, well, waste not, want not, eh? "
Johann waits a bit, as if he's expecting me to jump in with a hearty laugh.
"The real shame was that Ivan, the current Pakhan of the Bukharov Bratva, had left earlier that day for a meeting, so he missed the massacre.
Sadly, his wife Ludmilla did not. She was pregnant at the time. A terrible tragedy."
Cold sweat beads on my forehead and my insides twist.
"Why are you telling me this, Johann?"
"After I called in the location last night, I realized there is quite likely evidence leading to the Krasniqi Fare's involvement in the massacre.
He's gone now, of course. But… well. Here is Dritan Krasniqi's daughter with brand new babies!
Ivan is a bit of a hothead, and he'll soon hear that the remains of his poor, pregnant wife have been unearthed," he confides. "So-"
"Did you plant something at the site?" I don't recognize my own voice.
"It would be so easy," he says.
"Don't. You- just- don't do that. What the fuck do you want?" I put my trash can on my lap because I'm pretty sure I'm about to throw up.
"Just to talk," he says. "An afternoon to talk and have a chance to convince you that I was always meant to be your husband. Not that filthy mudak." He spits the word like its poison. "We'll talk. Then I'll give you the rest of the information I have about your cousin. I'm a man of my word."
A crazy bark of laughter is about to escape my throat and I slap my hand over my mouth just in time.
"I'm sorry, did you say something, Caroline?"
"No. Just a little cough." A sense of inevitability sinks into me. This will be stupid and desperate, but I'm now educated enough about the Moscow Six to know how powerful Bukharov is. "When do you want to meet?"
"Today," he says, crystalline bits of ice dotting his words, making them sharp. "I've waited long enough. Come to Boston, my jet is waiting for you at-"
"I'm not getting on your fucking jet," I say, wiping my forehead. "I can catch a flight and be there in maybe three hours. We'll meet. And- and talk. In a public place."
"Lovely!" Johann says happily. "I'll meet you at Faneuil Hall, then. A bit of a tourist trap but still charming. Five o'clock. Oh, and wear a red dress, would you? You're so beautiful in that color. You wore that red silk sheath to a cocktail party a couple of weeks ago."
I clutch the garbage can closer as my stomach lurches. "It's naughty to spy, Johann."
"I needed to be near you," he says. "You'll be there at five. You don't want anything to happen to Liria's beautiful babies-"
"Don't threaten them." I cut him off. "No matter how damaging your information is, Alexsey Morozov would set fire to half the planet before he'd let anyone hurt his children. Just. Don't. Five pm. I'll be there."
I wish Nikandr was here. He's nine hours away by the fastest of the Morozov jets, trying to recover the Balabanov trade deal. Everything is chaotic right now. There are break-ins at Morozov warehouses here and in St. Petersburg and shootings and more federal officers sniffing around.
Calling Liria, I rock back and forth. "Please pick up," I whisper.
"Hey fam!" She sounds so happy. "What's up?"
"I bet Alexsey has a shit ton of guards crawling all over the house because of how weird things are right now, huh?" I croak.
"Yes," Liria laughs. "It's getting on my nerves. Why? Is something wrong?"
I look at the news footage, it's on a nauseating loop, showing the torn-up earth, the bulldozer. "No. You know how I get those feelings sometimes and I'm usually wrong?"
"You're never wrong." She's not laughing anymore.
"Look, nothing to stress out about, okay? I just feel, you know. Unsettled. Everything's out of control right now. I just wanted to make sure you feel safe and possibly smothered by too many guards," I add a sickly little chuckle at the end.
"I'm fine, the babies are fine. They could totally use a visit from Auntie Caroline, though," she says. She switched to baby talk halfway through her sentence so I know she's probably bouncing one of them in her arms right now.
"Maybe tomorrow," I say. "I have a business meeting in Boston tonight. It will be endless, I'm sure."
"Okay," she agrees. "Tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow. I love you!" It rushes out of me, and I can tell she's a little surprised.
"I love you too, fam," she says warmly.
***
It's easy to get Isaak and Rafail on a Morozov jet to Boston. Morrie, the controller at the airfield, apologized for giving me "the smallest one."
"This meeting wasn't on your week's schedule," Rafail says as we land in Boston. "I'd like to call in additional security from our Boston team."
"Oh, you'll frighten the client enough," I laugh. "This guy's an asshole, he just likes to make you come to him. Since the contract is worth eight hundred thousand, I'm happy to take a flight back home for it. When this is over, I'll buy you two a lobster roll."
Rafail's penetrating gaze relaxes a bit.
Because he trusts me. Which makes this even worse.
They're not expecting me to give them the slip, so when I "accidentally" spill my Diet Coke on my dress, we have to stop at the Prada store for me to pick out something new.
I go into the dressing room to try it on, and weasel out the back door.
Checking my phone as I get in the Uber, it's 4:45 pm. I'll be on time.
Johann's pacing in front of Faneuil Hall, resplendent in a coal black suit. When he spots me, his boyish grin spreads across his face and he almost looks human.
"You came!" He hurries toward me like this is a fucking Hallmark movie.
When he bends his head, I step back. "You're not kissing me." Pouting, he takes my hand and I shake his briskly, pulling free before he can attempt to kiss mine. "I'm here," I force a smile. "Shall we sit down?"
"Well, we could do that," he says. "But I prefer to talk in private."
I'm sure they were there, hovering. But I never saw the six men who seem to materialize out of nowhere and surround us.
"I thought you were a man of your word, Johann," I snarl.
"I am." His voice sounds strange in our little echo chamber of bodyguards. "But I want to be alone with you."
"No one is following me!" I protest, but the huddle of guards shuffles us away.
He blindfolds me in the car. More because he wants to unsettle me, I suspect. There's a tug and he pulls my wedding ring off. "Tell me one thing."
"Yes, my dear Caroline?"
"Have you kept your promise about Liria?" I ask. "If you put her in danger, I will never forgive you."
"I could never cause harm to my dear wife's family," he says with the utter certainty of a psychopath.
We've been driving for about fifteen minutes, I think, and when the car stops, he escorts me into a building, "Watch your step.
" It smells like dust, then fresh paint, then mildew.
He whips off my blindfold with a "ta-da!
" flourish and we're in a beautifully designed library.
This has to be one of the old-money Boston mansions, with an enormous fireplace and exquisite crown molding.
The bookcases go to the ceiling with a little rolling ladder so you can skim along all the leather-bound books.
"Your home is beautiful," I say.