11. Naomi
11
NAOMI
“ G oodnight, darling.”
Kissing Dariya’s forehead, I smooth down her hair and pat her cheek. “Have good dreams.”
“Goodnight,” Dariya yawns, snuggling down under her blanket.
As I move to leave the room and turn the light off, I’m two steps from the door when Dariya speaks again.
“Naomi?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Who was the new man?”
I pause and turn fully back to her, one hand on the door handle. “What man?”
“The one I saw, with the long hair.”
My heart sinks slightly. In all the commotion with Zasha and then fucking Fyodor, I hadn’t even considered that Dariya might have seen any of it.
“He’s…one of my friends. He’s not too well right now and fell, hitting his head. He’s going to take some time to rest here, though, until he’s better.”
“Okay.” Dariya nods, then turns over and cuddles into one of her numerous teddy bears that line her bed. I blow her a kiss and step outside, closing the door softly behind me.
“Good cover.” Daniil pushes up from where he was leaning against the wall and slightly adjusts his glasses. Daniil’s been my shadow ever since Fyodor and I stepped out of the laundry room earlier today. Despite my assurances that I’m certain Zasha won’t hurt me—and can’t since he’s under lock and key—Fyodor chose to increase security and take no chances. He’s lucky his protective streak is so attractive.
“It’s half true,” I point out, falling into step beside him as we head down the hallway, leaving two guards outside Dariya’s room.
“You aren’t friends.”
“Out of everyone here, I’m the closest thing to it.”
“Hmm. You know, I saw the strangest thing today.”
“Other than Zasha?” I chuckle softly and bite back a yawn. It’s been a long day, and my body aches from sex with Fyodor. Sinking into bed tonight is going to be amazing.
“I’m certain I saw some naked people writhing in the kitchen surrounded by all that water.” Daniil’s lips curl up slightly. “So reckless given the broken sink, don’t you think?”
Warmth floods my cheeks, and I groan, pressing the back of my hand against them. At this rate, I need to buy a stronger foundation.
“You saw that?”
“I saw enough,” Daniil chuckles.
“Are you mad?” My stomach twists into knots. This situation is far from easy but that hasn’t stopped me from feeling slightly guilty about what I did. Giving into a fantasy like that is one thing, but the last thing I want to do is hurt anyone.
“Why would I be mad?” Daniil asks, holding a door open for me.
“Because of what we did,” I remind him, unsure if he’s forgotten. His warmth envelops me briefly as I slide past him. “When we played together.”
“I’m not mad,” Daniil clarifies softly. “We’re both hot-blooded men; it’s more exciting this way. Don’t you think?”
Before I can respond, he opens the next door to the study and strides inside leaving me to quickly gather myself before I follow.
He treats it like a game, but maybe he’s right. He and Fyodor. It’s just a bit of fun, right?
Smoothing my hands down my shirt, I step into the study and close the door behind me.
Zasha sits in a lone chair at the far end of the room, looking a little worse for wear. The T-shirt he wears is a size too big for him, despite his muscular stature, and it only adds to how forlorn he looks. His long blond hair hangs like rat tails around his head, somewhat dirty looking and blood streaks run down his arms and dot his clothes.
Alarm pulses through me and I dart forward.
“What the hell did you do to him?”
“Nothing.” Fyodor steps from my right and catches my arm firmly before I can get too close to Zasha. “Zasha refused all treatment and we respected his wishes.”
I slide to a stop, leaning into Fyodor. “What?”
“The blood is from the earlier fight and when he ripped out his wires leaving his room. Nothing else happened.”
Staring up at Fyodor, there’s no lie held in his eyes, so I relent and pull back from his grip.
“Okay.”
“I’m sure he appreciates your concern though,” Daniil snorts from where he leans against a cabinet on the other side of the room. His face is mostly unreadable thanks to his glasses but his lips twist slightly, and his entire body is angled toward Zasha.
“Right. Of course.” I nod once, then sit in the chair as directed by Fyodor’s head bob.
Fyodor turns to Zasha and crosses his arms across his broad chest. He has his back to me, but he stands to the side far enough that all three men are in my line of sight.
“Although, we can get to it now that she's here. I’m not a patient man,” Fyodor remarks. “You attack people in my home, and now I’m less inclined to let you live.”
An indignant grunt rises in me and when Fyodor glances at me, I narrow my eyes. That wasn’t the agreement.
“He did pull the trigger,” Fyodor reminds me, and my heart sinks. Of course. In all the commotion and then following excitement, I’d forgotten all about that.
“I’m sorry.”
All attention pulls to the far end of the room as Zasha finally speaks. He lifts his head and peers through a few straggly clumps of hair. His voice is smooth, silky almost, despite the sharper tones of his Russian accent. Hearing him speak now, in the calmness of this room, is so different from the stressed barks that escaped him in the kitchen.
“I was acting on instinct. I didn’t know where I was or who I was. It was all so confusing, and I felt trapped, caged. I didn’t know anything until Naomi said my name, and then it was like the fog started to come to life.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Daniil’s head tilts briefly toward me. “How did you know his name?”
I freeze and a sickly heat crawls up my spine. Did I slip up? Was his name not common knowledge? Steeling myself and fighting to keep my hands calm, I glance casually at Daniil.
“I heard it from a guard I’m pretty sure.”
Thankfully, that seems to appease him and Daniil turns back to Zasha.
Phew .
“You know where you are now,” Fyodor remarks. “I had my medical staff take care of you, and of course, you have my sympathies for the accident, but one thing was clear about your condition. Something happened to you before you came here. Your body is riddled with signs of torture.
My heart plummets to my gut. Torture? Now that it’s been mentioned, the more I study Zasha, the clearer it becomes. His arms and the top of his chest are riddled with marks, old and fresh. At a glance, I assumed they were from the crash or something else in his past but torture wasn’t on that list.
“I don’t remember,” Zasha replies, his striking eyes locked on Fyodor. “I get…flashes.” Both his hands curl into fists and his forearms ripple with tension. “Dark walls. Cold. So much cold. The pain and stink of electrocution. Mostly just pain. I know I was supposed to be somewhere…I think. Something to do with work.”
“With your family?” Daniil asks.
Zasha nods and glances at him. “I’m certain of it. But I was jumped and my men…my men were dying and I could do nothing to help them.” He straightens up suddenly and his shoulders stiffen. “Have you checked in with them? My family?”
“Yes.” Fyodor’s stance shifts and the tension rippling up his spine is visible. “Few remain.”
Zasha’s shoulders drop.
“Those who do are struggling, and from what I can tell they don’t seem keen to look for you, although given the pressure to keep territory safe, I can’t say for sure.”
Zasha’s head drops and his hair slips from his shoulders. “I understand. Things were thin before, but if they think I am dead, our name is dead in the water.” Silence falls and Zasha clasps his tight hands together. “All I remember clearly was seeing something. Something that sparked a new urge to escape from where I was and a way to get help but I can’t—I can’t remember what it was.”
His smooth voice cracks slightly and my heart clenches for him. I know he’s dangerous. Every man in this room is dangerous, but there’s something about his defeated posture that has me aching to comfort him.
“All I knew, all I had was the thought to get here. And, somehow, I did.”
“Why?” Fyodor demands without missing a beat. “We are far from friends. We are certainly not allies. Why did you want to be here? Is there a rat here? Were you on your way to sow seeds of discourse and set me up for your death?” Fyodor inches closer. “Is this all a ploy to get close enough to kill me?”
“Kill you?” I gasp. “Fyodor, what are you talking about? You’re being so stupid!”
Fyodor snaps upright like something affixed to his spine, then turns toward me angrily. “Excuse me?”
It’s easy to play the role of not knowing about the Bratva here, though seeing Fyodor angry sends a pulse of static through my chest.
“Look at him! He’s a beaten man and I know I partly helped with that by hitting him with the car, and I may not understand why his family is so important or why you two don’t like each other, but you’re a decent man, Fyodor. He’s clearly weakened and the only ploy here is a desperate man seeking help. And you help people.” It takes all my strength to keep my voice steady. “So help him.”
Zasha laughs suddenly, a silky sound weakened by the roughness of his current state and all attention slips back to him.
“I don’t know why I came here. I don’t remember. I can’t think of anything that would make me willingly walk into the jaws of the Dunayevsky family, but here I am. Everyone in the Bratva knows there’s no decency here, that there’s only blood and death. Hell, maybe that’s the answer.” He lifts his head and sadness bleeds from his eyes. “Maybe I came here for a quick death.”
The tension in the room suddenly becomes smothering and it’s not until Fyodor and Daniil slowly turn back to me that it clicks what’s going on.
Zasha mentioned the Bratva. The one detail I’m not supposed to know.
It’s almost too easy to put my nerves into the faux shock on my face. My mouth drops open and my eyes widen, gaze remaining fixed on Zasha. I fear if I look anywhere else, the lie will slip.
“The … Bratva?” I ask softly. “You mean the … the Russian mafia?”
I stand abruptly, and the horrified, shocked reaction I’ve rehearsed a thousand times finally comes into play.
“You mean I—I’m working for the mafia ?!”
Zasha’s head dips forward and a tired laugh escapes him. “Oops.”