21. Zasha
21
ZASHA
“ H ow is she?”
Being trapped in the conservatory and hearing gunshots coming from the main house had been more terrifying than I will ever admit out loud. Initially, I feared that whoever held me had finally tracked me down. Given the memories coming back to haunt me, I’d rather die than go back.
Learning the truth though, that Naomi and Daniil had been threatened, was somehow worse.
Fyodor stands near the window of the study, scotch in hand. He tips the liquid back and forth and sighs, strained.
“Nightmares kept waking her up, so I gave her some pills. Nothing strong, just enough to ease her into a restful sleep. I stayed with her until she fell asleep and I aim to be back before she wakes up.”
An understandable reaction, given what happened. I still remember the first dead body I ever saw. While it no longer haunts me, it still remains clear in my mind.
“I am sorry,” I say cautiously, unwilling to offer too much to Fyodor himself. “I would have liked to be of more use.”
Fyodor finally turns away from the window and fixes me with a steady stare. “If my father had seen you, you would have been no help because you would be dead.”
I roll my eyes, irritated. He speaks the truth; I just don’t like hearing it.
“I don’t know,” says Daniil as he strides through the door. “If there’d been a juicer target, I might have stood a chance against one of those assholes.”
His right shoulder is wrapped in crisp, white bandages and his arm hangs loose from a sling not unlike the one they’ve tried to make me wear. I refuse. A cast is more than enough.
Leaning forward in my seat, I rest my elbows loosely on my knee. “How are you doing?”
“Well,” Daniil groans dramatically and flops into the chair opposite me. “That will go down in history as possibly the worst oral sex I have ever given. Naomi will be too traumatized to let me anywhere near her ever again.” He grimaces, then shrugs his good shoulder. “Other than that, just peachy.”
The flames from the nearby fireplace dance across his glasses, creating angular shadows across his cheekbones. His blasé attitude might have worked if not for the clear downturn of his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” Fyodor approaches, glass in hand. “My father wasn’t due to make any kind of appearance until August, around his birthday, but here he is in the middle of April, trying to fuck things up.”
“Honestly, for a long time I thought he was dead.”
Fyodor shoots me a glance. “What?”
“You were suddenly in charge and people talked. Vladimir would never give up the throne, they said. And then suddenly, he did. Word out there was that you killed him.”
“If only.” Fyodor drinks deeply.
“He’s like a roach,” Daniil scoffs. “Unkillable. Wouldn’t mind a stab at it though.”
“No.” Fyodor lowers his glass and stares sharply at the both of us. “If anyone gets to kill him, it’s me.”
Daniil snorts lightly and rises, moving to the drink cart and my focus switches to the more pressing reason this meeting was called.
“Ivan,” I say, my attention sliding to Fyodor. “You spoke to him?”
“I did.” Fyodor slowly sits down. “Until I got a call about my father turning up here, so I didn’t get to spend as much time with him as I’d have liked.”
“Well?” Was Fyodor going to play coy the entire night? “The fuck did he say?”
Fyodor’s eyes narrow dangerously as if debating whether to rise to my irritation or not. The tension builds, then snaps when Daniil clicks his tongue and shoves a glass of alcohol into my hand.
“Shut up and drink.”
I obey as Daniil retreats to get his own.
“Ivan claims to know nothing about your disappearance and seems under the strong impression that you’re dead,” Fyodor explains. “He based this off of you vanishing and seemed overjoyed at watching the remainder of your family struggle to keep afloat under the onslaught of his own men.”
My stomach twists and drops like a stone. There wasn’t a lot of love between me and the family I led, not since the suspicion of an inside killer ran rampant after the death of my father, but they are still my family. My responsibility.
“Ivan seems eager to kill or absorb those he can get his hands on,” Fyodor continues. “So, naturally, I acted first.”
Anger snaps through my chest like a strike of lightning. “You did what ?”
“Since the moment you turned up here, I began absorbing the stragglers from your family.”
“The fuck?!” I bolt upward as the snaps of anger melt together. “How dare you? You think you can just muscle in on people like that, absorb families like their fucking cattle?”
Daniil steps forward, his posture tense like a rod while Fyodor remains seated, unphased.
“Tell me, Zasha. What would you prefer? Your men to be absorbed into my family where they can continue to operate in peace, or have them die for sick sport at the hands of Ivan? We have no idea who tried to kill you or why you’re even here, so maybe it would be best just to kill every last one.”
Fyodor drinks lazily from his glass and I clench my hand into a fist. Daniil takes another step forward, but despite the surge in fury, I contain myself.
Lashing out will not do any good here, and Fyodor, as much as it pains me to admit, has a point.
I am useless to my men right now and I’m only alive by Fyodor’s grace. He could have killed me, but he didn’t, and that means something.
Slowly, I sit back down though I remain rigid.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Fyodor continues, tipping his glass toward me. “There is still a pocket of men loyal to you—no body means no death in their eyes.”
Oddly, that does make me feel a little better and I slump backward. “Alright.”
“We can’t trust Ivan,” Daniil spits, finally finishing pouring his own drink. “He could know everything about Zasha and we’d never know it because he’s a fucking scumbag. I did ten years for that shithead, and all it earned me were scars and PTSD. I wouldn’t put it past him to have a hand in this.”
Ten years? It’s almost unheard of for a Bratva to serve that long in prison. My eyes widen and I track Daniil as he returns to us and sits.
“What did you do ten years for?”
“The Avlinsky massacre.”
“Holy shit, that was you?” The Avlinsky massacre was a bloodbath turned legend. One man wiping out an entire family was the story of awe among lesser men and one of irritation rarely discussed by those in power.
“I ain’t proud of it,” Daniil says, draining his glass in one gulp. “But yeah. That was me. And it was a fucking setup because the bastard that was supposed to have my back never fucking showed. Easy to work out why considering we were on Ivan’s payroll.”
“I heard about that,” I nod slowly. “No one looked at Henricks the same after that, the fucking weasel. He bragged too often and too loud about how he was supposed to be there but wasn’t. It earned him a seat at the mayor’s table for sure, but I don’t know a single Bratva that still holds respect for the guy.”
“Hold up.” Daniil slid forward in his seat. “You know who was supposed to be with me?”
“You don’t?” I scoff, taking a drink.
“No, I didn’t fucking know.”
“Shit.” My brow lifts. “It’s not a secret, although it was ten years ago, and I only knew because my father moved closely with the mayor so it’s probably not even common knowledge now.”
“Henricks,” Daniil mutters, his head tilting toward Fyodor. Fyodor eyes him with a frown, and a silent conversation passes between them until Daniil leans back and falls silent.
“I saw him once. When I was still doing shit for my father. He sat all pretty in the mayor’s office. Protected by money, he said.” Connecting the dots, it’s still hard to believe that Daniil is the one responsible for what happened to the Avlinskys.
And now he works for Fyodor.
Interesting.
I drain my glass and set it aside, then stand. Bed calls. Just as I turn to leave, I catch myself and turn back to Fyodor.
“Since Ivan was a bust, I remembered something about being in captivity, but I don’t know if it means anything.”
Fyodor’s brow flickers. “Tell me.”
“I heard you mentioned. I don’t know the context, but I know it was important and I think that’s what spurred me to come here. I don’t know if there was any other reason, or if I thought I was going to die or what, but it’s the last clear thing I remember. A last thought kinda thing.”
Fyodor’s face tightens and his entire posture stiffens.
“Me? What the hell do I have to do with your captors?”