45. Vasiliy
She’s in the garden.
I don’t think she’s ever set foot in the garden, let alone spoken to her aunt one-on-one. The longer I watch the pair work from the second-floor window, the more I want to storm down the steps, out the back door, and wrap my arms around her until she forgives me.
I can’t stop seeing her flushed face and shiny eyes in my mind. I did that. I printed her deepest insecurity and hid it beneath our bed. I made her feel like everything we have together was always meant to be temporary. And I can’t stand to see her hurting any longer.
Marta would have loved her.
I’m not sure where the thought comes from, or why I’m so certain of its validity. This is all Uncle. He has a way of burrowing into minds, if only to keep his memory alive. He brought up Marta for a reason—a reminder of what happens to the people I allow into my heart.
Living provides others with so much ammunition.
It took seven hours to dig that particular grave. I don’t think I’d survive digging another of the same nature. And if it was Octavia’s beautiful face lying in that pit, I’d climb in beside her without a second thought and lock the casket shut.
I can’t watch her from afar any longer. Coming to my decision, I turn in the direction of the staircase…
“Vasiliy.”
I stop.
Not once, in the entire time I’ve known him, has Sasha Siderov called me by my first name.
He stands in the doorway of his office with a tense look. “We have a problem.”
His head disappears. Something about his tone has me spiraling into fear.
My long strides consume the distance. Is this about our fight?
Is he about to kill me for causing those streams of hurt on her cheeks?
If that were the case, I might actually hold still below his barrel, but something in my head whispers that this is something else.
He seems rattled, not vengeful.
Pakhans don’t get rattled easily.
Soundlessly, I slip through the door and drop into the chair before his desk. He lowers into his own with a tense sigh.
“Well?” I urge. “Is this about my fight with Octavia? Because I—”
“No.” His eyes pinch closed. “No, son. It’s not about that.”
I don’t like this.
I don’t move a single muscle as I watch him grip the arms of his chair.
“Your uncle has gotten restless. He called me, issuing an ultimatum.”
Terror licks at my nerves. Uncle doesn’t issue ultimatums. He launches threats. And I’ve never, not once, seen him back down from a fight.
Sasha’s hands fiddle in his lap with uncertainty I’ve never seen him exhibit. “He placed a bounty on her head.” Another sigh. “Either you return to his side, or she won’t live to see another day.”
The world burns.
He doesn’t have to clarify who she is. There’s only one target that would obliterate Sasha and me in equal measure.
“How much?” My voice is scratchy and raw. “How bad?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes, cracking open his laptop and sliding it into my view. The private browser opens to a well-known black-market bounty site, one I’ve visited many times. I take in the number on the screen.
And I stop breathing.
Ten million dollars for the head of Octavia Clarke, currently located in the Siderov compound in rural Chicago.
The number is significant enough to have every global mercenary and bottom-feeder crawling out of the woodwork. And he just gave them all our specific location.
I think I’m going to be sick.
“How long has this been live?” I whisper, desperately trying to pull fresh oxygen into my lungs.
“Fifteen minutes. I’ve pulled in every soldier and ally we’ve got, but…”
He doesn’t need to finish. I know as well as he does that our forces won’t be enough to stave off this storm. We might be able to dispatch the first few hundred ourselves, but eventually, one will sneak through our forces.
A ten-million bounty is inevitable.
“Get him on the phone.”
“Son—”
I shake my head, shoving every swirling emotion behind a heavy steel wall. “There’s no time to lose, Sasha. You know that as well as I do.”
The Bratva titan in front of me is silent, no doubt processing what this will mean for his daughter. It doesn’t matter. I will do whatever is necessary to keep her safe. My uncle won’t consume another soul for the crime of being tied to mine.
“Are the grounds secure?”
He nods. “For now.”
For now. Right.
Eventually, Sasha slumps in defeat and pulls his office phone towards me. Each dialed key rings through the air like a death knell. The phone only dials for a brief moment before the call is picked up.
“That was rather quick, Siderov. I see I’ve found your Achilles heel.”
“Uncle.” My voice calcifies into deep, generational anger.
“Ah. If it isn’t my errant nephew.” An amused laugh. “Did you have a nice vacation?”
A game.
Always a game with him.
“I will be on a jet within the hour. Remove the bounty.”
“Marvelous. I do hope there’s no love lost here, boy. After all, this is just business, and I feel I’ve been quite lenient with your self-imposed time off.”
I don’t respond. My jaw grinds shut so hard it’s a wonder my molars don’t crack on impact.
“You heard him. Now take down the hit,” Siderov cuts in.
Silence crackles through the line, heavy with purpose. We both tense up.
“Of course,” Uncle finally says. “As soon as he leaves American soil, the bounty on your daughter will be eliminated.”
Ten million dollars.
Is that really all these fuckers think my baby’s worth?
My forehead presses against the cool glass. We’re speeding down the road faster than I’ve ever gone, and it still feels like we’re wasting precious time. Something about the situation reminds me so much of my first day in New York. The horrible drive into the city from the airport.
If only I’d known what was waiting for me in that city.
If I’d known, I would have told that driver to take me directly to the ballet.
I’d have raced up those ridiculous steps and through the gaunt theater halls.
If a performance was in progress, it would’ve ended on the spot.
A bullet to that ugly chandelier that hung from the sky, and the entire crowd would run screaming.
All that would’ve mattered was the girl on the stage, and pulling her into my arms as quickly as possible.
“He sent his own plane, son. That means they’ll confiscate any electronics on your person,” Sasha says from the seat beside mine. “Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye?”
I can’t.
If I so much as hear her voice, I’ll have this car turned around so fast that the tire marks would linger on the road for years to come. I shake my head, swallowing around a painful lump.
“She’s going to be mad, Sasha. Really fucking mad, and that’s okay. She’ll push you away, but you need to keep showing up. Every morning. Every night.”
“I will,” he vows. “I will show up every day. I won’t leave her side.”
I nod again, rubbing my temples. “She takes her coffee with a splash of cream and two cubes of sugar, but she’ll only drink it while it’s hot.
Not lukewarm. Hot. And she needs someone to spar with.
Her cousins don’t realize how good she’s gotten—they take it easy on her.
She needs an honest challenge, someone without an ego, but who won’t treat her like a Bratva princess. ”
“Understood.”
“And she likes to wear clothes a few sizes too big,” I add, burying my nose in my sweatshirt. It still smells like her. “But she can’t buy something for herself without feeling guilty about the money, so you need to buy the clothes for her and say they were extras or something…”
“Vasiliy,” Sasha cuts me off, a hand landing on my bouncing thigh. God, I can’t sit still. “You’ve done so much for my daughter. She was a husk when she got here, and you’ve filled her life with color. I will find a way to get you back. It may take some time, but you have my word.”
“I appreciate that.” Even if we both know it’s an opportunistic fantasy. “But so long as she’s taken care of, I couldn’t give less of a shit what happens to me.”
The car’s deceleration fills me with a sense of doom. We drive through the private gate and directly onto the tarmac, where a familiar, white jet with the Morozov family crest lies in wait.
You can do this, Vasiliy.
You can get on this plane to keep her safe.
Stepping out of the car is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. Sure enough, one of my uncle’s trusted soldiers waits at the foot of the jet, ready to confiscate my weapons.
My heart aches.
Get on the plane, Vasiliy.
A hand clasps my back. The Siderov Pakhan and I have never shared such an intimate moment.
His bright green eyes are a poor replacement for the ones I love so much, but right now, they do provide some solace.
I glance past the airport gates, all the way back to the line where the road meets the growing storm on the horizon.
I’ll come back to you, moya zlaya.