Chapter 12 Daria
Daria
Kira falls asleep clutching Rex the T. Rex.
I stand in her doorway, watching the rise and fall of her small chest beneath the worn blanket.
She wanted me to check her closet twice and look under the bed three times tonight. Something inside her little brain picked up on the fear I’ve been hiding, the way children always sense the things adults don’t say out loud.
“Mama?” Her voice is thick with sleep.
“I’m here, malyshka.”
“Will you stay until I fall asleep?”
“Of course.”
I cross the room and lower myself onto the edge of her bed. She reaches for my hand and wraps her small fingers around mine, holding on like she’s afraid I might disappear if she lets go.
“Is Pyotr going to stay with us forever?” she mumbles into her pillow.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. He’s just here for a little while.”
“I hope he stays forever.”
My throat tightens, and I swallow before I reply, “Go to sleep now.”
“Okay.” She goes quiet, then adds, “I love you more than all the dinosaurs, Mama.”
“I love you more than all the stars.”
Her breathing evens within minutes, but I wait until she’s fully asleep before I ease my hand from her grip and slip out of the room, pulling the door closed behind me.
The hallway is too quiet. I lean against the wall and press my palms against the cool surface to steady my racing heart. It hasn’t stopped pounding since Pyotr stood in my living room earlier and told me he thinks someone planted evidence to make me look guilty.
He knows. Not everything, but enough to start asking the right questions, which feels more dangerous than him asking the wrong ones.
The living room is almost totally dark when I reach it. Pyotr is sitting on the couch and scrolling through his phone in his hands. The blue light illuminates his face, highlighting the angles and stubble.
He looks up when I enter, and his gray eyes watch my every step as I move across the room.
“She’s asleep?” he asks.
“Finally. She was restless tonight.”
“Kids pick up on more than we give them credit for.”
I sink into the armchair across from him and tuck my legs beneath me. The distance between us feels both too far and not far enough. Two days ago, this man had his fingers inside me as I fell apart on my kitchen floor. Now, we’re sitting in my living room like strangers at a bus stop.
“You said you need the truth.” I force the words past the tightness in my throat. “Before you make decisions you can’t undo.”
He sets his phone on the cushion beside him and gives me his full attention. “I did.”
“What if the truth is worse than what you’re imagining?”
“Then I deal with it.”
I let out a breathy laugh. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not, but lying to me won’t make it simpler.”
I know he’s right, but the truth is like a loaded gun, and I’ve spent so long keeping my finger off the trigger that I don’t know how to aim it anymore.
I let out a deep breath. “His name is Bogdan Lebedev. We were married for two years before I left him.”
Pyotr’s face doesn’t change, but I notice his hands go still on his thighs. “Yevgeny Lebedev’s nephew.”
“You already knew.”
“I came across his information in your file.”
Of course he did. These men have networks I can barely comprehend. Information flowing through channels I’ll never see.
“I met him when I was twenty-three.” I stare at a point on the wall over his shoulder.
It’s easier to talk if I don’t look at him.
“He was charming. Sophisticated. He said all the right things and made me feel like the most important person in the world. I was young and stupid and desperate to be loved, and he knew how to use that.”
“How did you meet?”
“At a gallery opening. He presented himself as a legitimate businessman interested in sponsoring young artists. He heard me play piano at an event and told me I had the most beautiful hands he’d ever seen.
” I curl those hands into fists in my lap.
“I should have known then. Normal men don’t say things like that. ”
“When did things change?”
“After the wedding. Small things at first. Comments about my clothes, my friends, and the way I wore my hair. He isolated me so gradually that I didn’t realize it was happening until I had no one left.
My sister warned me, but I didn’t listen.
I thought she was jealous and didn’t understand our love.
Then Kira came, and everything got worse. ”
“How so?”
“He became possessive in new ways. Obsessive about where I went, who I talked to, and what I did every minute of the day. He installed cameras in our apartment. He checked my phone constantly. He accused me of things I would never do, and when I denied them, he…” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.
I feel Pyotr waiting for me to continue. He’s patient in a way that makes me want to tell him everything and nothing at the same time.
“I left three years ago,” I explain. “Packed a bag in the middle of the night and took Kira to the train station while he was away on business. She was barely two years old. She didn’t understand why we were leaving or where we were going.
She held onto me and trusted that I knew what I was doing.
I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew we couldn’t stay. ”
“He found you.”
“Within weeks. I don’t know how. I was so careful.
New city, new name on the apartment lease, and cash only for everything.
I didn’t contact anyone from my old life.
I didn’t use credit cards or social media or anything that could be traced.
But he found me anyway.” I finally meet Pyotr’s eyes.
“He’s been in the shadows ever since. Reminding me that I belong to him.
That Kira belongs to him. That no matter how far I run, he’ll always know where I am. ”
Pyotr’s jaw ticks. “The blocked calls.”
“Every few days, sometimes more often. He likes to keep me off-balance. I don’t know when the next one will come or what he’ll demand.”
“What does he want from you now?”
This is where I should tell him everything. The money laundering, the blackmail, and the accounts in my name that have funneled money for years.
But admitting the full scope feels like handing him a weapon I’m not sure he won’t use against me, no matter what he said about doubting the evidence.
“Control,” I offer instead. “He wants control. That’s all he’s ever wanted.”
It’s not a lie; it’s just not the whole truth.
Pyotr studies my face, and I wonder if he can tell I’m holding something back. But he doesn’t push.
“And the man at the grocery store? Semyon?”
“Semyon was a reminder that Bogdan can reach out and touch me whenever he wants.” I wrap my arms around myself, cold despite the warmth from the furnace.
“Yesterday, when I had the panic attack, Bogdan had called to tell me he’s coming to St. Petersburg next week.
He said he’s coming to collect what he’s owed. ”
Understanding dawns in Pyotr’s eyes. “Kira.”
“If he files for custody, drags our family name through the courts, and exposes my connection to the Kozlovs…” I’m unable to finish the thought.
“He’s using her as leverage.”
“He’s been using her as leverage since the day she was born.”
I’ve never said any of this out loud. Not even to Polina or the women at the shelter. Keeping it inside felt safer. Like speaking it would make it more real.
But it’s been real for three years, and pretending otherwise hasn’t protected Kira or me from any of it.
Pyotr leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, but there’s an edge of danger in it.
“Did he hurt you, Daria?”
I flinch.
The reaction tells him everything my words don’t. I see it register on his face as something behind his eyes goes cold and still. It’s the same look he had in the grocery store when he grabbed Semyon’s wrist. The look of a man working out how much damage he could inflict if he chose to.
“That’s not—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Don’t tell me it’s not important. Don’t minimize it. Don’t make excuses for him.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
I see the war playing out behind his eyes as the professional tries to stay objective while the man underneath wants to burn something down.
Then he abruptly stands and walks toward the fire escape.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to make a call.”
He steps out onto the fire escape before I can respond, pulling the window shut behind him. Through the glass, I watch him pace the landing with his phone pressed to his ear. His breath forms clouds in the cold night air. His free hand clenches and unclenches at his side.
I can’t hear what he’s saying—the glass muffles everything except the low rumble of his voice—but I watch his body language, the rigid set of his shoulders, and the jerky gestures. Whoever he’s talking to is getting an earful.
The call lasts about five minutes. When he climbs back inside, his expression is unreadable.
He crosses the room and stops in front of my chair, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“Whatever happens next,” he begins, “no one will take Kira from you.”
I want to ask him how he can promise that without knowing the full scope of what Bogdan has built using my name. Pyotr knows about the federal investigation closing in, but he doesn’t know how deep this goes or how tangled I am in all of it.
But the look in his eyes stops the questions before they reach my lips.
It’s not bravado or false confidence. It’s the look of a man who has made a decision and will not be moved from it.
For the first time in three years, I don’t feel quite so alone.