18. Laila
18
LAILA
When Polina told me to make myself at home, I’m not sure this is what she meant.
But what’s the point of being borderline kidnapped and forced to live in Arsen Adamov’s house if I can’t snoop a little? I deserve to poke at some of the skeletons in his closet. Or, well, maybe not “deserve,” but more like…
Look, I’m just gonna. That’s all.
Now that I’m here, though, eyeing the locked cabinet in front of me, I’m a little less gung-ho about that decision. I don’t know how comfortable I am with the idea of actual blood and gore and the bones of his enemies stashed out of sight. If I’m traumatized by uncovering real, literal skeletons, I have no one to blame but myself.
So far, though, most of Arsen’s office has been surprisingly innocuous. Leather-bound books, an Old World hand-stitched globe, a bar cart loaded with a vast collection of whiskey bottles—just in case there were any doubts about exactly whose space I’m in.
“If he didn’t want people in his office, he’d keep it locked,” I mumble to myself, inching closer towards the cabinet.
My fingers wrap around the handle… just as my phone buzzes.
I leap back like the skeletons inside are coming for me and grab my phone. As soon as I do, I think the bone army might’ve been the safer choice.
DEADBEAT DAD: hey kiddo hows it going. u hvnt been returning my calls.
I’ve never returned his calls, but this is the first time he’s cared.
My fingers twitch with the desire to tell him exactly where he can shove his money-grubbing, fake-ass concern for me, but I control myself. For my mother’s sake, if nothing else.
He texts some more while I weigh out which of the polite iterations of “fuck off forever, please” to go with.
DEADBEAT DAD: i was in the neighbrh0od n thought id do a drive-by, see how Marie was doing, but no one seemed to be in.
DEADBEAT DAD: rly wanna see her. U too. jUst let me know good time. I bring those cream puffs u love.
I sigh. Reading Dad’s pidgin, just-discovered-texting-but-never-heard-of-grammar-or-capitalization messages gives me a headache without fail every single time. And beyond that—only Charles Barnes would think that making amends was as simple as showing up with cream puffs.
There’s never a good time to get swindled out of our money over some sweet treats.
Then there’s a little nudge against my ribs. I press a hand to my stomach and sigh some more, like I haven’t been doing enough of that lately.
The difference between Dad and me, even now, is astounding. I haven’t even met this little girl yet, and I want to take care of her. I want what’s best for her.
Was there ever a point where my father felt that way about me?
For the first time, I let myself consider that Mom was right. Maybe he just wants closure. To make amends.
My phone buzzes again.
DEADBEAT DAD: dont be difficult Laila. i kno ur mom wants 2 see me. be an adult about this.
DEADBEAT DAD: I’m not going anywhere.
On second thought, maybe he really is a good-for-nothing deadbeat whose talents include manipulating and then disappointing every person he meets.
I’m not going anywhere . Is that a threat? It feels like one. Figures he’d save punctuation for when he’s trying to act like a hardass.
I pocket my phone and try to focus on the task at hand: invading Arsen’s privacy.
Part of me expects the cabinet to be locked, but it opens right up. Instead of dusty bones and severed body parts falling out, I’m met with an avalanche of…
Toiletries?
There’s no other word for it. I find at least twenty plastic bags, each one neatly filled with toothbrushes, toothpaste, razors, deodorant, shaving cream. The back of the cabinet is wallpapered with teetering stacks of toilet paper and a bin overflowing with miniature shampoos and conditioners, like Arsen has been raiding hotel bathrooms.
“So he’s a hoarder,” I mutter. “There had to be a catch somewhere.”
Because being the violently-inclined head of a criminal organization wasn’t enough of a catch.
I pick up one of the bags and examine the contents. Arsen lives in a mansion with a housekeeper and devoted cronies like Dominik roaming around, all of whom would love nothing more than to make a midnight run to the drugstore to buy him lavender-scented body wash. Why on earth would he need something like this?
Voices ring out in the hall, and I panic. The package slips out of my hand and crushes my big toe. What did he fill these bottles with, liquid steel? I hiss in pain, but quickly shove everything back into the cabinet to make sure I leave no trace.
Then I rush into the hall as innocently as a person can rush, pulling the office door closed behind me. It’s only then that I recognize who is talking.
“Mom!” I fly around the corner into the foyer to find Evelyn pushing my mother’s wheelchair, Dom stumping along behind them like a pack mule.
I gesture for Mom to stay in her chair, but she stubbornly pushes to standing and wraps an arm around me. “Hi, sweetheart. Dominik and Polina were just giving us the house tour. Isn’t it amazing?”
“Amazing,” I echo, feigning enthusiasm. “Yeah. Practically paradise.”
“Mr. Adamov wants you all to be comfortable. This is your home for as long as you’d like.” Dominik tosses me a wink.
As long as he’d like, is more like it.
“It’s so generous of him. But—” Mom frowns. “I didn’t see any signs of mold in our house. Evelyn and I looked everywhere. Who did Mr. Adamov have do the testing?”
Dominik’s eyes widen and he glances to me for help. I bite back a smile. I’ve lied to my mom more than enough the last eight months. It’s his turn.
“Good question. Who did do the testing, Dominik?”
“The mold is a… a symptom,” he fumbles. “It’s a symptom of a larger problem. Which is, the, uh… the foundation. It’s cracked.”
Mom’s brows pinch together. He must think we’re all cracked if we’re supposed to buy that.
Dominik carries on. “So, yep. We need to shore the foundation and fill the cracks. Then dry out the house. And also, probably, uh… fumigate. It’s complicated, is what I’m trying to say, but rest assured, we have our best people working on it. In the meantime, Arsen wants you all to be safe and comfortable here. He wants whatever is best for the baby. Right now, that means having all of you out of that house.”
Those are the magic words, apparently. All at once, my mom relaxes. She gives me a firm smile. “Absolutely. We have to do what’s right for the baby.”
I should be grateful she isn’t asking more questions and poking holes in this flimsy lie, but it’s only because Dominik found the magic solution. My mom will do anything to protect the baby I’m selling.
It’s more than I can say for myself.
“Are you sure we won’t be imposing, though?” Mom peers past Dominik, squinting deeper into the house. “What does Mrs . Adamov think about all of this?”
I file through possible lies at rapid speed.
Mrs. Adamov is out of the country on business.
Mrs. Adamov lives overseas and Mr. Adamov will join her there once the baby is born.
Mrs. Adamov is nocturnal—a vampire, actually. She only comes out to wander the halls once everyone else is asleep. And she feeds on the blood of orphan children. That’s actually why they’re adopting: gotta secure the food chain.
“Mrs. Adamov has recently passed away,” Dominik answers before I can. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Sadly.”
Mom and Evelyn spin towards me, twin looks of horror on their faces. “Laila, did you know about this?”
Did I know Dominik was dumb enough to drop bombshells like this during the freaking introductory house tour?
No. No, I did not.
“I… erm… I just found out. Last night.” When all else fails, go with the truth.
Mom is still squinting like she can see straight through me, while Evelyn reaches for Dominik’s bicep. “Please accept our deepest sympathies.”
Dominik gives her a formal half-bow. “I’ll convey the message to Mr. Adamov.”
Mom is still focused on me, tracking every flicker of emotion on my face, when Polina walks into the room with exquisite timing like the guardian angel she is.
“Ladies, please allow me to show you both to your rooms.”
Mom and Evelyn are so stunned by the appearance of even more household staff that they follow Polina without any hesitation.
The moment they disappear around the corner, I turn on Dominik. “What the hell?!”
He shrugs. “They had to find out at some point.”
“That point didn’t need to be right now. They literally just walked through the door.”
He’s not meeting my eye. The tile grout at our feet is suddenly much more interesting. “Yeah, well… Circumstances being what they are, best to rip the bandage off, y’know?”
“No, I don’t know.”
Truth be told, I don’t know anything. What to do or how to do it or where I’m supposed to store this mounting pile of unprocessed thoughts and emotions about all the insanity raining down on me relentlessly. I don’t have a single idea how to navigate my baby daddy’s wife being murdered the day before me and my mother move into his house. No one alive knows how to handle that. Except maybe Arsen.
“Where is he?” I ask.
Dominik knows who I’m talking about. “Planning the funeral. That’s why I’m here instead. He wanted your mother to receive a warm welcome.”
I roll my eyes at the obviously rehearsed line. “Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t care about meeting my mother. Stop trying to make it seem like he gives a damn about me, either.”
“Laila, he does care. Of course he cares.” Dom looks offended on his boss’s behalf, but I’m not buying that load of B.S.
Fool me once? Shame on you.
Fool me dozens and dozens of times, repeatedly, for eight months straight? Well…
“I want to speak to him, Dom. Where is he?”
“He’s not in right now.”
“Dominik!” I shout. He flinches but stands his ground. “My mom is going to have more questions, and I need to figure out what to say. Are we saying Natascha was murdered? Are the police involved?”
“Why on earth would the police be involved?”
Spoken like a true criminal.
“For God’s sake, Dom—Arsen’s wife was murdered. The police need to be involved.”
“This is Bratva business, Laila. We handle things in-house.”
“Except Arsen isn’t ‘in house.’ He’s busy doing dangerous, cryptic mafia bullshit. And I’m stranded here, eight months pregnant with his child, trying to keep his secrets—which are really stacking up, by the way!” I massage away the headache forming in my temples. “I should’ve never agreed to any of this.”
“The time to change your mind has passed, Laila.” His voice is gentle but firm. “He lied, yes—but he was trying to protect you.”
“Do you always speak for him?” I scowl. “Or does he ever show up to speak for himself?”
“Nope. It’s just the two of us.” Gedeon strolls into the room and takes up a stance at Dom’s side. “Dominik speaks for Arsen half of the time, and I pick up the other fifty percent.”
Eyes narrowing, I converge on Arsen’s two henchmen. “That’s not going to work for me. None of this is. Go tell your boss that he may be a dangerous man and you clowns may run around on his behalf like chickens with your heads cut off, but I’m not scared of him. Tell him that he can’t avoid me forever. I will talk to him. Or else.”
Or else what? I have no idea.
Sure sounds good, though.
But before Dominik can laugh at me or either of them can grab me by the arms and toss me in whatever dungeon Arsen no doubt has hidden beneath his mansion, I storm out of the room.
I’m only halfway down the hallway when I hear their hushed voices behind me.
“This is gonna be a disaster,” Dominik sighs.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Gedeon replies. “His mind is made up.”
Yeah, I think to myself sadly. That’s what I’m worried about.
“ Roza …”
I can’t be dreaming. I just managed to find a comfortable position and I’ve only barely started drifting off. Which apparently was the cue for this deep, sensual voice to start murmuring in my ear…
I hug the pillow tighter, praying like hell Arsen will think I’m sleeping and go away.
Earlier today, I wanted to talk to him.
Now, all I can think about is him climbing into bed next to me, curling his strong, warm frame around me better than any pregnancy pillow ever could. Which means I need him to leave. Now. Before my hormone-addled body makes the crucial mistake of letting Arsen too close.
“Wake up, roza . You’re needed downstairs.”
I squeeze my eyes tighter. Go away. Go away. Go aw ? —
“Hey!” I croak, blinking my eyes open as the comforter is ripped off and the pillow under my head goes with it.
Arsen is standing beside my bed, blanket in his fist, his eyes raking up and down my body.
Cheeks flaming, I try to snatch back the sheets so I can hide the fact that I’m currently wearing a billowy white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants—clothes I’m fairly certain belong to Arsen.
Yesterday evening’s snooping led me to another room and another cabinet stuffed to the brim with neatly folded, unworn clothes. Sweatpants and sweaters and t-shirts and socks. It’s like he found one outfit he liked and bought enough for a lifetime. I can’t even blame him—these sweats are buttery soft. It’s why I couldn’t resist taking one set for myself.
“Do you have some weird fetish for waking women up in the middle of the night or something?”
He doesn’t crack a smile. “Get dressed.”
“I’d ask why,” I grumble, rolling to the edge of the bed and heaving myself upright, “but I’m having déjà vu over here, which means you’re probably going to be your usual charming self and answer exactly zero of my questions.”
He turns towards the door, but as he does, I catch a glimpse of his face. It’s gaunt and pale. He looks like he hasn’t slept in years. “I’ll explain when you’re dressed and downstairs.”
“An explanation! Huzzah!” I crack sarcastically. “All it will cost me is a good night’s sleep. Could this really not wait until the morning?”
He ignores me and points to a garment bag hanging over the back of a chair. “I brought you something to wear. If you want.”
With that very vague statement, he disappears.
I frown, then waddle over to the chair and unzip the cover. “What the…?”
I’m staring at a white dress. A gorgeous white dress. The top is lace and the skirt is layered tulle. The empire waist is high enough to accommodate my baby bump.
I consider wearing it, if only because a dress this pretty deserves to be worn, but that would be playing right into his hands. And I’m done jumping just because he tells me to.
I do brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair, but then I stomp downstairs in his sweats with a scowl on my face.
Only to find myself standing in front of three men—none of whom are Arsen.
Dominik and Gedeon are off to the side, refusing to look at me. I don’t know the third man, but it’s easy enough to figure out the general gist.
Mom and I were never much into religion, but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize a priest when I see one.
“What’s going on?”
Dominik peeks over at me and then does a double-take. “That’s what you’re wearing?”
“I was sleeping five minutes ago.” Which is maybe why it’s taken me until this moment to realize they’re all wearing matching suits. “What is going on?”
Dominik pales. “He didn’t tell you yet?”
“Tell me what?”
When no one answers, the priest gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m Father Orlov, my dear. I’m here to…” His gaze flickers past me.
I know before Arsen says a word that he’s in the room now. I feel it like an electric bolt down my spine.
His hand presses to the small of my back as he leads me towards the assembled men. “He’s here to marry us, Laila. Time to say, ‘I do.’”