Chapter 15 Vera
VERA
My hands won't stop shaking. Even with Misha's jacket around my shoulders and his arm steady across my back, I can't make them still.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Pavel's face from this morning—alive, laughing at someone's joke by the coffee machine.
Now he's dead, and the whispers about criminal involvement follow me through every conversation.
"I can't be alone tonight," I tell Misha as we walk toward the parking lot. The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Please don't leave me alone." There is a killer out there and if it has anything to do with Sonya, I know I'm not safe. If she had Pavel killed to silence him, I could be next.
He stops, turning to face me under the harsh fluorescent lights of the track's exit. His ice-blue eyes search my face, and I see the exact moment he makes his decision. "I'll stay until your shift ends. Then I'm taking you home."
Relief floods through me so fast my knees nearly give out, and he holds me steady for a moment. "Thank you," I whisper as he wraps his arm around me, pulling me close as we walk back toward the stable complex.
For the next few hours, he's never more than a few feet away.
He sits in the break room while I finish my paperwork, walks with me as I check the horses one final time, stands guard while I gather my things from my locker.
By the time my shift ends, some of the panic has faded, replaced by exhaustion and the steady comfort of his presence.
Misha keeps one hand on the steering wheel and the other on my thigh as he drives me home, his thumb tracing small circles against my jeans.
I don't know what I'd have done if he hadn't been there when Pavel's body was found.
As it is right now, I don't know if I can go back.
I'm terrified. It might be because of his warning about the woman similar to me who wasn't protected, or maybe it’s because I knew from the beginning who Sonya was and I pretended it didn't matter.
When we pull up outside my building, I see the lights on in our third-floor windows.
Batya and Elvin are home, maybe sharing dinner and watching the evening news.
The normalcy of it makes my chest ache. They have no clue the danger I've put us all in, and I'll feel better when I see their warm smiles.
"Come up with me," I say, surprising myself with the request. I turn to him and reach for his hand, but his touch isn't as warm as I expect it to be as he pats my hand and then pulls away.
Misha cuts the engine but doesn't move to get out. "Vera…"
"I want you to meet them. My family." Even as I say the words, I'm not sure if it's a good idea. "I know there's an age gap between us, I know you probably think they won't understand, but they will. Batya respects character, not age."
He stares out the windshield for a long moment, his jaw working. "Your father's going to take one look at me and decide I'm too old for his daughter."
"Maybe. But he'll also see that you're good to me. That you make me feel safe, like you did today at the track." I reach for his hand again and this time, he lets me take it. "Please…"
There is another long pause, then he nods. "If this is what you want."
"It is."
We climb the narrow staircase to my apartment, and I can hear the television through the thin walls—some crime drama Batya watches every Tuesday.
I unlock the door and step inside, Misha close behind me.
He isn't as nervous as I am, but he doesn't seem as at ease as normal.
I lead him through the door and he shuts it behind us as I call out.
"Batya? Elvin? I'm home."
Batya emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He's a small man, made smaller by years of factory work and worry, but his presence fills the room when he sees Misha standing in our doorway. His first glance is assessing, eyes narrowing with concern.
"Batya, this is Misha." I move between them, my heart hammering. "Misha, my father, Anatoly."
The two men study each other for what feels like hours to my trembling heart, but it has to be only seconds. Batya takes in Misha's expensive suit, the confident way he holds himself, the expensive watch on his wrist. Misha meets Batya's gaze directly, no deflection or false charm.
"Sir," Misha says, extending his hand.
Batya shakes it, his grip firm despite his size. "You're older than I expected."
"Yes, sir."
"Much older."
"Seventeen years," Misha says without flinching. "I understand your concern." Something inside me shrinks as I realize just how different we are in age, but none of that matters when I'm alone with Misha, when he's holding me and sharing tender moments.
"Batya," I start, but he holds up a hand.
"Sit," Batya says, gesturing toward our small living room. "Both of you."
Elvin appears in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. He seems tired, but it's good that he's out of bed and moving, even with his spindly, emaciated frame. And his eyes are bright with curiosity as he looks between Misha and me.
"So you're the famous Misha," Elvin says, settling carefully into his chair. "Vera hasn't stopped talking about you."
Heat floods my cheeks. "Elvin…"
"What?" He grins at me, then turns his attention to Misha. "I'm Elvin, her brother."
"Good to meet you," Misha says, and I can hear genuine warmth in his voice. "How are you feeling?"
"Like death warmed over, but still kicking." Elvin's smile fades slightly. "Though I have to admit, I worry about not seeing my sister married off properly."
Elvin's comment doesn't seem to faze Misha, and Batya settles into his chair, the dish towel forgotten in his lap.
"Tell me about your work," Batya says to Misha.
"I manage operations, some imports and exports, conflict management…" The answer is smooth, though even I don't know what he does. Whatever it is, it's lucrative enough to own three horses and live like a king.
"Dangerous work?"
Misha doesn't hesitate. "Sometimes."
"And Vera? Is she safe with you?"
"I would never let anything happen to your daughter," he says, and I know he means it. He takes my hand and looks me in the eye as he continues. "I care about her."
Batya leans forward, his eyes narrowing. "That's not what I asked."
Misha meets his stare. "Yes, she's safe with me. Safer than she would be without me, given the current situation at the track."
"What situation?"
I tense, but Misha's voice remains steady. "There have been some security concerns recently. People getting involved with the wrong crowd, making poor choices. I'm making sure Vera doesn't get caught up in anything she shouldn't."
It's not the whole truth, but it's not a lie, either. Batya seems to sense there's more to the story, but he doesn't push. I'll get the brunt of that later, I'm sure.
The interrogation continues for another thirty minutes.
Batya asks about Misha's intentions, his financial stability, his plans for the future.
Misha answers every question with patience and directness, never showing irritation at Batya's protective instincts.
It makes me melt against him until my head is lying on his shoulder.
I watch him handle my father's scrutiny with growing admiration. He doesn't try to charm or deflect. He doesn't get defensive about the age gap or make excuses for his wealth. He simply answers the questions honestly and lets Batya draw his own conclusions.
"And you can provide for her?"
"More than adequately."
"Good." Batya nods once, apparently satisfied. "Vera needs stability. Security. She's been carrying too much responsibility for too long."
"I agree."
Elvin has been quiet through most of the conversation, but now he speaks up. "I like him," he announces. "He's not intimidated by you, Batya, which means he can handle Vera when she gets stubborn."
"I'm right here," I protest playfully, but all three men ignore me.
"Plus," Elvin continues, "he looks at her the way a man should look at the woman he loves. Even when she's not looking."
My breath catches at the word. I glance at Misha, but his expression remains carefully neutral. Love… Could he? But maybe it's too soon.
After another few minutes of conversation, Batya excuses himself and leads Elvin to the bedroom, and I walk Misha toward the door. The air in the hallway is cool against my face as we step onto the landing.
"They like you," I say, still processing how smoothly that went.
"Your father's a good man. Protective. He should be suspicious of someone like me."
"Someone like you?"
He cups my face in his hands, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "A man as old as I am falling for his beautiful, sacred, precious daughter…"
Before I can protest the compliments, his mouth finds mine. The kiss is hungry, desperate, full of the tension that's been building since Pavel's death. I melt into him, my hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.
When we break apart, I'm breathless. "Thank you," I whisper to him, "for meeting them."
"It is my deepest pleasure." He brushes a strand of hair away from my face. "I'll pick you up for work. Don't go anywhere alone."
"Misha…"
"Promise me."
"I promise."
He kisses me again, softer this time, then starts down the stairs.
I slip inside and lock the door behind me, then rush to the window to watch.
Misha walks calmly toward his car and climbs in.
I have a giddy grin as I watch him. I'm still standing by the window when Batya appears beside me in his robe.
"He's gone?"
"Yes."
Batya is quiet for a long moment, then says, "Vera, I need you to listen to me."
"What?"
"That man is not what he seems."
I turn to face him. "What do you mean?" I don't think Batya understands. Misha is the best thing that's ever happened to me.
"No one is that perfect. No one handles pressure that well, answers questions that smoothly." Batya's voice is gentle but firm. "He's playing a role."
"You're wrong."
"Am I? Think about it. A man his age, with his money, his confidence—he could have any woman he wanted. Why you? Why now?" His eyes turn inky black, his brow furrowing. "You're impoverished, Vera. He's using you."
The questions challenge me, but I push them away. "He cares about me."
"Maybe. Or maybe you're useful to him somehow."
"Batya, stop."
"I'm not saying he doesn't care for you. I'm saying there's more to this story than he's telling you. The way he answered my questions, the way he deflected without lying—that's not honesty, Vera. That's a honed skill."
I want to argue, but something in his tone makes me hesitate. Batya has always been a good judge of character. He's seen enough people, worked with enough men, to recognize when someone is lying.
"Even if you're right," I finally say, "I don't care. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel valued. I deserve that, don't I, Batya?"
Batya sighs. "And that's exactly what worries me. You're so grateful for his help that you're not asking the right questions."
"What questions?"
"What does he get out of this? What does he really want from you?"
I don't have good answers, so I don't try to give them. Instead, I kiss Batya's cheek and head toward my room with tears brimming in my eyes.
"I'm tired," I say. "We can talk about this tomorrow."
But as I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, Batya's words repeat in my mind. What does Misha really want from me? Is it just sex? Am I being naive?
I push the doubts away and focus on how it felt to watch him with my family—patient, respectful, genuine in his affection for Elvin. The way he looked at me when he thought no one was watching. The protective edge in his voice when I feel afraid.
Whatever his reasons for being with me, whatever secrets he's keeping, I'm already too deep to turn back. I'm falling in love with him, maybe already have fallen, and Batya's warnings feel too late to matter.
Tomorrow, he'll pick me up for work and keep me safe from whatever threatens me at the track. I'll pretend I didn't see the calculation in his eyes when he answered Batya's questions.
Because right now, Misha's protection feels more important than the truth.