36. Daphne
36
Asya’s on the couch with Taty, patting her back while they watch some kid’s show with classical music. She winks at me and mouths, Have a good time.
Baby’s taken care of: check.
Babysitter is awesome and keeping my secret: check.
Pasha is blissfully unaware and not rushing after me: double check.
I close the door as quietly as I can, even though I’m not actually doing anything wrong. My husband loves me and I love him, but sometimes, I just want to get out of sight of the PashaCopter for a little while.
Lev steps out of the elevator just as I’m about to push the Down button. I grab his leather jacket sleeve and tug him right back into the cab.
Only when the doors are closed and the elevator starts descending do I dare breathe a word. “Thanks.”
Lev cocks a brow but doesn’t look directly at me. “You didn’t tell me where we’re going. Should I be worried?”
“About the destination? Or your boss?”
He snorts a laugh. “Either. Both.”
I shake my head. “No. Neither. I just like having my own thing, you know? I just want to breathe my own air for a few hours.”
Lev doesn’t say anything more. He simply gives me a slight nod and waits with me for the elevator to descend.
Security is doubled-down in the building since Conrad’s last—dead last—stunt in the air vents. Now, there are state-of-the-art cameras in every corner of every ground floor space, elevator cab, hallway, dog run, smoke lounge… You name it, Pasha has eyes on it. Armed security personnel pace the grounds and take turns sitting near the front desk.
We navigate through all of that before we get out to Lev’s waiting car. “So, do I get to know the big secret now?” he asks once we’re seated and buckled in.
I grin and tuck my bag to my side. “You know that gym on Twenty-Fifth and Third?”
“Do I know that gym…” he mutters under his breath. He’s smiling, though. “Yes, I do happen to know the Chekhov fitness fortress.”
“That’s where I’m going.”
Both brows hit his hairline. He looks at me in the rearview mirror, then turns around to look at me face to face. “You serious?”
“Dead serious. I’ve been training with Sofiya. She’s just running late today.”
“How long?”
I shrug. “A few weeks, I think? It’s been good for me. Really good.”
Lev mutters something in Russian and shakes his head, but, as shaky as my grasp on his native tongue still is, I’m pretty sure he’s on board.
He does insist on escorting me inside once we arrive. “I have a price for my silence. I gotta see this,” is his explanation as we enter.
I stash my things in the women’s locker room and take a few deep breaths. Usually, Sofi is here to distract my mind from the upcoming self-imposed physical torture. This is my first time starting out on my own.
I can do this, I remind myself. I’m made of tough stuff.
The elliptical is easy enough. I love the even flow and minimal impact on my knees. It also helps me warm up and get into the swing of things—pun intended—before Sofi makes me kick my own ass with the weights and shadowboxing.
No sooner does that thought cross my mind than does a familiar head of hair pop up in front of me.
Think of the Devil and she shall appear…
Sofi grins and waves at me from the front desk. “Be right there!”
I pick up the pace and increase the machine’s resistance by a few notches. I’d prefer to be done with the cardio section before she changes into her gear. Lord knows if she gets her hands on these controls, I’m gonna die.
I think she’s onto my little scheme, though. As she passes by on her way to change in the locker room, she bumps the speed up.
I’ve got one foot in the grave by the time she returns, hair tied up in a neat braid, and asks, “Good to go?”
I flash her a weary thumbs-up. “Never been… Fucking hell, I can’t breathe… Never been better.”
“Awesome. Let’s stretch.”
Lev keeps a respectful distance as we warm up, but I catch him glancing our way now and then, a tiny smile threatening his otherwise stoic facade.
It’s when we get to the shadow boxing portion that I’m thrown for a loop.
“Alright. Time to up the stakes.” Sofi gestures for me to hold out my hands, then starts wrapping some bandage-looking fabric around my wrists and fingers. “No more shadows.”
“Huh?”
“This is fighting tape. As good as gloves for what we’re doing.”
“Which is…?”
She flashes that impish grin at me again. “Sparring.”
Shit.
She leads me to the area reserved for sparring, which I have seen several of the other guys do during our past workouts. I always thought it looked cool, but mostly in the way I think, like, motorcycles look cool. As in, You’d have to be insane to try that.
I guess my sister-in-law qualifies.
“Elbows up! C’mon!” She pulls her punches because I’m failing at blocking my own face. “Suck that core in!”
I try to mimic her as best as I can. “This is new. I?—”
“This is new, yes. Your enemies are not.”
I level my stare at her, but she taps her knuckles together to remind me to keep my fists up over the bottom half of my face. “Is this because of recent events?”
“That. And you have an audience.”
I glance to my left. Sure enough, several of the men I recognize from Pasha’s office are taking breaks at their machines and weight benches. And watching us.
Watching me.
Sofi doesn’t give me any warning for the jab she thrusts at me. Instinctively, I dodge to the side, earning a proud “Good!” before she swings an uppercut.
I may be clumsy with the moves, but I’m learning my vocab.
“I’m low,” she explains, “so go high.”
“Huh?” I don’t think, just swing. It’s not the best, but I do graze her ear.
“Ayy, there we go, girl! You got it!”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Sofi.” I take a few steps back to put distance between us. “Pasha would kill me if I did.”
“If you can hurt me, I deserve it. Besides, Pasha will kill me if he finds out I’ve been training you and you still can’t defend yourself.” She sinks lower into her stance. “Now, come on the offensive. Enough scaredy-cat bullshit.”
“I can’t?—”
“May I?” Lev asks, appearing suddenly at the edge of the ring space.
Sofi doesn’t relax her stance, but she nods and backs away.
Lev tucks his phone into his pocket and casually saunters over to me. Everything this guy does is just like that: so casual. Like he’s completely unbothered by the fact that he’s a major criminal with what I assume to be a nauseatingly high body count.
“Close your eyes, Mrs. Chekhov.” He waits until I do. “Now. Forget she is your sister. Forget she is even a she. Remember what it’s like, protecting your baby from the man who tried to hurt you. Who tried to hurt her.”
How could I forget? The image of Conrad moving over Taty’s bassinet is burned into my memory.
I feel the back of my jaw clench.
“He is one of many more to come,” Lev continues. “Men who will try to hurt your husband by hurting your child. That is who you are fighting right now. That is who you will always be fighting.”
He nudges my elbows back into place. Taps my foot with his so I widen my stance into something stronger.
“You’re not just doing this for yourself, Mrs. Chekhov. You’re doing this for your daughter. Show her what a queen looks like.”
I have to open my eyes to see my opponent.
But when I do, I’m not seeing Sofi anymore. Not really.
Yeah, it’s her body. But in my mind’s eye, it’s Conrad lunging at me. Conrad swinging his fists. Conrad who I block, parry, and jab at.
I’m still far from perfect, but what I am is motivated. Pissed. And I get so into the moment, I swing a kick I haven’t trained on yet and it nearly lands against Sofi’s shoulder.
Nearly—because she grabs my ankle at the last second. “Nice! A little off to the side, but very, very good improvisation!”
I grin sheepishly. This won’t be my secret forever. Eventually, I’ll want to show off my new moves to Pasha and make him proud.
Eventually.
For now, this is all me. All mine.
I’m steamed, showered, and quick-shaved after our sparring and follow-up yoga session. Sofi says a few minutes in the sauna after a good workout helps with blood flow, and I love what it’s been doing to my pores.
I think, on some subconscious level, Pasha’s been noticing the difference, too. He gets real handsy when my bare skin is within reach.
“Ready?” Lev glances at my bag and then over my shoulder. “Got everything?”
“Yeah.”
We both inwardly groan when we see the back entrance to the parking garage is closed for mopping. So much for a shortcut.
“Well, it’ll keep the blood pumping,” he reasons on our way to the front entrance. “Good to keep those muscles warm.”
“You train a lot?” I ask him.
“Used to. Had a shot at a city-wide title back when I boxed professionally. Gave it up when I had my own little malyshka.”
His guidance earlier suddenly makes a lot more sense. “How old is she now?”
He chuckles. “Old enough to give me gray hairs and grandchildren.”
It’s really not that far from the front doors to the parking garage, but it does mean we have to trek down the public sidewalk a little ways.
Which wouldn’t be such a problem—if it wasn’t so damn crowded.
“Stay close,” Lev grumbles. I nod and match him step for step, letting him shoulder both of us through a sudden swarm of people disembarking off a city bus.
Someone hits my arm with the whole side of their body. Hard. “Ouch! Hey?—”
Another hand grabs that same arm and tugs me aside.
“Lev!”
I can see him whip around and try to shove through the crowd. Most of them are on phones and headsets, and several cuss him out for pushing them out of his way.
“Let go!” I shove at whoever has the balls to grab me. Even harder when they yank me close.
Until I hear his voice in my ear.
“Shut the hell up.”
I don’t do what he says simply because he ordered me to—I just can’t help the pure shock that snaps my mouth shut and squeezes all air from my lungs.
Dad?!