Chapter 10
NATALIA
“You still haven’t slept with him, have you?”
My mother opens the door with a pinched expression on her face, looking me up and down as though losing my virginity would cause some visible change.
“Hello to you too, Mama.”
She pulls me into a bone-crushing hug for a second, then pushes me back to look me hard in the eyes.
“Really, malyshka. We must know.”
I let out a snort and shake my head. “I haven’t let him touch me.”
With the exception of a rough, calloused hand on my waist the other night. The hot brush of the back of his fingers against my cheek when his hand tangled in my hair. And the weight of that dark gaze which feels almost like a caress.
“Thank God in Heaven.” Mama fingers her cross and yanks me inside the front door.
I let Dasha out of her crate and she strides off down the hallway, rubbing herself against the gold-leafed wallpaper. It’s like she’s pointing out the luxuries she’s been missing during our time in Aleksandr’s warehouse.
My father is waiting, looking the same as ever in his tweed suit with glasses — more a professor than a Bratva boss. He’s not a hugger, but he nods at me as my mother fusses around with a high tea she’s arranged.
No sooner have we assessed the state of the weather and my mother started her latest tirade about a servant who had to be fired, my father nods his head towards the door as if to indicate I should come with him.
“Oh, this,” my mother says, huffing as though she disapproves of whatever we’re about to talk about. “Remember you can say no, malyshka. Your focus should be on staying pure, not whatever silly little mission your father has for you.”
I wave her away but privately roll my eyes at my father. He pulls me into his office and I sit across the desk from him.
“I have business to discuss with you, Natalia.”
“The paintings?” I look around the room, hoping to get a sneak peek of my father’s latest shipment.
It’s lovely to see my parents, of course — but the artwork is what I’ve missed most. Aleksandr doesn’t have a single decoration up in his entire apartment.
I know my father hates him, but I thought I might convince him to borrow my favorites.
I didn’t feel that I was done with the Cholmondeley still life of the duck, and just a few more hours with it would be invaluable.
The boxes of paintings and sculptures which usually occupy half the office — my half of the office — are missing. Worry grips me. Maybe without me, Papa will never be able to identify the forgeries. “You do have paintings for me to check?”
My father pushes his glasses up his nose and nods.
“Of course, malyshka, there are always paintings… First, let’s discuss something else.”
I’ve never been involved in any other part of my father’s business before. He’s tried to keep me away from it, saying that it was nothing that would concern me. According to my father, everyone should focus on their natural talents — and my innate ability to detect inaccuracies in artworks is mine.
My father straightens his tie — his habit whenever he is nervous about something — and props his fingers together. Whatever is going on, it’s serious.
“Is everything okay, Papa?”
“It’s about your husband.”
I wrinkle my nose. It feels strange to have a husband after spending so long avoiding it. “Let’s not call him that.”
“Yes, of course. Well, it’s about Aleksandr… You haven’t formed an attachment to him, I hope?”
This again.
My parents are so paranoid that I’m about to throw myself at my brothers’ killer that it’s almost insulting.
I wonder if I gave too much away on my wedding day when he kissed me at the altar. I was overwhelmed by the rough, hot sensation of Aleksandr’s lips on mine, the way his hand cupped the back of my head… And after I bit him, the look of surprise in his eyes shifted to something molten.
My own insides somersaulted like crazy for the rest of that ceremony, whenever Aleksandr got close to me. When he grabbed my hand and raised it for the crowd to show our union, I felt the warmth of his grip on me for the rest of the day.
Maybe I was obvious. Well, I’d never been kissed before.
None of my previous wedding ceremonies had ever progressed that far — of course I was overwhelmed at my first kiss.
It was nothing to do with Aleksandr, it was just the fact that it was the first time I’d been kissed and it was nicer than I expected.
Okay, really nice.
Okay, it was hot and a small, hidden part of me is disappointed that it hasn’t happened again. The way he smiled at me when I accused him of visiting a prostitute was the only thing that came close.
I get carried away in the memory as my father drones on. He’s never been an engaging speaker and I only tune back in to his monotone when he says Aleksandr’s surname.
“…we believe that he’s doing something that goes against the Bratva’s interests.
Now, we know he and his friend have their little business down at the port.
It’s important work, liaising with the Union, recruiting enforcers, making sure that our cargo is on the ships when we need it, distributing the bribes, keeping things quiet with Customs. All of that is above board. ”
“Right… So what’s he doing wrong?”
I might have missed something, but my father doesn’t seem surprised at my question.
“That we don’t know, malyshka. That’s where you come in. Given your history with your fiancés, Natalia, I have full faith that you will be able to do this. What we need is a file on Aleksandr’s activities, much like the ones that you have so diligently prepared in the past.”
Finally, Papa is acknowledging that I have been right about the men he’s tried to marry me off to. Even acknowledging that I have some kind of skill where this is concerned.
I think of all the times that I begged Papa to be more involved in the family business, wishing that there was a way I could inherit his seat instead of my husband. And now he’s asking for my help.
I feel a little rush of excitement. Of course, I can investigate Aleksandr and his business at the port. Finally, my papa trusts me to contribute to his important work.
“I can do that, Papa.”
“You’ll have to get access to the work that him and his accomplices are doing, of course.”
I think about it for a second. “Aleksandr can be kind, Papa. I’m sure if I ask him for something to do to fill my days, he won’t refuse. He can’t expect me to sit around the apartment all day.”
My father nods, his eyes narrowing. “That’s a good plan, malyshka. You must be bored out of your mind.”
It’s strange to realize that I’m not. The space and freedom at Aleksandr’s place has been a big change from living in the shadow of my parents, but I don’t hate it.
“Do you have note-taking equipment at his place?”
“I’m not a prisoner, Papa. I can ask him for whatever I need. A pen and paper shouldn’t be too much to ask.”
My father clearly thinks I’m living in poverty. Aleksandr has made clear that no request is too much for him — the way he treats me, it’s like someone has told him I’ll be dissatisfied with anything less than being showered in gifts.
I would like to invest in a lot of artwork for him, but I don’t think he’d appreciate it.
“You don’t think he’ll notice?”
I shrug. Aleksandr may not like me much, but the idea that I would be reporting back to my family on his activities probably hasn’t occurred to him. People tend to underestimate me. Especially men.
“I’ll try to check whether he seems suspicious of me.”
My father nods, seemingly satisfied by that.
“Each visit here, you can update me on your progress and hand over whatever files you have. The more hard evidence, the better.”
I feel a little tug of sadness at this. Aleksandr is only allowing me one visit a week. I won’t really be able to spend time with Papa and Mama. Instead of a taste of home, my visits will be like this — business-like. Information exchanges.
Still, I’m being included as an equal.
“And Natalia?”
My Papa slides a tote bag full of small, black electronic devices over the table.
There must be hundreds in the bag. Each one is about the size of a fingernail. He sees my confusion.
“Listening devices. Those upstarts are trying to push me out of my own territory. This is your most important task, malyshka. I need them placed in key locations at the port so I have good oversight of the operations.”
“You want me to spy on my husband?”
Papa fixes me with a look that says: Don’t be ridiculous.
“I want you to spy on Aleksandr Zhukov, the man who killed your brothers.”
The message is clear.
He won’t be my husband for long.