38. Looking for Knives
LOOKING FOR KNIVES
Iturn the piece of plastic over in my palm, like a different angle might magically illuminate the contents.
I returned to Serebryanovo yesterday. After debriefing a disappointed Igor and smug Aleksandr, I plugged the drive from Carina into a laptop.
The contents are encrypted. I’m not sure how complex the security is, but it surpasses my abilities.
Misha would have more success—I’ve yet to see an encryption he couldn’t crack—but that would require trusting him to a degree I’m not sure I can.
I’m not pakhan. I don’t have the authority to require that Misha keep whatever he might find to himself or to shield him from any consequences if it was revealed that he did.
The contents are probably drug routes and a list of suppliers. Interesting information, but nothing especially important.
Except … Carina appeared convinced that it was. That her taking this was part of why she was being chased so tenaciously. What if this is my way of making up for letting her go? What if they know about Andrea and that’s on here? We would have a chance to warn him.
A knock sounds on my door. I hide the drive back behind a row of books, finish buttoning my shirt, and open it. Elena stands on the other side.
“Have you seen Maksim?” she asks.
“Not since I’ve been back.”
My mother frowns, then sighs. “Aleksandr will be here any minute.”
I don’t mention that’s likely why Maksim is missing. If I could arrive late to these monthly family dinners, I would.
“I’m sure he’ll show up.”
Another sigh. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
I nod, then shut the door and do something I never do before these meals—pour myself a drink.
I failed on purpose. But Igor doesn’t know that.
Between returning empty-handed and requesting he send someone else to handle Chicago, I feel aimless.
Paired with the caged sensation of being stuck back here after the rapid pace of the few days with Carina, I’m in no mood to go downstairs and indulge my family.
Igor will antagonize. Elena will observe. Aleksandr will sulk. Maksim will show up drunk, then drink even more. Victoria will sit, excluded, and I’ll be the family member she wants to talk to least.
I toss the rest of the vodka back, debate a refill, then realize I’m already two minutes late. Igor likes to eat at seven exactly.
I head into the hallway, pausing to lock the door behind me. Something I rarely do, but I’m paranoid about someone finding the drive. Having it in my possession is proof I found Carina and lied that I hadn’t.
Downstairs, everyone—with the exception of Maksim—is already seated around the massive dining table. It stretches far enough to seat two dozen people but doesn’t often.
I take my assigned seat silently. Apologies irritate my father. He believes everything—including mistakes—should be done with conviction.
Surprisingly, Aleksandr is smiling, appearing to be in a scarce good mood.
I imagine my returning unsuccessful has made his week, but something else must have happened to make him so cheerful.
He has one arm splayed possessively across the back of Victoria’s chair.
A gaudy necklace I’ve never noticed before hangs around her neck, diamonds twinkling in the light cast by the crystal chandelier that hangs over the center of the table.
It reminds me I never asked Carina about the new one she was wearing, never looked closely enough to tell what it signified.
One of many things I regret never saying to her.
Igor is also in high spirits, probably due to the successful ransomware attack on a Swiss corporation this morning that netted us eight figures. Elena is relaxed as well since no one is bickering, watching a plate of blini get set in front of each of us.
Everyone’s apparent contentment only contributes to my animosity.
I’ve never begrudged my family before. I’ve accepted what I was born into, striven to thrive in this environment, and appreciated the privileges of being a Sokolov. I’m having a hard time remembering what those are.
The money? There’s nothing I want to buy.
The influence? There’s no favor I’m trying to sway.
No matter where I go or what I do, the shadow of my name will follow. Igor is pakhan, and Aleksandr is his heir, yet I’m the one who deals with our allies and enemies alike. If I’d dared to disappear with Carina, I would have drawn more danger in her direction.
I pick at my dinner—solyanka, then beef stroganoff—wishing I’d poured that second glass of vodka, as polite conversation echoes around me.
Maksim strolls in right after medovik is served for dessert. “Dinner was tonight?”
I don’t buy the overdone surprise in his voice, but everyone else appears to. Maksim is rarely here regardless of when he’s supposed to be or not required to be.
“Dinner is every night,” Aleksandr drawls, still unusually chipper.
“What’s wrong with your face?” Maksim asks him, taking his usual chair to my left. “I think I see a smile.” He glances over at me. Grins. “Is that a hickey on your neck?”
It is a hickey. I’ve also got a bruise across my chest from the seat belt after I ran the silver sedan off the road. I thought both marks were covered by my shirt.
“Didn’t the maid you were fucking get fired?” he continues.
I remain silent, which is typically the best strategy to lose Maksim’s interest. He has a short attention span. Also because I’ve never flaunted women the way my father and brothers enjoy doing and I have no intention of starting now.
“You must have had some fun in Paris. No wonder you stayed for so long.”
“Or Dublin,” Igor says. “He stopped there on the way home.”
The look he gives me is speculative, like he’s truly considering whether my stop in Ireland was simply an excuse to have sex in another country.
“I had business to discuss with Cillian,” I say stiffly.
That trip is not something I feel like discussing with the dysfunctional group known as my family. I’ve always preferred withholding certain information to outright lying. It’s less likely to catch up to you.
“Typical,” Maksim states, picking up a fork and stabbing his cake.
I look at the knife placed next to my plate, seized with the violent urge to embed it somewhere. I can’t breathe suddenly, suffocated by this huge house and all of its animosity.
I stand before I’ve consciously decided to, the scrape of chair legs against the floor excessively loud in the cavernous dining room.
For the first time in my life, I walk away without being excused or providing any explanation.
I go straight out the front door, into the garage, grab the keys to a car, and drive until the pressure in my chest eases enough for me to pull in a full exhale.
Wishing the entire time that I were headed toward something. Toward someone.