8. Roman
ROMAN
Three days pass. Three days of searching through Dmitri’s files and finding nothing but dead ends. Three days of Vera avoiding me whenever possible and looking at me like I’m a loaded weapon.
I catch her in the garden on Friday afternoon. She’s sitting on a stone bench near the koi pond, a book open in her lap that she’s clearly not reading. Her eyes are distant, fixed on something beyond the manicured hedges.
“Vera.”
She startles and the book slips from her lap. She catches it before it hits the ground and looks up at me with an expression that’s half guilt and half annoyance.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
“Reading. Or trying to.” She closes the book and sets it aside. “What do you want?”
I sit next to her on the bench. She shifts slightly away, putting distance between us.
“I’ve made a reservation at Kuro-Tetsu,” I say. “We’re having dinner there tonight.”
She blinks at me. “We are?”
“Yes. Be ready in an hour.”
Her jaw tightens. I can see the refusal forming on her lips, but she doesn’t get the chance to voice it.
“It’s not a request,” I continue before she can speak. “We need to be seen in public together. It shows the family that you’re under my protection. Besides, I know how much you enjoy Japanese food.”
Dmitri had a Japanese chef, a few years ago. I’d watched Vera fawn over the meals he made through the hidden dining room camera for months, figuring out exactly the kinds of meals she loved most.
I watch as Vera rolls her eyes. “Sounds more like you want to take me on a date.”
The word drips with sarcasm. She’s mocking me, trying to put distance between us by making this into something transactional.
“Call it what you want,” I say. “But yes, it serves a purpose. Anton has been making a fuss. If they see us together, looking like a united front, it undermines his position.”
“So I’m just a prop. Something to parade in front of your enemies.”
She looks away, toward the pond. The koi are circling near the surface, their orange and white bodies glinting in the afternoon sun.
“Kuro-Tetsu,” she says after a moment. “That’s the Japanese place on Rush Street.”
“You know it?” I already know she does.
“Dmitri took me there once for our anniversary.” Her mouth twists. “He spent the whole dinner on his phone, making deals. I sat there and ate my omakase alone while he ignored me.”
The image rises unbidden. I can picture Vera sitting at a table in an expensive restaurant, beautiful and alone, while her husband treats her like furniture. It makes something hot and angry coil in my chest.
“Then you’ll appreciate knowing the chef there now is Kenji Matsuda,” I say. “He does a seven-course tasting menu that’s worth the trip. The uni is some of the best in the city.”
She turns to look at me. “How do you know I like uni?”
Well, wouldn’t she love to know. “Oksana mentioned it.”
“Oksana told you what I like to eat?”
“She was helping me plan the dinner. Making sure the menu would suit your tastes.”
Vera’s eyes narrow. She’s not buying it. I can see her mind working, turning over the information and looking for the lie.
“You’re a good liar,” she tells me then. “But I know better.”
She walks away from me across the garden path, her back straight and her steps quick.
So she’s starting to figure me out? It’s a shame, because I was rather enjoying this game of ours. Still, it’s not as if Vera can get away. Not for ninety days at least, and I already have a contingency plan.
I sit on the bench for another minute, watching the koi swim their endless circles. The sun is warm on my face.
When I go back inside, Oksana is in the kitchen directing the staff. She looks up when I enter and her eyes ask a question she doesn’t voice.
“Vera and I are having dinner out tonight,” I say. “We’ll be back late.”
“Very good, sir. Should I prepare anything for when you return?”
“No. We won’t need anything.”
She nods and returns to her work. I head for my office to finish reviewing the financial records we found. There’s something in them I’m missing, some pattern that will lead me to the ledger.
Except my mind keeps drifting to the garden. I need to be more careful about what I reveal.
The car ride to Kuro-Tetsu is silent. Vera sits beside me in the back of the Mercedes, her hands folded in her lap. She’s wearing a sleek black dress I haven’t seen before. It has a low neckline that shows just enough to make my jaw tight. She’s gorgeous.
Artyom sits in the driver’s seat up front, separated from us by the privacy partition. He’s been with the family for fifteen years, ever since my father pulled him out of a bad situation in Brighton Beach.
“You look lovely,” I say.
She doesn’t look at me. “Oksana helped me pick it out.”
“Oksana has good taste.”
“Oksana knows what’s expected.” There’s an edge to her voice. “The widow playing her part.”
I let the comment slide. Vera can mouth off all she likes; it matters little.
Kuro-Tetsu is on Rush Street, tucked between a boutique hotel and an art gallery. The entrance is unmarked, just a black door with a small brass plaque. You have to know it’s there to find it.
Artyom pulls into the valet stand and a young man in a crisp uniform appears to open Vera’s door. I exit from my side and walk around to meet her. She’s standing on the sidewalk, looking up at the building.
“It hasn’t changed,” she says.
“You said Dmitri brought you here once?”
“For our anniversary.” She smooths down her dress. “I remember thinking it was beautiful. Everything was perfect except the company.”
“Tonight the company will be better.”
She gives me a look that says she’s reserving judgment on that.
I offer her my arm. After a moment’s hesitation, she takes it. Her hand is cool through the fabric of my jacket and she holds herself just slightly away from me as we walk to the door.
Inside, the restaurant is all dark wood and low lighting. Paper lanterns hang from the ceiling and the sushi bar runs along one wall.
The hostess greets us with a bow and leads us through the main dining room to a private booth in the back.
We’re halfway there when I see Father.
He’s seated at a table near the window with a woman I don’t recognize. She’s young, maybe twenty-two, with platinum blonde hair, and she’s laughing at something he said, her hand resting on his arm.
My father looks up as we pass. His eyes move from me to Vera and back again, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
“Roman.” His voice carries across the restaurant. “What a surprise.”
Vera’s hand tightens on my arm. I can feel her pulse jumping through the fabric of my sleeve.
“Konstantin,” I say. “I didn’t know you dined here.”
“I’m a regular. You would know that if you were ever around.” He gestures to the empty chairs at his table. “Join us. We have much to discuss.”
It’s not a request. The smile on his face doesn’t reach his eyes.
I look down at Vera. She’s gone pale but her expression is carefully blank. She knows Konstantin from her years with Dmitri, which means she knows exactly what kind of man he is.
“We have a reservation,” I say.
“Nonsense. I’ll have Yuki move your seating arrangement.” Konstantin waves at the hostess, who hurries over. “My son and his companion will be joining us.”
The hostess looks between us, clearly unsure how to proceed. I give her a slight nod. There’s no point in making a scene.
We take our seats. Konstantin’s companion shifts to make room, her red dress riding up her thigh as she moves. She looks at Vera with an expression that’s equal parts curiosity and calculation.
“Roman, meet Katya,” Konstantin says. “Katya, this is my son. This is Vera, Dmitri’s widow.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Katya says. Her voice is breathy and high.
Vera nods at her. “Katya.”
“Such a tragedy about your husband,” Katya continues. “Konstantin told me all about it. You must be so devastated.”
“I’m managing.”
“Of course you are. You’re a Volkonsky now. We’re strong.” Katya reaches over and pats Konstantin’s hand. “Aren’t we, darling?”
Konstantin’s smile doesn’t waver. “Vera is under Roman’s protection for the time being. Observing the Zabota tradition.”
“How old-fashioned.” Katya’s eyes move between us. “I didn’t think anyone still did that.”
“It’s an important tradition,” I say. “One that deserves respect.”
“Of course.” Konstantin picks up his sake cup and swirls the liquid. “Though I have to wonder about the appropriateness of it. You’re only just back from Siberia, aren’t you?”
I go still. Siberia was my exile, and it took me a long time to claw myself back. Considering Konstantin was the one who sent me there, he knows exactly where I’ve been.
Vera’s hand finds my knee under the table. A warning or reassurance, I can’t tell which.
A waiter appears to take our order. I request the omakase without looking at the menu. Vera does the same.
Konstantin and Katya order additional dishes, far more than either of them need. I wonder if Katya is in it for the money.
When the waiter leaves, Konstantin leans back in his chair. He’s watching Vera with an expression I don’t like. “You’ve lost weight,” he says to her. “Dmitri always said you were too thin. He preferred a woman with more curves.”
Vera’s hand tightens on my knee. I can feel her fighting the urge to respond.
“I’m sure Dmitri had many preferences,” she says finally. “He rarely shared them with me.”
“No, I imagine he didn’t.” Konstantin’s smile widens. “My son was a private man. Kept his thoughts to himself, unlike some members of the family.”
The dig is obvious. I ignore it.
The first course arrives. It’s a delicate arrangement of sashimi that Katya immediately begins photographing with her phone. I pick at my food, my appetite gone.
Vera eats mechanically, her eyes on her plate. She hasn’t spoken since Konstantin’s comment about her weight, and I can see her retreating into herself. The same protective shell she wore at the funeral.
I move my hand from my knee to hers. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away.
“You’re very quiet, my dear,” Konstantin says to Vera. “Is the food not to your liking?”
“It’s wonderful,” Vera says. “I’m just savoring it.”
“Savoring.” Konstantin chuckles. “Dmitri always said you were too polite for your own good. A woman should speak her mind, don’t you think?”
We say nothing more after that.
The second course arrives. Then the third. We eat in relative silence, the conversation limited to safe topics like the food and the restaurant’s decor. Vera and I eat and say nothing.
It’s during the final course that a man approaches our table.
He’s older, maybe sixty, with silver hair and a gut straining against his suit. I recognize him as Pavel Sorokin, one of Konstantin’s oldest allies. He’s been on the council for decades and his loyalty to my father is absolute.
“Roman.” Pavel stops at our table and nods to me. His eyes move to Vera and linger. “Mrs. Volkonsky. My condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you,” Vera says.
Pavel turns back to me. “I couldn’t help but notice you both. Quite the spectacle, isn’t it? The grieving widow and her protector.”
“It’s not a spectacle,” I say.
Vera’s hand is shaking under mine. I can feel the tension in her body, the effort it’s taking her not to respond.
“The Zabota period is ninety days,” I say. My voice is carefully controlled. “During that time, Vera is under my protection.”
Pavel exchanges a look with Konstantin. “Surely you’ve discussed it with her? The arrangement has already been made.”
“What arrangement?”
Konstantin sets down his chopsticks. “I was hoping to discuss this in private, Roman. Since Pavel has brought it up...” He trails off, letting the silence stretch.
“Discuss what?” I ask.
“Vera’s future.” Konstantin’s eyes move to her. “Once the ninety days are over, she’ll need a new husband. Someone to provide for her and continue the family line.”
Vera’s hand goes still under mine. “That won’t be necessary. Roman has offered me?—”
“Anton has expressed interest in marrying you.” Konstantin says it like he’s discussing the weather. “He’s prepared to take on Dmitri’s responsibilities, including his widow. It’s a good match. He’s ambitious and well-connected.”
The room seems to tilt. I can feel Vera’s hand go cold in mine.
“Anton,” I repeat.
“Yes. He came to me last week with a proposal. Very thorough. He understands the value of keeping assets close.” Konstantin smiles. “Once the Zabota period is over, she’ll be transferred to his care as his fiancée. I’ve already given my approval.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My vision narrows until all I can see is my father’s smug face staring at me. Asshole.
I’m out of my chair before I know I’m moving. My hand closes around Konstantin’s collar and I’m pulling him toward me, desperate to wipe that smile off his face?—
He shifts sideways with a speed that belies his age, slipping free of my grip. His chair scrapes back as he stands, straightening his jacket with deliberate calm.
“Temper, Roman.” He tugs his cufflinks into place. “You’re making a scene.”
“I’m not done with you.”
“You are.” He gestures to Katya, who’s already on her feet, her face pale. “We’re leaving. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He tosses bills onto the table without counting them. Katya grabs her clutch and hurries after him, her heels clicking rapidly across the floor.
Vera’s hand touches my arm. Her grip is firm. “Let him go,” she says quietly.
I watch my father disappear through the restaurant door. The silence around us is deafening.
He’s won this round, and he knows it.