14. Roman
ROMAN
Two weeks later, I find Vera in the living room, curled up with a cup of coffee and that damned book. She’s been reading it for weeks, but the bookmark hardly seems to move.
Vera looks up when I enter, her expression guarded. She’s been like this lately, present but distant, like she’s holding something back.
“I have somewhere I need to go tonight,” I say. “I want you to come with me.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Where?”
“One of Dmitri’s properties. I need to check on it, to make sure it’s secure.”
“You want me to come with you to check on a property?”
“I don’t want to leave you alone.” It’s partly true. “It might be useful for you to see it. In case there’s anything there that looks familiar.”
She considers this for a moment. I can see her weighing the options, trying to figure out if this is another power play or a genuine invitation.
“Fine,” she says finally. “When do we leave?”
“Now.”
Vera’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t protest. She does, however, make an enormous show of closing her book and rising to her feet. “Lead the way.”
I take her down to the ground floor, where the high-rise connects to a private parking lot. I could have Artyom drive the Mercedes, but instead I choose to drive the Land Rover myself.
Vera slips silently into the passenger side, and we go.
The drive takes us through the city and into an area that used to be industrial. The old meatpacking district has been gentrified in recent years, converted into luxury condos and artisanal shops, but there are still pockets of it that feel genuine.
The apartment building is one of the few that’s been renovated. It looks innocuous from the outside: brick fa?ade, modern windows, and a small lobby with a doorman. It’s the kind of place where people come and go without being noticed.
Vera watches the building through the car window. “What is this place?”
“One of Dmitri’s investments.” I open my door and step out. “He kept it off the books.”
She follows me into the lobby, her eyes scanning the space with an alertness I recognize. She’s looking for threats. Three years of marriage to Dmitri taught her that.
The elevator takes us to the sixth floor. The hallway is quiet when we arrive. I pull the key from my pocket and unlock the door. I had Lev procure the keys for me; that man can find almost anything. Except, apparently, that damned ledger.
The apartment inside is not what I expected.
It’s luxurious, for starters. Hardwood floors stretch from wall to wall, and the floor-to-ceiling windows are beautiful. The kitchen is all stainless steel and granite. The living room has a leather couch that doesn’t have a single crease in it.
It looks like a showroom. It’s obvious nobody actually lives here.
Vera moves through the space slowly, her fingers trailing over surfaces. She stops in front of a bookshelf and examines the titles, then moves to the window and looks out at the city below.
“Did Dmitri spend a lot of time here?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. “This place wasn’t in any of his official records. Lev found the address in some old correspondence.”
She turns to look at me. “You didn’t know about this apartment?”
“I knew Dmitri had secrets. I didn’t know all of them.”
“I didn’t either,” she says quietly. “I didn’t know this place existed.”
I watch her as she continues to explore. She moves through the apartment like she’s searching for something, opening cabinets and drawers, peering into closets. I follow at a distance, letting her take the lead.
The bedroom is at the end of the hall. It’s as sterile as the rest of the place. There’s a king-size bed with crisp linens and nightstands with nothing on them. When I walk inside, I can also see an empty walk-in closet.
Vera stops in the doorway and stares at the bed. Her face is unreadable. “Did he bring women here?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” It’s the honest truth, even if it isn’t what Vera wants to hear.
She moves into the room and opens the closet door. Inside, there are a few men’s shirts hanging on the rod, a pair of shoes on the floor. It’s the nightstand that catches her attention.
She pulls open the top drawer and goes still.
I move to stand beside her. Inside the drawer is a collection of photographs scattered across the velvet lining. Women’s faces smile up at us: brunettes, blondes, redheads. Some are posed, some are candid.
All of them are beautiful.
Vera picks up one of the photographs and studies it. The woman in the picture is young, maybe twenty, with dark hair and a wide smile. She’s standing on a beach somewhere with the ocean behind her.
“She’s pretty,” Vera says. Her voice is flat.
I look at the other photographs. Different women, different locations, but the same pattern. Dmitri has his arm around them, or he’s standing close enough that it’s clear they’re together.
Under the photographs, there are receipts. Jewelry stores, mostly. They’re expensive pieces, all purchased in the last few months of his life.
Vera sets the photograph down and picks up one of the receipts. She reads it slowly, her eyes moving across the numbers.
“He was generous,” she says. “With other women.”
“He was generous with appearances,” I correct. “These receipts aren’t about the women. It was all for show, I’m sure.”
She looks at me. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“It’s supposed to make you see him for what he was.”
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she closes the drawer and moves to the other nightstand. This one has a laptop inside, and a stack of papers that look like financial records.
I watch her face as she takes it all in. There’s no grief there, only a cold, quiet assessment.
She didn’t love him. She might have tried, in the beginning, but whatever feelings she had for Dmitri are long gone. A cold satisfaction settles in my gut at the thought.
I remember the encrypted message I intercepted months ago. Dmitri took a trip to Miami, to meet two women he’d been talking to long distance. I’d wanted to beat him for it, for cheating on such a beautiful woman. He treated Vera like she was disposable.
I’d wanted to kill him then. I’d wanted to put my hands around his throat and squeeze until he stopped breathing. It took me another six months to do it.
“Are you going to search the rest of the apartment?” Vera asks.
I blink, pulling myself out of the memory. “Yes. Stay here.”
I move through the rest of the space quickly, checking for anything that might be useful. The bathroom is empty, and so are the other rooms I check.
I’m in the second bedroom when I hear the front door open.
I freeze, my hand moving instinctively to my gun.
“Well, well.” Anton’s tone is casual, but there’s an edge beneath it. “What do we have here?”
I step out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Anton is standing in the living room, flanked by two men I don’t recognize.
His eyes move from me to the bedroom door, where Vera is still standing. “Roman.” He says my name like it’s a joke. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Clearly.” I don’t move from my position. “This is private property.”
“Is it?” He takes a step closer, his men spreading out behind him. “I thought it was Dmitri’s property. Which makes it family property. And considering he’s deceased...”
Vera steps out of the bedroom and moves to stand beside me. I can feel the tension radiating off her, but her face is calm.
“Hello, Anton,” she says.
“Vera.” His smile widens. “You’re looking well. Grief suits you.”
“Go to hell.”
He laughs, like she’s told a clever joke. “Still as spirited as ever. I always liked that about you. Dmitri never appreciated it.”
“Dmitri didn’t appreciate much.”
I step forward, putting myself between Anton and Vera. “You’re done talking to her.”
“Am I?” He doesn’t back down. If anything, his smile grows wider. “You’re very protective of her, Roman. Very possessive. One might almost think you’ve forgotten she was your brother’s wife.”
“You’re testing your luck, Anton.”
Anton’s smile fades. His eyes go cold, the predator beneath the charm emerging. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.” I hold his gaze. “Stay away from Vera.”
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The air in the apartment feels heavy, thick with the promise of violence.
Then Anton laughs again, breaking the tension. “You’re very dramatic, Roman. Always have been.” He steps back, his men falling in behind him. “I’ll give you this one. For now.”
He moves toward the door, then pauses. His hand rests on the doorframe and he turns back, his eyes scanning the apartment with a casualness that feels performative.
“Nice place,” he says. “Dmitri always did have good taste in real estate. Though I imagine the market value has gone down since he died.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead Anton smiles and walks out, his men trailing behind him like shadows.
I wait until I hear the elevator ding before I let out a breath.
Vera is still standing beside me, her face pale. “What was that about?”
“Anton being Anton.” I turn to face her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice is shaking.
I step forward, wanting nothing more than to pull her into my arms. Vera steps back instead, letting dark hair spill over her shoulders.
“We should go,” I say instead, and drop my outstretched hand with a scowl. “There’s nothing else here.”
She nods and follows me to the door. As we pass the bedroom, she pauses and looks back at the nightstand. The photographs aren’t visible from here, but I know what she’s thinking. The thought makes my blood boil.
“He really didn’t care about me,” she says quietly. “Any of us. We were just... things to him.”
“Yes,” I say. “You were.”
She doesn’t respond. Vera turns and walks out of the apartment, her head held high even though her hands are still shaking.
I follow her, my mind already turning over what Anton said.
He must have suspected that something is here, but he hasn’t found it yet. The fact that he showed up while we were searching tells me he’s been watching the apartment. Waiting for someone to lead him to what he’s looking for.
If he didn’t find anything tonight, he’ll be back. That, or he’s already moved on to his next lead.
I pull out my phone and send a message to Lev as we walk to the car.
Anton knows about the apartment. He’s watching it. We need to move faster.
His response comes a few seconds later. Already on it.
I pocket my phone and open the car door for Vera. She slides inside without a word, her eyes distant.
Anton is making his move. Somewhere out there, Dmitri’s ledger is waiting to be found.
The question is whether we’ll find it before Anton does.