20. Fia
FIA
After hearing about the dockyard attack, my first reaction is to get down on my knees and make Emil feel better, but he shoves a dress in my hand before I can act.
“Yellow?” I scoff, taking the garment from his hands, holding it out on the hanger. “You should have given me a head’s up if you wanted to roleplay Beauty and the Beast. I would have prepared the cups and saucers.”
“Very funny,” deadpans Emil.
I note the blood streaked across his shirt and face. His abnormal height, along with the fact that he just murdered someone, makes him the perfect beast.
I clench my thighs together, noting his forearms, corded with thick veins. They tend to pop when his emotions are heightened.
“We’re attending a charity event in the city tonight.”
“Since you’re a very charitable man, as you established yesterday…”
“It’s an annual event where we celebrate the prosperity of the docks, along with some other successful Seattle entrepreneurs, and have a few drinks.”
“The prosperity of the docks?” I repeat, folding my arms over my chest. “Thirty-two men were murdered last night.”
“Thirty-three,” corrects Emil, perking his eyebrow up at me. “Ivan is burning in hell.”
I feel my mouth gape open. “I knew he was the traitor.”
“Not in the way you might think,” says Emil, walking across the kitchen, hands folded behind his back. “But he did secretly have a vendetta against me, which cost him his life.”
In the real world when you disagree with someone, you argue and cut the person off. When Emil is pissed, he plays the grim reaper and murders to make himself feel better. But I note his clenched jaw, the hard-set eyes, and wonder if he does indeed feel better. Something is weighing on his mind.
“What did Ivan say? Was it about me?”
“Doesn’t matter,” says Emil, staring through the window.
“And you want to turn a blind eye to your problems, drinking away your sorrows? That’s not fair. All I’ve wanted to do since waking up from that coma is drown in mine for a while with a few glasses of red wine.”
“You’re right,” says Emil, still staring out of the window.
“I’ll stick to the sparkling water with you tonight.
” He turns from the window, catching my eyes across the kitchen.
“I know things are tense at the moment, but that’s even more reason to show strength.
Alexander Kuzmin thinks he weakened us last night, which is why we need to walk into the charity gala with our heads held high, rising from the ashes.
Showing weakness motivates the enemy, inspiring them to keep destroying. ”
Déjà vu suddenly takes me for a ride, spinning me around, causing the room to disorientate. Those words sound oddly familiar, spoken by a previous version of myself.
Intermittent banging welcomes me home after a long day at college.
My stomach churns, all the usual symptoms coming to the surface as I return home, hearing the sounds of my father beating up my mother.
I wish I could count the number of times this has happened on my fingers and toes, but I have lost count. This has been an ongoing issue for years.
Being rich isn't about buying the nicest house in the block, wearing expensive watches and clothes, spending money without worrying about the price tag. It’s about power, and my father has always had too much of that.
Unlike my father, my mother grew up with nothing. She leached onto my father as a way to survive, and now pays the price with her life more each day.
I step in, my heart shattering as I see the tears forming in my mother’s eye. She has been left alone on the kitchen floor, my father upstairs somewhere.
I yank her up, pulling her outside around the back of the house.
“Showing weakness motivates Father to keep destroying. He thrives from your tears. Promise me you’ll get out of here and stop giving this man so much power.”
Horns blare as we drive through downtown Seattle. Emil rests his hand on the leather steering wheel, focused on the road ahead.
Red taillights distort in the rain as it falls down heavy, another storm on its way. I bring my fur shawl closer, goosebumps raising on my arms for several reasons.
Power has levels. Emil gives off the impression that he has it all, but the man has layers, and he buries those layers behind stoic faces and clenched jaws.
I remember my conversation with Luka from a few nights ago.
“Be careful around him, Fia. Your love for him is all consuming and your feelings will return, but at what cost?”
I’m wearing a dazzling yellow dress, sitting in a Porsche on the way to a party instead of solving cases behind my desk at work. Is this the cost Luka was talking about? I sacrifice my own freedom for my husband’s piece of mind?
I nibble on my lip, wondering if being a wife and a mother will cause the past to repeat as I find myself trapped next to a man I can’t escape.
Is love meant to feel suffocating?
I roll down the window, nitrogen and city smog permeating the air. The smell is unpleasant, but it reminds me of the times I was free. Will I ever get those times back?
The car rolls to a stop outside of the charity gala, which is apparently being held in a museum. I frown, glancing up at the intimidatingly high building before me, shining gold in the night.
I roll up the window, a bodyguard there to immediately greet me, opening the door, placing an umbrella over my head.
“Mrs. Volkova,” says the bodyguard, bowing his head professionally, like I’m more priceless than his life. “It’s an honor to see you again, and congratulations on the pregnancy.”
“Thanks,” I say, my voice trailing up at the end, like I’m asking a question.
Emil joins me around the other side of the car, taking the umbrella from the bodyguard, who appears to be one of his Bratva employees. The tattoos inked across his arm are a big giveaway, the scolding look another sign that these two know each other well. “I’ll take it from here, bratan.”
“Everyone is excited to see you both tonight,” says the bodyguard, leaving Emil and I to our own devices.
Emil raises the umbrella higher, so we’re huddled under the same one.
“You never told me you were a celebrity,” I scoff.
“Not a celebrity as such,” says Emil, pondering the right word. “More like an inspiration to other young successful entrepreneurs in the city.”
“But it’s all a lie.”
“Then perhaps I can inspire them to be better,” says Emil, winking. “Come on, let's go inside and get drunk on sparkling water.”
I hitch up my skirts, walking up the stairs, which are teeming with people. Women wear incredible gowns, all turning Emil’s way when he walks past. He gives them zero attention, not even acknowledging their presence. I find that strange, considering most men are born with a wandering eye.
Emil seems to be the exception, his eyes only for me.
I was never meant to be in this world. These women could wear trash bags as dresses and still look incredible.
Their cheeks are lifted, their almond eyes sparking with intention, like they know what they want.
They were born into this life. They know how to act, when to speak and when to remain silent, practiced in all of the niche social cues I probably never got the hang of, even before the amnesia.
I stuff olives into my mouth while everyone else integrates, socializing in a cordial manner around the room.
Emil hands me a glass of sparking water.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip to wash down the salty olive taste. “I could use something sweet now,” I say, craning my head to glance at the buffet. “A slice of chocolate cake maybe.”
Emil sniffs a laugh, his face full of amusement. “This is exactly why I love you.”
My heart jumps, my mouth gaping open. I knew he loved me, but hearing the words spoken is an entirely different story. I need red wine, perhaps a shot of tequila. There’s no way I can get through tonight sober, dealing with all these mixed emotions.
“Relax,” says Emil. “You’re looking at me like I said I wanted to murder you.”
“Is there a difference?”
I sip the sparkling water, pretending it’s wine, and discard the glass on an empty serving tray when the waiter comes back around.
“These people don’t care about manners,” says Emil.
“Perhaps not, but I do. It’s called common human decency,” I say. “You should try it sometime.”
“Being nice gets you killed.”
“To the wrong people. Leave these hardworking waiters out of your shit.”
“Everyone has secrets in this city, including you.”
My heart booms in my chest like a drum, causing the stone walls to close in. One look from Emil is powerful enough to silence the entire world. The sound of laughter, clinking glasses and jazz melodies fades away, replaced by my own beating heart.
Silence rings through my ears. I peer over Emil’s shoulder, staring at members of the public, laughing, speaking, but all I hear is that goddamn ringing as Emil steps forward.
“I’m not keeping secrets… as far as I’m aware.”
“Not now, but you knew something before, which is why you were hit by that car.”
My eyes flare wide, the clinking glasses and laughter slowly filtering back into my ears. “You think I was hit deliberately?”
Concern lines Emil’s brow as he takes another sip of sparking water. “Don’t you?”
I think back to what Luka said the other night in my room, something about the person in the driver’s seat being a man, but I’m clutching at straws. There’s a fifty-fifty chance, and I refuse to open my mouth and cause unnecessary stress for Emil when he already has enough on his plate.
“I guess I haven’t really thought about it.”
“What could I have known?”
“Too much,” says Emil, those lines deepening between his brows. “And someone wanted you dead because of it.” Emil glances over his shoulder, observing the crowds behind us, flicking his eyes between different people, evaluating their smiles, the way they laugh.
“I have no idea who Alexander could be working with,” says Emil. “He could have outside leverage as well as inside. You can never be sure who is wearing a mask and who is genuine. But you cracked the code before the accident.”