Chapter 13 Natalya
NATALYA
“You’re not really going to meet up with him, right? I mean… is that wise?”
Ilya is standing at the bathroom sink with me while I put on my makeup.
When I woke up this morning, I realized that I didn’t have any other choice than to go see my father about this mess.
This was Bratva business that I somehow got stuck in the middle of.
He’s got to do something if for no other reason than to save face for his contemporaries.
The text from Anton came in while I was getting ready. Ilya’s next to me, still in her pajamas, her dark hair mussed from sleep. She’s got this look in her eyes that’s somewhere between sleep and waking and yet full of genuine concern. She’s rightfully afraid for me.
“He wants to meet at Vivaldi Park in the middle of the day,” I tell her. “He couldn’t have chosen a more public setup. If he wanted to hurt me, I don’t think he’d do it in front of joggers and soccer moms.”
She purses her lips. “He’s gotta be pissed about what happened, though. These guys, they don’t like witnesses. And if he thinks you might rat—”
“I know,” is all I can say. I take out my pink lip gloss and apply it. I don’t dare wear anything darker than this to go talk to my father.
“Just be careful,” Ilya says. “In fact, it might be a good idea to ask your father to have someone accompany you when you do go meet up with him today. You know, just in case. Maybe he can call your cousin Arseni. Isn’t he like one of your dad’s captains or something?”
I snicker. “I don’t know what Arseni does for my father and I doubt that he’ll want to babysit me.
” I take a moment to consider her proposal.
It actually isn’t a bad idea. “Still, I’ll keep that in mind.
” I take a step back from the mirror and look myself over.
Hair’s in a ponytail, light makeup around my eyes, pink gloss on my lips.
I look incredibly innocent. All I need now is a white dress and little white bows.
I wonder if I actually have anything like that.
Any little bit helps when asking something from my father.
“I’ll be back this afternoon,” I tell Ilya. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way…” My stomach suddenly lurches. It’s been bugging me since last night. I pause as a bitter taste rises up in the back of my throat.
“Nat? You okay?”
I nod, swallowing hard. The feeling subsides, but it’s not fully gone. I’ve been feeling like I swallowed goldfish all morning. “I’m okay. I think my stomach’s all messed up from all the stress.”
“I’ve got some antacid if you need it.”
I wave her off as I leave the bathroom. “I’ll be fine. Really. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay,” she says after me. I go into the living room and grab my jacket and my purse. Ilya follows me and adds, “Call me.”
“I will.” And with that, I leave.
My car has been sitting in the parking garage of the building for weeks now, virtually untouched.
With my job being right around the corner from the apartment, I barely use it anymore.
Once, Ilya suggested that I consider driving it to work anyway, especially since I work such late nights sometimes.
At the time, I told her that it didn’t make sense to get in the car and drive for two minutes each way when I could just as easily walk.
Now, I’m wondering how different this morning would be if I’d listened to her back then.
Maybe I would have just missed all the commotion and been safe and sound in the apartment when Anton and his people came screeching through.
Woulda, coulda, shoulda. Can’t fill my world with shit like that, I guess.
The drive to my father’s house is a long one. Traffic’s a little thick because of rush hour, but I don’t really mind. It’s giving me time to think of what I’m going to say to him when I see him.
He’ll probably take the time to crow about my ineptitude with taking care of myself.
“You haven’t been gone two months and look at you.
Come crawling back already?” That could be tough.
He knows exactly what buttons to push when it comes to me.
I can’t let him get me upset, though. He’s going to gloat because he needs to, but in the end, he’s going to help me.
God, I hope this goes well.
Thanks to traffic, I don’t get to the house until it’s a little after eleven o’clock.
Vivaldi Park is about a thirty-minute drive from here, so, provided everything goes as planned, I should make it there in time to meet Anton.
I park my car on the side of the house and get out…
and my stomach does flips again. I have to stop for a moment to keep the bile down.
What is with this? I’m usually pretty good under stress. I mean, even though I’ve never been through this particular situation, I’ve never been this sick to my stomach before now.
The nausea subsides and I make my way up the walk and through the front door. I use my key. He hasn’t changed it. Thank goodness for that.
The first thing I notice is how quiet it is.
As I walk into the foyer, there’s a distinct sense of emptiness…
and yet, I know he’s home. Maybe it’s the faint smell of his cologne which always seems to be hovering in the air.
I swear the walls and carpet are caked in it.
Other than that, the air always seems heavier when he’s around.
I walk to the kitchen and find it’s empty. The dining room door is open and also empty. I go back into the kitchen and look out through the sliding glass door at the still water of the pool and the dark windows of the pool house. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this place looked abandoned.
He’s probably in his office. I make my way there. As soon as I get into the hallway, I hear the muffled sounds of his voice. Is he in a meeting, I wonder?
I walk up to the door and wait by it, listening. I shouldn’t walk in while he’s handling business. I’ll knock when I hear he’s done.
“I realize that,” he says in Russian. “It’s shameful. A disgrace. You should’ve seen her. She comes walking in my house at six in the morning like it’s nothing, her clothes half on… Romanov has crossed the line.”
Shit. How did he find out about that? And more importantly, how long has he known?
“Yes, yes,” he says, and I realize I don’t hear another voice. He must be speaking to someone on the phone. “She’s out of control. I know how it reflects on me and on the brotherhood. What kind of Pakhan can’t handle his own daughter?”
The nausea returns. I wrap an arm around my stomach in an effort to stave it off.
“Don’t worry about that. The plans haven’t changed.
As far as I can tell, everything is going along right on schedule.
My daughter, however… Something has to be done.
” He goes quiet. I imagine he’s listening to whatever is being said to him.
“Well, I did attempt diplomacy. She refused my offer to send her away. Moved in with her friend… Right, well… if that’s what needs to be done, then so be it.
My honor is at stake.” Another pause. The nausea is rising as fast as my heart is beating.
“Yes. You have my blessing. Find out where she works and take her when she gets off work. No firearms. And I don’t want her hurt.
Delivering her to the nunnery in Russia all bruised up will look bad, maybe start the cops snooping, and we can’t afford that.
Just grab her and meet me at the airport. ”
I step away from the door as my body breaks out in full sweats. No. He can’t… He isn’t…
I creep away from the door and the nausea swells. I have to get out of here before he sees me. Before he knows I’m here. I need to run.
I rush out the door and as soon as the air hits me, the bile comes rising up from the back of my throat. I fall to my knees and vomit in the bushes. I heave at least three times before it feels like I can move again, so I scramble to my feet and run to my car.
As I drive away, I can’t even process this. My damn stomach isn’t helping matters and now I’m starting to cramp. Little lightning bolts of pain shoot through my stomach under my navel and around my back. I hope I didn’t hurt something throwing up.
I come to a stop sign a few blocks away. I’m gripping the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles are turning white. Shit. I’ve got to get ahold of myself. My body suddenly feels like trash. I’m going to stroke out if I don’t calm down.
I lean my head against the steering wheel and think of the night I spent with Anton.
Do I regret it, even now that my father’s decided that kidnapping me is the appropriate response?
No, I don’t think so. Even two months later, I still think about it.
If I had it all to do over again, I’d do it.
Being with Anton is the best thing I’ve felt in ages.
I rub my sore stomach and sit up. Maybe this is more than just stress. It could be something else entirely.
Like what? Stomach cancer? An aortic aneurysm?
An odd and seemingly innocuous thought enters my mind, then sits down and takes up space. When was your last period?
I shake my head, batting the thought away. I’ve got bigger fish to fry than my bodily functions at this moment. The thought doesn’t move, however. It sticks in my brain like a bright red warning sign flashing before my eyes. When was your last period?
It was last month… I think…
I’m frozen, trying to remember when my last period was. I know that I’m late this month, but with everything going on… No… no… has it been two months? But… but I haven’t had sex since Anton and that was… that was…
Oh… no.
It would explain the nausea. It would explain this weird bloating and cramping. It would explain—
“I can’t be pregnant,” I say aloud as if the spoken words could wish it away. “That’s not possible. Not right now. Not…”
But what if I am? What the hell am I going to do if I am?