Chapter 19 Natalya
NATALYA
He didn’t say who it was he was talking to, but from the look on his face, I can tell it’s serious. As serious as a heart attack.
I’m not going to lie. I’m worried… and scared. He hesitated when I asked him when he’d be back. God, what if he’s not back? It’s already been a couple of hours…
I walk to the living room and note the pool of drying blood on one of the couches. What kind of world is this? Am I really even safe at all here?
“Where’s our friend?”
I jump and whirl around. Mikki is standing at the top of the stairs, shirtless with a big, bloodstained bandage on his shoulder. He smiles and puts a comforting hand up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You should be resting.” I rush up the stairs to meet him, but he waves me away.
“I can still walk. I don’t need your help.”
I walk with him just the same and he takes it slow, holding onto the railing with his good arm while cradling the other against his chest. “So, where is he?”
“He got a phone call with someone to meet up with them.”
He pauses and looks at me. “And he went alone? Der’mo. He knows better. Do you have any idea of who he went to meet up with?”
I shake my head. “He didn’t say. Is he in danger?”
“We’re all always in danger,” he says with a little smile. “Welcome to Bratva life.”
I help him to the couch and he sits down, wincing at his shoulder. “He asked me to look after you. Make sure you eat. And he also told me to tell you to see Iggy as soon as possible.”
He rolls his eyes. “Dammit. Iggy’s probably pissed I didn’t see him about this. All right. I just need to get dressed and all that.”
“Wait, you should eat something first. Hold on while I go to the kitchen—”
“You don’t need to do that. I can get something on the way to Iggy’s”
“Yeah, I have a feeling that it’s better if I do it than not. You seem pretty important to him.”
Mikki nods sagely. “I would say that is true. And he’s important to me.” He narrows his eyes, looking me over. “So, daughter of Vladimir Petrov, how in the world did you end up in my brother’s bed?”
Her face flushes. “You’re pretty bold to assume that we’re sleeping together.”
“You are a terrible liar.” He laughs. “What about your father? Does he know?”
I nod and he sucks air between his teeth.
“That is a messy situation. I’ve always tried to tell him to be careful where he sticks that thing. It always seems to get him into trouble he doesn’t need.”
“He seems to think the same thing,” I respond. “He’s kind of concerned about how it will look if we’re together, you know, publicly.”
“He should be. He’s the new Pakhan. The brigadiers are going to be questioning his every move. Behind his back, of course. It’s already come up once. I expect it will again.”
I don’t like the sound of that. I’m kind of afraid to ask what happened when it did come up.
“You haven’t known one another long,” he says, “so I wouldn’t worry too much. After he’s solved his business with the Amur, you’ll be free to go wherever you like in safety.”
He makes it sound like I’m an obligation, just another thing that he has to do before he goes to bed tonight. “I’d better get on making you something. Sandwich okay?”
“That’s fine. Thank you. In the meantime, I’ll go freshen up. Maybe take a shower.”
He goes walking back up the stairs and I watch him for a few seconds. Mikki is close to Anton. Clearly, his best friend. He was also there the night that Anton killed those men. His role must be somewhere close to being his right-hand man.
I respect that. Mikki seems more than just loyal. He seems to genuinely care about Anton’s well-being. I kind of wish he’d gone with Anton, too. He strikes me as the kind of man who would gladly take a bullet for him.
His kindness toward me makes me think of something I once heard one of my grandparents say when I was young.
How a man’s friends treat that man’s girl or the women in his family tells you everything you need to know about him as a person.
I don’t know how true that is for Bratva, but I get a good feeling off Mikki just the same.
I think, maybe, I can trust him. I go into the kitchen to make his sandwich.
I don’t get far before I hear a knock at the front door.
Already? I think. Anton’s people move fast.
I leave the partially made sandwich on the counter and walk to the front door, looking out of the peephole. There’s a woman standing on the steps with golden blonde hair and bright red lipstick. She’s looking down curiously at the bloody steps.
Is… this the person who’s supposed to clean up the blood? Or help me with my clothes? The latter seems more likely. From what I can tell, she’s wearing an expensive looking blouse and slacks.
I open the door a crack and ask, “Can I help you?”
She pauses, a momentary look of surprise in her eyes, then, “Is Anton here?”
“No, he’s not. I can leave him a message if you'd like.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. I imagine if she could see more than just my head, she’d be assessing me fully, looking me up and down. “And who are you?”
I start to answer, but then I remember what Anton said. Nobody gets in unless they say they’re from Iggy. I would imagine that goes for giving out my identity as well. “I don’t know that that’s any of your business,” I respond.
Abject offense appears on her face. She scoffs, her red lips in a surprised, gaping smile. “Well,” she says, “I hate to tell you this, dear, but it is very much my business. Can I come in?”
“I don’t think—” She pushes the door and nearly knocks me back. A cloud of heavy perfume envelopes me as she walks in and looks around the foyer and living room, her eyes are trained on the pools of blood in the couch.
“Looks like he had quite an evening,” she said. “Are you responsible for this?”
“No,” I say. “Listen, Anton isn’t here. He had some business he needed to handle—”
“Oh? So, you’re not the cleaning lady? Interesting.” Now, her eyes scan me, from my face down to my bare feet and back again. Then she puts her hand out to me, palm down as if I’m supposed to kiss it. She’s got long, fake nails painted the same shade as her lipstick. “Katarina Baburin.”
I shake her hand gingerly, taking her fingers and moving it up and down. “Natalya Petrov. Nice to meet you.”
“Petrov… Why does that name sound familiar?”
“I’m sorry, who are you to Anton?”
Her smile broadens, making her face look like there’s a large gash in it. “Oh, I’m his fiancée, dear.”
“Fiancée?” I must be scowling because her smile drops.
“Yes. I suppose he never mentioned me? Well, details like that do tend to slip his mind when he gets horny for something new. He always returns to me, though. I am his one true love.”
I almost want to laugh at this woman. There’s nothing about her that even suggests that Anton would be into her, let alone engaged to her. I cross my arms. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“That’s really weird that he’s never mentioned you. I mean, a fiancée is typically a pretty important person in a man’s life and yet, your name never came up. Not even once.”
She glares, her eyes studying me. “I don’t know why he would bother mentioning me to one of his fuck toys. I allow him to play every now and then with whoever, but make no mistake, he’s mine. He always has been and he always will be.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. I just bust out into laughter as she stares at me with disgust. I laugh until tears form in my eyes.
“And what is so funny?”
“You,” I say, wiping my cheeks. “You barge in here with your expensive shoes and bad dye job and claim Anton like he’s your prized poodle and actually expect me to believe that you are the one he’s going to marry?
I seriously doubt a man like him would have anything to do with anyone as rude as you. ”
Her jaw clenches and for a second, I think she might hit me. She takes a step toward me. “You think I’m rude? Oh, you haven’t seen rude, yet.”
Her hand shoots like the strike of a snake and the next thing I know, she has me by the hair.
Immediately, I struggle, clawing at her hands as she drags me to the stairs.
With an angry grunt, she shifts her body weight and throws me down on the steps, but I catch myself, grabbing the railing before I collide face first into the wood.
My arm is shoved into one of the steps, however, hard. I cry out in pain.
“Stupid little cunt,” she growls, kicking my legs. The hard toes of her shoe dig into my thigh and pains shoots through me. “The next time you even think about talking shit about me—”
She goes to kick me again, but I shift out of her way, causing her to lose her balance. She stumbles, and I take that opportunity and shove my leg out, stomping her in the shin.
“Fuck!” she yells as she goes down. I scramble, turning to get up the stairs to get Mikki. I only get a couple of steps before I’m grabbed by my hair again. She lifts me up and slams my head into the steps.
Stars flash before my eyes as my forehead hits the wood.
She goes to do it again, but I stiffen my arms, fighting against her momentum.
For a moment, we’re both stuck, with her trying to push my head down and me pushing back.
She finally yanks me up to my feet. I bring my elbow up and catch her in the jaw.
She yells out, her grip loosening as I twist around and push her, shoving the heel of my hand into her face.
“Fucking bitch!” she screams, tightening her grip on my hair. She yanks me backward and pushes me down the stairs.
I stumble back and trip, falling past the few steps I managed to get up, landing on my back. She follows me down, reaching behind her and pulling out a knife.
I scramble, getting to my feet as quickly as I can. It’s not fast enough. She grabs my by the hair again, pulling me into her cloud of perfume and the next thing I know, I’ve got a knife to my throat.
“Leave,” she hisses at me. “Get your shit and get out of this house or I’ll gut you like fish and serve your little bastard to my dogs.”
I’m terrified. This woman is glaring into my soul, knife to my throat. She really means to kill me!
“You understand what I’m saying?” she says, breathing hard into my face. “I want you gone. If I ever see your fucking face again—”
“Don’t do this,” I say. “Please—”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” she screams into my face. I feel the sting of the knife as it cuts into my skin. “I will slit your goddamned throat!”
My legs are shaking with terror. I don’t know what to do or how to get out of this. Do I scream? Will Mikki hear me? What if he gets to me too late?”
“Pack your fucking things, you stupid little whore, or I will—”
A sound interrupts her and she looks up, toward the windows of the living room. I don’t hear anything at first… and then the sound gets louder. It’s wheels on gravel.
It’s a car. Someone’s coming.