Chapter 7 - Valentin #2
Gela leans closer to me and whispers. “Your sister’s so cool.”
My heart swells. I knew she was nervous, but watching her take such genuine interest in my family is an unexpected perk I hadn’t even dared to expect. I only needed her to show up and be polite, but she’s going above and beyond.
“So, Gela,” Miron asks, “how are you adjusting to life with our brother? He can be... difficult.”
“That's one word for it,” Gela laughs, giving me a pointed look, which makes everyone else laugh too.
“Val's not used to sharing his space,” Nadya chimes in. “He's always been the lone wolf of the family.”
“Really?” Gela turns to me, looking surprised. “I never would have guessed.”
“You're a brave woman, taking him on,” Iosif adds with a laugh. “Most women run screaming after a week.”
“I would have run screaming too, if given the chance,” Gela mutters, and though I know she means it, everyone else takes it as a joke. Thank god.
As dinner wraps up, Darya and Nadya suggest showing Gela the gardens, and my sisters whisk her away before I can object.
I watch her go, noticing how easily she falls into step with them, how simply she fits amongst them.
She looks like she could be a permanent addition in here, and I hate myself for wanting that when I remember that the only reason she’s here is that I gave her no choice.
“She has no idea, does she?” Leonid's voice comes from beside me, low and accusatory.
I turn to find him glaring at me. “No.”
“What the fuck are you playing at, Val? Bringing an innocent American into our family?” He pulls me aside and whisper-shouts at me.
“I had no other choice, goddamn it,” I hiss. “She works in the Zakharov building, for fuck’s sake.”
“The Zakharov building?” He frowns. “Is that why you made a mess there? Those men you fucking killed. I was so pissed when you called, Val. So fucking mad that you got involved.”
“I had to,” I hiss, glancing around to make sure we’re alone. “Some men were threatening her.”
“So you what? Killed those men, got her out? Then married her? Fuck.”
“What would you have done?” I glower at him.
“Anything but what you did. Since when do you care about random civilians getting mixed up with the Zakharovs?”
I don't answer immediately, and understanding dawns on his face.
“Christ, Val. You're obsessed with her.”
“I'm not obsessed,” I protest, though the lie tastes bitter on my tongue. “I'm protecting her.”
“Stop lying to yourself. We were all wondering where you’ve been, but you were watching the building more than you had to just to keep an eye on her, weren’t you?”
His question hits too close to home, and I look away.
Leonid studies me for a moment longer, then sighs. “When will you tell the others? About why you married her?”
“Tomorrow,” I sigh. “Today, the shock I’ve brought on is enough for one evening, don’t you think?”
“I’d say so,” Leonid sighs too. “Anyways. My guys and I did the clean-up, and we learned one of the guys you shot survived your little shooting spree.”
My attention snaps back fully. “What? Where is he?”
“Downstairs. We haven’t questioned him. Let him heal a bit first, for you to do whatever it is you need to.”
I nod, already moving. “Let's go.”
Leonid grabs my arm. “What about her?” He nods toward the garden, where Gela is visible through the window, admiring some roses with my sisters.
“She'll be fine with them for a while,” I assure him. “This won't take long.”
“Okay, if you say so,” he agrees and leads me to the back of the hallway, past a door to the soundproof chamber where we conduct negotiations.
The minute we enter, I notice the man strapped to a chair in the center of the room. It's the third guy from Gela's office—the one I shot in the knee before putting a bullet in his head.
Apparently, miracles do happen.
“Well, well, well,” my voice booms through the room. “What do we have here?”
The man's head snaps up at the sound of my voice.
“Yuri,” he spits.
“You remember me. I'm flattered,” I say, approaching him slowly. “But I don't remember you. Enlighten me.”
“Fuck you,” he growls.
I smile coldly. “Not the answer I was looking for.”
I nod to Leonid, who steps forward with a pair of pliers. The man's eyes follow the tool, and his breathing quickens.
“Let's try again,” I suggest. “Who are you working for?”
“You know who,” he mutters.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Zakharov,” he spits. “But you already knew that, didn't you?”
“What did you want with Gela Jones?”
The man clamps his mouth shut.
I sigh and take the pliers from Leonid. “You know, I've been having a really stressful week. My new wife is... adjusting. You and your friends caused me a lot of trouble. I'm not in a patient mood.”
I grab his hand and position the pliers over his fingernail. “Why were you harassing Gela Jones, and which Zakharov send you?”
His eyes flicker between my face and the pliers. “Anton,” he finally whispers. “Anton Zakharov.”
I exchange a look with Trifon. Ivan is the eldest son of the Zakharovs, notoriously brutal, even by their standards.
“Why her?” I demand. “Why Gela's business?”
“I don't know all the details,” he insists. “We were just told to scare her, get her financials, make her cooperate.”
I press the pliers harder. “Not good enough.”
“Something about her funding!” he screams. “Her startup was funded by one of Anton's shell companies. Z Ventures.”
This is new information, and it makes my blood run cold. The Zakharovs funded Gela's business? Why?
“Why would Anton Zakharov fund an American's marketing startup?” Leonid asks, voicing my thoughts.
“Money laundering,” the man gasps. “They use legitimate businesses to clean their cash. Hers was perfect—small enough to control, but growing fast enough to move significant amounts.”
What he says confirms the suspicions I had already, but never in a million years did I think her investors were the Zakharovs themselves. I think back to how proud Gela was of her company's rapid growth. All this time, she had no idea she was being taken advantage of.
“And now?” I press. “What were your orders that day at her office?”
“Scare her into compliance. If she refused, we were supposed to...” He trails off.
“Supposed to what?” I growl, tightening the pliers.
“Kill her,” he hisses. “Make it look like a robbery gone wrong.”
The rage that surges through me is so intense I can barely see straight. I yank with the pliers, and his scream echoes off the walls. The fingernail comes clean off, blood pooling in its place.
Before I can ask my next question, a loud gasp comes from the doorway. I turn to see Gela standing there, one hand covering her mouth, eyes wide with horror as she takes in the scene: the bloodied man tied to a chair, the pliers in my hand, the blood on the floor.
“Gela,” I start, taking a step toward her.
She backs away, shaking her head. “No. No, no, no.”
“I can explain,” I say, though I have no idea how to explain this.
“I…” She looks terrified as her eyes meet mine, then go to the man behind her. “I’m so sorry. I was just looking for the bathroom. I…I have to go…”
“Gela, please.” I set down the pliers to move toward her, but she takes a step back. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”
Gela pales, her knees wobbling as she backs away from me and hits the wall in the hallway, staring at me like I’m the monster. She looks so damn terrified, more than she did when I saved her from the Zakharovs.
“Valentin,” Leonid says quietly behind me, “take your wife back home.”