Chapter 8 - Gela
I keep telling myself that I’m in a bad dream because in no real scenario could I find Valentin in a dodgy room, holding a pair of pliers dripping with a man’s blood.
The memory is so clear and fresh in my mind, so damn jarring, that I don’t even realize I’ve let out a whimper until I hear the sound in my ears.
Valentin and Leonid just tortured a man in their brother’s house, while the rest of us admired the fucking flowers. The depravity of it scares the hell out of me, and I press myself closer to the window, curled up on myself.
My entire body is shaking uncontrollably. My stomach cramps until I think I might vomit in his car. I press my forehead against the cold glass and fight the urge to throw up.
“Gela,” Valentin tries talking to me again. His voice is gentle and coaxing, but it fills me with fear. “Please, let me explain.”
I can’t bring myself to give him one word, even. I was in so much shock that I allowed myself to be led away from Trifon’s house of horrors, straight into Valentin’s car. I had no other way to leave, but now, I’m starting to wish I had someplace else to go.
I wish I’d never left Minnesota. Everything was safe back home, smaller, less confusing. But I wanted to chase my dreams, and look where they've taken me.
Twenty minutes ago, I was laughing with his sisters and thinking that maybe I'd been too harsh on him. God, I had thought to myself, a man with such a lovely family can’t be all that bad.
I’d even started feeling guilty for ever doubting where Valentin came from, what he did for a living, and for questioning his intentions.
I had even made up my mind to apologize when the time felt right and to thank him for all he was doing to keep me safe. But that was until I went looking for the bathroom and ended up in the wrong room.
I didn’t really see the guy’s face, but the way his body was slouched over and the splatter of blood on the floor told me he’d been tortured bad. Even now, I can’t get that look of rage on Valentin’s face out of my mind, the look that turned real guilty when he caught me watching from the door.
I feel like such a fool for thinking I was wrong about Valentin, when he’s proven a darkness in him I never imagined he had, not even in my wildest dreams.
“Gela, please.” He tries again, reaching across to touch my arm.
I flinch away so violently that I slam against the car door. “Don't. Touch. Me.”
He sighs and focuses back on the road. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to talk to me again. The rest of the drive passes in suffocating silence. My mind races with memories of the evening, trying to reconcile the loving family dinner with the horror I witnessed.
Were all his siblings involved? Did they know what was happening downstairs while they served coffee? Were they all monsters, too?
When we finally pull up to his mansion, I don't wait for him to open my door. I bolt out the second the car stops, desperate for air that doesn't smell like him.
He follows me inside, and the moment the front door closes behind us, I whirl around, the rage unleashing like wildfire.
“You're a monster,” I cry out in rage, and my entire body trembles. “I knew you were dangerous, but what kind of person tortures someone like that?
“Gela.” He tries to approach me to speak, but I cut him off.
“No!” I back up. “I saw what you did to that poor man! For what? What could he possibly have done to deserve that?”
“That 'poor man' was one of the guys from your office,” Valentin says flatly. “The one I shot in the knee before putting a bullet in his head. Apparently, he survived.”
I freeze. “What?”
“You heard me right. He's one of the men who came to threaten you, Gela. He would have killed you if I hadn't shown up, remember?”
“What are you playing at?” My voice wavers, refusing to believe what I was hearing. This is just one of his tricks, I think to myself. I don’t know why, but for some reason, this dangerous man wants to keep me around, and he’ll stoop to any level to get me to stay.
“Why the hell would I lie about this, Gela?” He looks exasperated.
“After what happened in your office, I had Leonid go back there to check out the scene and make sure there were no signs we were ever there. You know? If the cops get involved? He learned this guy survived, and we were interrogating him about why they were after you.”
I don’t know what my plan is. My mind is such a jumbled mess. Every instinct is telling me to flee Valentin, but after what happened at the office, those same instincts are telling me there’s danger if I leave.
Suddenly, my beautiful world and life are full of unspeakable evils. If I run, I have no option but to go home. If I head back to Minnesota, I lead those men chasing me straight to my parents' sheltered, safe world.
I don’t want to do that.
Valentin confuses my silence for curiosity, I think. He continues speaking, and I filter out the blood gushing in my ears to focus on what he’s saying.
“Guess what he told us? He said that your company’s mysterious benefactor is Bratva. He’s Bratva.”
The blood drains from my face. I've heard of the Bratva, of course. Everyone in Boston has. They’re underground Russian mobsters who run everything from drugs to weapons to human trafficking.
They're the boogeyman parents warn their teenagers about so they don’t get mixed up with the wrong crowd, the shadow organization whispered about on conspiracy theory forums on the internet.
But my business is being funded by them? No. That doesn’t seem to be right.
“Why would the Bratva fund my business?” I shake my head in confusion. “You’re absolutely nuts to believe that’s true. Z Ventures is a legitimate investment firm. They've given funding to dozens of startups.”
“Look, that’s what I’ve learned, Gela,” Valentin says patiently. “I’m not lying about this.”
“No.” I back away further. “No, no, no. My business is real, and I built it from nothing. I don’t know what you’re trying to convince me of here, but it won’t work.”
“I’m not convincing you of anything!” His voice rises.
“You’re trying to justify torturing that man so I don’t look at you like a monster, and you’re willing to throw fire on all my hard work just to get what you want!”
“I'm not saying you didn't work hard,” he says, his voice softening. “I’m just saying the Bratva used it, Gela. I wouldn’t stoop so low as to lie about something like this.”
My head spins with this new information. If what he's saying is true, then everything I've worked for, everything I'm proud of, is tainted and built on blood money.
“I need—I need to be alone,” I stammer, turning and rushing up the stairs toward my room.
“Gela, wait!”
I don't stop. I run into my bedroom, slam the door behind me, and choose to lock it for good measure. Then I slide down against it, hugging my knees to my chest. Soon enough, the pain rises like a tornado I can’t hold back, rising and rising and swirling until I break out into sobs.
Could it be true? I try to remember everything about Z Ventures. I've never met anyone from the company in person, and all our interactions have been conducted via email, phone calls, or their representatives.
The money appeared in my account without any delay right after I signed the paperwork, and at the time, I thought I was just lucky to have found investors who believed in me.
What a fool I've been.
I get up and move to my bed before dropping into it and curling up, my mind still racing.
Even if what Valentin says about Z Ventures is true, it doesn't excuse what he did to that man. The torture. The blood. No one deserves that, even criminals.
But then I remember the gun aimed right at me. They would have killed me without hesitation.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
I don't know how long I lie there spiraling, when I hear something slide under my door. I look over to see a manila folder on the floor. I don’t move for a long time, just staring at it like it’s poison.
I don’t want to see a thing Valentin sends. After how he tortured that man, Valentin’s not to be trusted. I lie curled up in bed, my mind replaying tonight on a loop. The whole time, I keep staring at that envelope.
Eventually, I feel like I need to do anything to shut the horrors replaying in my brain, and the envelope’s the only thing that promises some form of distraction. I feel like a Zombie when I climb out of bed to get it, unable to even think straight.
There’s an envelope, and for some reason, I feel compelled to open it.
I don’t give myself time to even analyze what the contents might be, and whether it might be another one of Valentin’s tricks, before I rip it open.
I pull out some printouts, notarized financial records, and company registrations. I spread them across the bed and need to read them a few times before my brain stops spiraling long enough to understand what’s right in front of me.
At last, I’m able to form the whole picture. Z Ventures was established five years ago as a subsidiary of Zakharov Holdings. The principal owner is none other than Anton Zakharov, a notorious mobster boss, as evidenced by multiple newspaper clippings attached.
Zakharov Holdings? I feel my heart begin to race. After securing the investment, Z Ventures provided me with the subsidized office space I badly needed in the Zakharov building.
I didn’t think much of it at the time, except that my funders were obviously well-connected. I was ecstatic, thrilled, and on top of the world.
But after what Valentin said and with all this evidence in my hand, it’s all starting to make sense.
I shift to the next document, one showing Z Ventures accounts being flagged for suspicious activities, after which their money started flowing into startups like mine.
It's all there in black and white. Everything Valentin said was true.
My company was just a vehicle for washing dirty money.
Fuck. I've been unknowingly working for monsters all along. And now they want me dead because I refused to play along.
I gather the papers and shove them back in the manila envelope before rushing out of my room. I need to speak with Valentin and get more answers.
I find Valentin in the kitchen, sipping some tea with a distant look on his face, but when he sees me enter, he immediately snaps to attention.
“How are you feeling?” He rises.
“I…” I take a seat opposite him, and he sits back down, pouring me a cup of tea and sliding it over.
I try to calm my racing thoughts just enough to form a sentence that makes sense. “I’m sorry, I didn’t believe you when you told me the truth.”
“I understand.” He gives me a small smile. “It is quite shocking, isn’t it?”
“And those men at my office were sent by the Zakharov Bratva? And the guys who own my building and my investors are the same?”
“That’s right,” he sighs and rubs his temple.
I swallow hard, my throat dry. Something still isn’t adding up. Valentin, despite having saved me, can’t just be a businessman.
“How do you know all these things?” I ask with a shaking voice. “It’s not normal for regular people to know how to clean up crime spots, or catch bad guys for answers, or have access to internal financial documents for the Bratva, is it?”
His eyes freeze on mine, and in that moment, I know there’s more to the picture. “Imports/Exports can get you rich, but not this powerful. Who are you, Valentin? And this time, please don’t lie to me.”
There’s a certainty in my voice that screams volumes, and I think he feels it too, because he gives me one spectacular nod like he’s gaining the courage to say something.
“Just tell me,” I ask again, my spine now straight as steel.
“I'm Bratva too. My family, the Yuris, controls the north side of the city. The Zakharovs control the south.”
The room tilts slightly, and suddenly, everything falls into place. Of course, the mansion, the guards, the obscene wealth and power didn’t come from business alone. I knew that the whole time in my heart, but simply didn’t know which direction to point a finger at.
“Fuck,” I hiss, the confusion and anger making my fists clench. “I married into the Bratva? What the hell were you thinking, Valentin? Bringing me into this mess?”
“I was trying to keep you alive,” he snaps.
“The only reason the Zakharovs haven't stormed this place looking for you is that you're under Yuri's protection now. We’ve been warring a long time now, and they’d think twice before launching a personal attack on us. With you as my wife, if they lay a finger on a single strand of hair on your head, it’s as good as them declaring war.”
I want to scream, to throw something, to run until my lungs burn.
But where would I go? Back to my place where killers wait?
To the police, who, according to Valentin, are half-owned by the Zakharovs?
I remember bragging about them at networking events, parading their logo across my pitch decks.
And all this time, I was just someone else for them to exploit.
I'm trapped because the life I had built for myself no longer exists.
“So what now?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
“Now you stay here, where it's safe. I'll have a workspace set up for you tomorrow. You can still run your business remotely, as we discussed.”
I close my eyes, exhausted. Part of me wants to keep fighting, to rail against this insane situation. However, the practical, survival-oriented part of me knows I need to think long-term.
“Fine,” I say finally. “Set up the workspace. I'll keep working.”
“You will?” He looks surprised.
“What choice do I have? I can't go back to my office. I can't go home. I might as well do something productive while I figure out how to get my life back.”
Or how to escape this nightmare entirely, I think, but don't say.
“Thank you,” he says softly. “For listening and believing me.”
“I don't have much choice there either,” I reply. “The evidence is pretty damning.”
He drops his head, and it looks like it’s in shame. For a brief second, I find myself wishing I hadn’t been so harsh. He might be a monster, but he wasn’t evil.
I stand to leave, but before that, I feel the need to say one last thing.
“Valentin?”
“Yes?”
“I know you think you're protecting me. And maybe you are. But what I saw today...” I shake my head. “I can't unsee that and pretend it didn't happen.”
“I know,” he says quietly, looking up at me now with a flicker of relief in his eyes. “I'm not asking you to.”