Sevastyan
Sevastyan sat down at a small breakfast table, back to the wall.
Outside, the rain was still falling from the previous night, as if the storm had moved with him, or perhaps was just blanketing the entire region.
The cross on his face was gone, as was the suit, though he still wore black, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to display forearms and an expensive watch.
At only six a.m., the sky was still dark.
The kitchen in this small boutique hotel had opened early via a substantial tip delivered the night before.
The door from the lobby whispered. Raska arrived, wrapped in fur, with a matching hat. The makeup was toned down from the previous night. Two men followed at a discreet distance. They took up seats on the other side of the room. Sevastyan stood.
She held her cheek towards him, one side, then the other. He kissed both, like the French, and helped her to a chair, taking her coat and draping over a chair at a different table. She touched her hair, making sure it was in place. “Did you sleep?”
“Like a child,” Sevastyan replied. He went to the sideboard, preparing tea for her and coffee for himself.
She turned around in her chair with her arm over the back, watching. “I doubt anyone else did.”
“A pity. I hope the cleaning fees were reasonable.”
She waved away his sarcastic concern. “It was the talk of the night.”
Sevastyan’s lips twitched to one side. He set the tea down in front of her and settled on the bench against the wall.
She picked up the cup and came around to his side, pushing the table back and sitting sideways across his lap.
He raised his arm, bracing her from behind.
She sipped from her tea, looking at him over lightly tinted green water.
He shook his head and reached for his coffee, not making her move.
She played with the collar of his shirt. “You were perfect. Party of the year.”
Sevastyan chuckled. He swallowed more coffee, shaking his head one more time.
She laughed, delighted.
He looked down at her, keeping his gaze fond. She’d never sat in his lap before. The sensation was that of having a particularly venomous creature curled up against one’s chest. This was a new low for her.
He tucked one of her curls behind her ear. “They told me I had to order last night if I wanted breakfast this early. I hope you approve.”
“We’ll see.” She sipped more tea. “You should have seen their faces, you know. After you walked out.”
“That would have ruined the moment.” Sevastyan leaned back against the wall, resigned to having a lapful of poison.
She giggled.
The kitchen doors opened and a server came out, rolling a cart.
There was a plethora of plates: omelettes, toast, sweet baked breakfast goods, potatoes, and fruit.
Raska clapped her hands and popped off Sevastyan’s lap to supervise the arranging of the dishes on the table.
Sevastyan refilled her tea and topped off his coffee.
They sat facing each other across the spread. She regaled him with stories from the previous night, name dropping like she was reading a Rolodex. He watched her, keeping her plate full and making appropriate noises.
“You really must attend the next event, Sevy,” she said, placing her fingers on the back of his hand. “I’m thinking Barcelona.”
“Use me too often, I’ll lose my air of mystery,” Sevastyan murmured.
She laughed. “True. I should keep them guessing.”
“Unless you want your guests to think they’re attending a Battle Royale.”
“Hm. How dramatic. I should plan something like that. An island. Do you think Alexi would supply slaves for the battle? We can watch on big screens like the Hunger Games.”
“I think Alexi is out of moving stock on that level,” Sevastyan said. “He deals in specialized pets.”
“Ah, true. Such a particular man. Do you think of him as your father now?” She dropped her elbow on the table and held her cheek in her palm, looking at him, feet kicking under the table.
Sevastyan snorted and cut the cobbler in front of him in half with his knife and fork. “I believe one only gets one try on fathers. I’m past needing them.”
She moved closer, reaching out to play with his sleeve with her fingers. “Certain?”
“Fathers come and go,” Sevastyan said, seriously. He lifted her hand to his lips, holding her gaze. “Only mothers are forever.”
“You defended Anton, once.”
Sevastyan glanced up at her, eyes dark, and shook his head, going back to his food. “Don’t all sons want fathers? I was young. I wanted . . .” He paused, choosing his words. “The fantasy.”
“What fantasy?”
“You, him, me. Russia. Everything they told me I was waiting for at the creche. They made us draw happy pictures of our families, you know.”
“And now?” She cocked her head, still slightly smiling.
Sevastyan shook his head. “I never lied, Raska. Russia is mother and Mother is Russia. Fathers invade, but they never last. Like Germany.” He forced himself not to whisper an apology in his head. Even internal inconsistency would be noticed.
She gave a short laugh and then gazed up at him, lips half parted as if he’d given her the world. “So smooth, Sevvy.”
He dropped his eyes and shook his head, taking refuge in coffee and cobbler. She drew back her hand but didn’t go back to eating. Instead, she folded her arms in front of her chest and leaned on the table.
“They’re going to be watching you now,” she said finally.
“I’m aware.”
“You’re still not worried?”
“They were already watching, at least some of them. Let them watch.”
“Some will do more than watch.”
“Like Dirk?” Sevastyan glanced up, quirking an eyebrow.
She snorted, delicately. “Like Dirk.”
“They can join him in the rank of imbeciles.”
“You’re not small enough to ignore, perhaps not large enough to survive. You’re not an idiot, Sevvy.”
“The Yadro pushed my hand.”
“How so?”
“They want the K-Pop incident cleaned up, but it’s a pissing contest between players with more diamonds in their eyes than sense in their heads.”
Sevastyan let disgust cross his face and washed his mouth with coffee.
“Now the job is stretching out, claiming larger and larger names. Some of them want me dead, and some think I have the right course of action. The Yadro is letting it play out. They aren’t taking sides.”
“So you’re becoming a bigger fish.”
He met her eyes. “I’m tired of swimming with rotten fish.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And how are you going to clean them out?”
“Dirk was the first. Now we find who comes next. Then we’ll know who pushed Dirk in the first place.”
“You’re going to trigger a war.”
“The war is already triggered.”
She watched him for a long moment, tapping her fingers against her arm. “You need resources.”
He studied her face, letting her watch him assessing her. “I’ll find a way.”
“I have resources.”
“You’ve given me too much already, Mother. I won’t drag you down.”
“You’re not the only one who thinks there are rotten fish in the Yadro. It needs fresh blood, Russian blood, like it was always meant to be.”
He met her eyes. So that was what she wanted from this. Not exactly a secret. A seat on the council, if not one of the directorships, was her long goal. But now she thought the time was ripe. Every timeline in Sevastyan’s head tightened. “You would do Russia proud.”
She smiled, still tapping her nails against her sleeves, gaze calculating. “Bring me Anton’s head, his physical head,” she said. “Then I’ll know you’re ready.”
He blinked slowly, once. “Done.”