Chapter 13 Fyodor
FYODOR
The bellhop wheels our luggage through the doorway of the suite, and I direct him toward the master bedroom with a gesture.
My shoulders ache from the drive and every muscle in my body is tight.
All I want is to settle in and rest a little.
I have some calls to make and it's late. Sasha was already sleeping in the car.
"Go ahead and take those bags into my room," I tell the bellhop, and then I turn toward Sasha. "Over there is your room. Go on and get some pajamas on." He stands there staring at me with sleepy eyes and a big yawn, and Noemi steps in front of him to grab her single small bag.
"I'll take this one, thank you… Come on, Sasha," she says, moving toward the open adjoining door where Sasha's bedroom is.
"Where are you going?" I ask her. I gave the bellhop an order and he stands there staring now like he's done something wrong when it's Noemi who is clearly confused.
"I'm tired. I want to lie down." She again turns as if she'll walk off, but I take the bag by the loose handle flopping to the side and pull it from her grasp, then hand it to the bellhop, who stares at me blankly.
"Take this in there with them," I grumble with annoyance. She’s clearly not getting the point that she will be in my bedroom tonight. I don't think she got the point when I told her she belongs to me now.
"Those…" Noemi says as she scowls. "Take this in there with those." Her hand reaches for the bag again, but I'm too tired and frustrated to let this go.
"I don't need a grammar lesson, and I said what I said." I move her hand away, gesturing at the bellhop to get moving, and she scoffs at me. Her face twists into a darker scowl as she turns her back on Sasha as if shielding him from our little bickering match.
"Your grammar isn’t the problem here. Your manners are. I will sleep with Sasha and—"
"You don’t get to make the decisions," I say curtly.
Noemi's face flushes dark red spreading from her cheeks down her neck and disappearing beneath the collar of her sweater.
Her hands ball into fists at her sides, and she takes a step toward me with her jaw set in that stubborn way I've come to recognize over the past two weeks.
Except tonight, it's not a turn-on. I'm exhausted. I don't want to deal with this.
"I'm not sharing a room with you," she hisses under her breath. "I'll stay with Sasha."
"You'll stay where I can keep an eye on you, which means my room." I lean against the wall near the door, crossing my arms over my chest. "This isn't negotiable."
"Everything about this situation should be negotiable." She glances toward where Sasha stands leaning on the wall appearing ready to fall asleep standing up. "I didn't ask to be here."
"Your bag is already in the bedroom, so this conversation is over." I push away from the wall and move toward Sasha, effectively ending the argument whether she likes it or not. "We can continue this later if you still feel the need."
I hear her sharp intake of breath behind me, followed by footsteps that suggest she's walking away rather than continuing to fight.
Sasha doesn't turn around when I approach, his attention completely absorbed by the view beyond the windows.
The city stretches out in every direction, and the twinkling lights seem to captivate him.
"What do you think?" I place my hand on his shoulder and he glances up at me.
"It's really big." His voice carries wonder mixed with uncertainty. "I've never been to Moscow before."
"We'll explore some of it while we're here if there's time." I squeeze his shoulder gently before releasing him. "But right now, you need to get ready for bed. It's been a long day, and you're exhausted."
Noemi appears beside us and takes Sasha's hand without acknowledging my presence, her anger toward me apparently contained enough that she can function around the boy. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you changed into your pajamas and settled."
They disappear into his bedroom, and I'm left standing alone near the windows with the bellhop still hovering uncertainly by the door. I pull cash from my wallet and hand him what amounts to double what the tip should be, then watch him leave before making my way to the master bedroom.
I pull my phone from my jacket pocket and dial Rurik's number while I lift my suitcase to the foot of the bed and unzip it. Item by item, I unpack and fill the drawers as the phone rings through and Rurik finally answers.
"You made it to Moscow?" he asks without bothering with pleasantries. Before we ever made the plan to come here, he was my first call. I'll lean on him and his experience with things here in the city in order to make my job easier.
"Just arrived at the hotel about fifteen minutes ago." With the clothing out of my bag, I unzip the exterior compartment and start removing my weapons. "Tell me you have something useful."
"I have three possible locations that fit the profile for state protection housing.
" Papers rustle in the background, and I hear him shifting things around.
"All residential buildings in middle-class neighborhoods, all recently rented through third-party agencies the government uses for this exact purpose. "
"Give me the addresses." I grab the notepad from the hotel desk and flip it open, pen already in hand.
He rattles off three locations while I write them down with scribbled handwriting. When he finishes, I read them back to confirm I copied everything correctly.
"The first two are most likely, based on timing and rental patterns," he continues. "The third is a backup possibility if those don't pan out."
"What's this gonna cost me?" I close the notepad and shove it into my jacket pocket.
"Fifty thousand for the addresses and surveillance schedules my contact pulled from their security systems." His voice is matter-of-fact. This is just business to him. "Another twenty if you want floor plans and entry codes for all three buildings."
"I'll pay sixty for everything." The amount is steep, more than I budgeted for this trip, but I don't have time to negotiate when every day that passes brings the trial closer. "When can we meet to exchange information?"
"Tomorrow afternoon works for me. There's a café near the Bolshoi, quiet enough that we can talk without drawing attention." He gives me the name and address, which I commit to memory rather than writing down. "Two o'clock."
"I'll be there." I end the call and toss my phone onto the bed, then finish unpacking my bag and storing my guns in the small dresser.
When I finish, I make my way down the short hallway to Sasha's room and push the door open quietly.
Noemi sits on the edge of his bed with a book open in her lap, reading aloud.
Sasha's tucked under the covers with his head resting on the pillow.
His eyes droop with exhaustion but he's fighting to stay awake long enough to hear the end of whatever story she's reading.
I lean against the doorframe and listen, watching the way she modulates her tone to match different characters' voices and pauses at dramatic moments to build anticipation.
She's natural at this, and Sasha hangs on every word.
I almost feel bad forcing her to be here because it's clear this is her calling—to teach and care for small children.
But I can't raise a young boy alone, and Noemi has the grit required to thrive in the atmosphere of my life.
She's already proven that more than once.
After this morning's activities in my study, I think she'll prove useful in more ways than just caring for the boy.
She'll just need time and a strong hand to adjust to the changes.
"And they all lived happily ever after," she finishes, closing the book and setting it on the bedside table. "The end."
"That was really good." Sasha's voice is thick with sleep, and his words slur together slightly. "Will you read me another one tomorrow night?"
"Of course I will." She leans down and kisses his forehead, smoothing his dark hair back from his face with gentle fingers. "But right now, you need to sleep."
I begin backing away, but I'm still listening as Sasha says, "Do you think my papa will show me the city tomorrow?"
The words wrap around my heart and make me stop mid-stride. They can't see that I'm here listening, which only makes this moment more pure. My son just called me papa for the first time in his life, and I think I like the feeling it's giving me.
"We can ask him, solnyshko. Sleep now…"
Noemi's voice is soft and patient with him, but I hear the tone of discouragement she uses. Not that she's discouraging him, but that she, herself, feels discouraged. Probably by my inability to do things the way she thinks they should be done.
I would like to think I am a good father, that Sasha is in good hands with me, but I obviously do not have her approval yet.
I might fight for months to gain any traction in that area, but I won't stop trying.
Her presence here started out as a way to make Sasha more comfortable around me, but I'm finding I have a need too.
I need her to make me a better man so I'm worthy of this gift that's been dropped in my lap.
I rush ahead, clearing the hallway and walking back into the master bedroom before I hear the door of Sasha's room click shut quietly.
Moments later, Noemi walks into the room with her chin held high and her shoulders squared. "I need to get my things." She walks toward me pretending she gets to do what she wants after I've already made my wishes clear. "I'll sleep on the couch out here."
"No, you won't." I move to block her path to her bag. "You'll sleep in the bed where you'll actually get proper rest."
"I'm not sleeping in your bed, Fyodor." We do a side-step dance, back and forth until she gets the point that I'm purposefully blocking her path. "That's completely inappropriate, and you know it."
"I bent you over my desk and fucked you raw and you think sleeping in my bed is inappropriate?" My words make her eyes widen, and she sucks in a breath but doesn't snap back at me.
"That was… I just…" She's flustered and can't decide what she wants to say to me, which I find comical. "Get out of my way. I want to sleep on the couch."
When she moves to walk past me again, I let her go this time. But my arm hooks around her waist as she does, and I hoist her off the ground in one swift movement.
"What are you doing!" she hisses quietly like she doesn't want Sasha to hear her. "Put me down!"
Ignoring her protest, I carry her to the bed and drop her on it. She bounces twice before I reach up and switch off the lamp on my side of the bed. Before I get on to the mattress beside her, she's already scurrying to the far side to get away, which only makes my job easier.
I grab her around the waist again, hauling her back toward my chest until she stops fighting. "I said, you'll sleep in my bed with me."
"What am I, your captive now? You're going to turn me into a sex slave?"
I don’t even waste the energy it takes to respond to those nasty accusations. I reach past her and flick off her bedside light, then relax down next to her with my arm tightly pinning her to my body.
Forcing her to be here wasn't what I hoped for, but I'm not a foolish man, no matter how much she likes to correct me. If I let her sleep in that private room, I'll awaken to my son being snatched and the woman I brought here to help me gone.
"Good night, Ms. Dragunova," I tell her, pressing my eyes shut against her angry breathing.
She harrumphs and sighs several times. Her body feels stiff and rigid in my arms, but I'm not giving in. This woman belongs to me now whether she likes it or not, even if she refuses to let me pay her.
"You know, if I’m being forced to sleep in your fucking bed, you could at least let me put on my nightgown."
"Good night," I repeat, and I tighten my hold on her for added measure. I will have enough problems as it is trying to hunt down Marat like a needle in a haystack here in Moscow. I'm not letting her get her way. She will do things my way because I don't have time to fuss with her attitude.
After several long minutes, her breathing starts to lengthen out and her body relaxes, so I let sleep take me. I need to be fresh if I'm going to get this job over with quickly. And I will need her to be fresh to deal with Sasha and keep him occupied while I do my job.
And when we get back to St Petersburg, we'll have a long talk about what will be expected of her. Because her job description changed the instant she yielded to me in my study. Ms. Dragunova is no longer just Sasha's teacher.
Now she's my very own plaything.