Chapter 15
Laszlo
The air between us feels different now. Not safe. Not settled. But stripped back. Honest in places that matter.
That is more dangerous than hostility ever was.
“Leonid will be preparing it now,” I mutter. “I’ll find you something in the meantime.”
She nods carefully, and I feel the shutters slamming back into place.
For both of us. This was too real, too soon.
Or maybe not soon enough. She has a real fear of how this ends for her, but no matter what I say, she doesn’t believe it.
Not yet. Even my actions aren’t making it clear.
The only way I know to prove it is to keep going.
Keep showing up. Keep doing the thing I said I’d do.
Words are cheap in our world. Galina knows that as well as I do.
I head for the door, and she follows without being asked, which is progress of a sort.
Downstairs, the smell of something cooking reaches us before we hit the ground floor. Leonid appears from the kitchen with the expression of a man who has been listening to the entire afternoon’s events through the ceiling and has decided to channel his feelings into food.
“Twenty minutes,” he says.
“She needs something now,” I say as I lead her into the dining room.
He disappears without argument and returns with a small board. Bread, butter, a wedge of cheese, sliced apple. Simple. He sets it on the table in front of her without fanfare and retreats back to whatever he was doing in the kitchen.
Galina tears a piece of bread and eats it, watching me with those green eyes that give nothing away.
“I don’t want to ruin my appetite,” she mumbles between mouthfuls.
“Whatever he is making smells so good.” She tears another piece off and drags the knife through the small pot of butter Leonid left beside the board before she slathers it on the bread.
I watch her eat without trying to make it look like I’m watching, which is harder than it sounds.
There is something disarming about it. Galina Rusanova, who walked into this house last night like she was being marched to an execution and intended to take everyone with her, is sitting at my dining table eating bread and butter with the focused contentment of someone who hasn’t eaten since morning and isn’t pretending otherwise.
I pour water into both glasses and sit across from her.
She glances at the glass, then at me. “Thank you.”
“Don’t make it a habit,” I say.
Her mouth curves, just slightly. “Thanking you?”
“Being surprised when I do something that isn’t awful.”
She considers that while she cuts a sliver of cheese and places it on the bread. “I’m not surprised when you do something that isn’t awful,” she says finally. “I’m surprised when you do something that isn’t complicated.”
“Those are the same thing.”
“They aren’t.” She takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. “Awful is easy to catalogue. Complicated means I have to actually think about you.”
“And you’d rather not.”
“I’d rather eat my bread in peace.”
I sit back and consider my options. There is only one way to get shit done. “I want to know what your father is bringing through the Voronov corridor.”
She freezes, bread halfway to her mouth. She inhales deeply and exhales as she places it back down. “And you think I know.”
“No, you said you didn’t. I believe you. I want you to find out.”
“How?”
“Ask him.”
“I did. He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Then make him tell you.”
Her eyes have gone wary. I’ve changed from the man she can joke with to the Bratva man she fears will crush her.
“I will ask again. How? You clearly don’t know my dad.”
“If he is anything like Uncle Baz, I know him.”
“Uncle Baz?” She snorts out a laugh but quickly rearranges her features. “You’re a bastard,” she adds.
“Ruthless, I know.”
“How do you do that?”
“Make you laugh even while this conversation has moved into territory that is filled with landmines?”
She nods.
“Talent. I want to know, moya zhena. You will find out.”
“You are asking me to betray my father.” In our world, marriage is never just vows and signatures. It is choosing where to place your loyalty when both choices could get you killed.
“I’m asking you to align yourself with your husband.”
“Laszlo…” She licks her lips. “I can’t just barge into his home and demand to know. He will know you’ve asked me to find out and will clam up even more.”
“Find a way.”
“Damn you,” she says, shaking her head. “This is why I can’t trust you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Because I’m asking you to find out information that is quite important to keep you and my family safe?”
That gets to her, and we both know it.
She holds my gaze for a long moment, and I watch the war play out across her face. Not the performed composure she wears as her shield. The real thing. The part of her that hates being caught between two men who both think they know what’s best for her.
“You’re not being fair,” she says quietly.
“No.”
“You’re asking me to choose.”
“I’m asking you to be my wife. In our world, that is choosing.”
Her jaw tightens. “Is it?”
I lean forward, forearms on the table, keeping my voice level.
“I’m asking you to find out what is coming through a route that runs under Voronov ground on the day of our wedding, and I’m not doing it to be nosey, Galina.
If it is something that could potentially blow up in our faces—physically or otherwise—I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s coming.
I’m not going to interfere. I’m not going to undermine your father.
I’m not going to tell him he can’t use the access. ”
“Our wedding day?” she says with a gulp, looking slightly pale.
“Don’t tell me he didn’t plan that.”
“Shit,” she says, tears pricking her eyes as she looks away. “Fuck.”
I feel pretty shit at making her cry, but this is for the greater… good.
“Don’t give me a bullshit answer. How am I supposed to get him to tell me?”
“Only you know the answer to that, and that’s not a bullshit answer. I don’t know him, I don’t know what buttons to push. You do.”
Her jaw clenches. “What do I get out of this? And don’t say my safety. That is not worth the guilt trip of deceiving my father.”
“Even after he deceived you first?”
She looks like she wants to drive a fork into my hand, so I remove both of them from the table. “He didn’t deceive me. I knew what was coming.”
“Really?” I drawl. “You looked pretty fucking furious when it was laid out in his office.”
“That wasn’t because I didn’t know. It was in general.” She sighs and rubs her fingers over her forehead. “Answer the question, Laszlo.”
“What do you get out of it?”
She nods.
“Do you have something in mind?”
She nods slowly, and I have the very distinct feeling this is going to cost me more than I’m prepared to give.