38. Artem
Artem
I wake up, and she's there.
For a moment, I'm sure I am hallucinating. After all, her eyes are bloodshot, and I can see tear tracks on her cheeks, highlighted by the fluorescent lighting. My last thoughts before I went under were of her, so perhaps my brain conjured her upon waking.
"You're awake." She speaks in a soft, shaky voice, and I realize she is indeed here.
As the anesthesia wears off, I realize someone cleaned her up. She's no longer covered in blood. Instead, she's in a thick beige sweater and black pants, and her dark hair is pulled into a long braid. She looks so young staring at me with wide hazel eyes.
"Apparently." I look down to see my chest heavily bandaged, wires and IVs trailing from my arms.
She doesn't move. Doesn't reach for my hand, doesn't touch me, just sits in the chair with her coat on like she arrived and couldn't quite commit to staying. "How do you feel?"
"Like someone shot me."
Something moves at the corner of her mouth.
Not quite a smile. The ghost of one. "That's fair.
You are lucky. The surgeon told me a few more inches and it would have shredded your ventricle.
Your chest filled with blood, but they got you into surgery quickly and were able to save your life. You should make a full recovery."
I try to sit up slightly. The attempt produces a strong opinion from my chest and I reconsider, settling for adjusting the angle of the bed instead. Katya watches me do it and doesn't offer to help. I wouldn't want her to, and she seems to know that.
"What happened after they got me in the ambulance?"
"Why did you take the bullet?"
We speak at the same time, and I smirk slightly.
"You first," she says. "Why?" Her eyes are steady on mine.
"You were behind me."
She shakes her head. "That's not an answer."
"It's the truth."
"Bullshit. Nadia?—"
"Is a dead woman," I growl. I allowed her to live for too long, and it ended up with this bullshit. I should have taken care of her when she started sniffing around Irina, but I didn't because I felt guilty.
That moment of softness bit me in the ass.
"I wasn't going to let her shoot you." It's the easiest answer I have for her.
"Why? Artem. Tell me the truth."
"Why don't you tell me what you think, since you clearly have an idea."
I expect her to push back, but instead she holds my gaze for a long moment, exhales, and shifts to something else.
"I know about Viktor," she says. "The documents. My name on everything." A pause. "Pyotr told me."
I narrow my eyes.
"Well, that was after the FBI showed me all the documents. They threatened me with jail?—"
I shake my head slightly. "They don't have anything on you."
She levels me with a stern look. "We both know that isn't true."
"Pyotr—"
"Is a lawyer," she says, as though I didn't know. "Surprise on that one."
I snort and try not to wince at the pain in my chest. I'm hyped up on pain meds and probably shouldn't be having this conversation, but I know Katya isn't going to be put off. Besides, the raid put some things into perspective, and it's better to have this conversation now instead of later.
Because once I get out of here, I need to focus on the business, on my goals.
"I found it when I started building the case against him.
Years ago. When I last saw Irina, when I broke into her room and found what Alexei had done, I returned to Moscow and went to Viktor.
I told him I would expose everything he'd built in his name if he didn't release her from the marriage.
" I pause. "He told me his name wasn't on anything. That there was nothing to expose."
"But mine was."
"Yes. He'd been running everything through you since you were a child. You were cleaner — no criminal record, no Bratva associations on paper, living abroad in a legitimate career. The perfect instrument." The word tastes exactly as ugly as it should.
Katya is very still. I know I am shattering illusions she may have had. It's not what I wanted to do. At first, yes, but after getting to know Katya, I wanted to preserve some of the innocence she fought so hard for.
Instead, I exposed her to the worst of it all.
"So instead, you decided to use me."
"Yes." There's no point in denying it.
"Why marry me? To get access to the Bratva? You already had that when Alexei died."
"The New York faction, which is smaller than you'd imagine," I say carefully. It appears we are putting all the cards on the table. "I needed access to the whole thing, and there was no other way to get there besides marriage to you."
She doesn't react, but I can see the glaze in her eyes. She's hurt.
"Viktor's operation is larger than you could ever know.
He's harmed more people—" I stop, close my eyes, and start again.
"I have spent the last several months moving your name off every document I could access.
Shell companies, offshore accounts, property holdings.
Anything that creates liability for you.
Pyotr has the complete list." I pause. "It's not finished, but the FBI won't be able to link you to a single illegal thing.
Nadia knows that, which is why she tried to get you to turn on me.
I've been cleaning up Viktor's mess since I took over from Alexei. "
She looks at me for a long time, turning my words over, trying to find their meaning.
"Nadia wants you to suffer, not just go to prison. It's why she tried to kill me." She swallows. "She thought my death would hurt you."
She looks at me, searching my face, and it's harder than ever to be unaffected.
I hold her gaze, and for a moment I consider telling her that her death would indeed hurt me — more than she could ever know — but instead I bite my tongue and tell her what I can. "You won't go to prison. I will make sure of it."
"Are you going to lock me in my room again?"
I look at her and close my eyes briefly. "I deserve that."
She leans back in her chair and folds her arms. "It's bad enough that you lied to me when you met me, that you set me up for marriage, but you knew all of this, and you kept me in the dark."
"You're not wrong."
She blinks, clearly not expecting that.
"I don't get to decide what happens to you.
I never should have. Everything I told myself about protection and calculated necessity—" I stop.
"You suffered. You told me that. I didn't want to hear it because hearing it meant accounting for it, and accounting for it meant looking at what I'd done clearly.
" I exhale slowly, managing the pain. "You were right.
I am not better than the other men, the ones who hurt Irina. "
Being shot, and facing the possibility of death, made me realize that while I haven't physically abused Katya the way Irina was abused by Alexei, there are other ways to break a person down, and I've used them.
"Artem—"
The room is very quiet outside the beeping of the monitor.
"I'm going to grant you the divorce," I tell her, ignoring her widening eyes.
"Pyotr will handle it. You'll keep the penthouse.
I've already deeded it to you — it's yours legally, clean, nothing attached to Viktor's network.
I bought it with my own money." I pause.
"Your things are still there. I never moved them. "
She looks at the window for a moment, and not for the first time, I wish I could crawl inside her mind.
She looks back at me, and I feel myself longing to touch her. To caress her cheek just once, and to do things right.
"Why did you take the bullet?" she asks again, so softly I almost don't hear her.
"Katya—"
"Just tell me." Her voice is very quiet. "I'm not asking you to perform anything. I'm not going to use it against you. I just want to know the actual reason."
I hold her gaze for a long moment.
"Nadia was wrong," I tell her. "She said that the old me would have been in the car, but she was full of shit. She doesn't and never has known me. The only person I've ever been myself with is?—"
I stop myself before I can say more.
She's watching me very carefully, holding her breath, and I know one wrong move will end it all.
"It doesn't matter now," I tell her. "What matters is that you're safe, Pyotr will handle the legal situation, and you can go back to the theater and your life."
"You said Nadia was wrong about you," she says. "But you never said she was wrong about your feelings."
"Do not look for the good in me, Katya." I hold her gaze. "I didn't say it because it doesn't need to be said. Just look at us…"
The silence stretches between us, specific and heavy and full of everything neither of us is saying.
She stands and picks up her bag.
She looks at me in the hospital bed with my chest in bandages, and her expression is the one I've been trying to read for months.
I think I finally can.
"Goodbye, Artem."
"Goodbye, Katya."
She walks to the door. She stops for a moment, and I wonder if she will press again. I might give in this time. I'll blame the morphine.
She doesn't turn around. Simply sighs and keeps going.
I've set her free.