27. Vasiliy
The aromatic scent of coffee fills the kitchen as I lean against the counter, watching each drop hang off the filter before splashing into the pot.
Rays of morning sun stream through the bulletproof windows, painting the tidy kitchen in swatches of yellow.
I’ve been up for a few hours. I’ve always found it difficult to outsleep the sun—likely thanks to old habits of training at the crack of dawn with Uncle’s soldiers.
Unfortunately, being the first to rise in a compound packed with Bratva men who would’ve killed you on sight a week earlier is a bit awkward.
Today marks our fourth day in the Siderov compound.
Four days of wondering whether my former allies have already dispatched a threat against me.
In my most naive moments, I wonder if I could explain my sudden disappearance to Mikhail Solokov before he puts a bullet between my eyes.
It’s an especially bad look, disappearing from my post only to pop up in an enemy’s compound.
All I can do is hope that they don’t find my Achilles heel, hidden in Russia behind a wall of security and caregivers.
I managed to call on our second night here.
I’m sure Sasha has a tech team monitoring outgoing calls just like my uncle, but if he noticed the international call, he hasn’t brought it up.
Besides, if he was listening, he probably tapped out after the first fifteen minutes of Anya’s babbling princess tea-party story.
The plot was iffy at best. After experiencing the uncertainty of ever hearing her voice again, it was the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
“Has she left the bed yet?”
I startle at the voice, turning to press my back to the counter. The Siderov Pakhan is far too quiet when he wants to be. Already dressed in a button-down and slacks despite the early hour, he leans against the kitchen entrance.
“No.”
A displeased frown bends his lips.
The other subject overtaking my thoughts swings in. Octavia won’t leave our bed. She’s only crawled out a handful of times since we got here for basic needs, wandering back into the covers directly after. She just needs time, I tell myself. I’m not sure how much I believe it.
Then there’s the plane ticket waiting for me underneath our mattress, where I hid it.
Sasha would probably rejoice to see evidence of my impending departure, but I can’t even bear to face the possibility.
The ticket won’t take me to Russia. I can’t go back without placing my sister in more danger than she’s already in by association.
I’d probably fuck off to the middle of nowhere and hang low until the dust settles.
The problem? Every time I think about leaving Octavia behind, my stomach aches so fiercely I’m sure I’ll throw up my last meal.
“We’ve got to do something,” Sasha says in a tired voice. He’s been checking in on her, too, stopping by our room at all hours of the night. It was annoying the first two nights. Now I wonder if he thinks she’s a flight risk like her mother.
“She deserves time to process,” I defend, even if a part of me agrees with him.
“She’s had time,” he says. “And in that time, she only seems to be sinking further away. I visited last night, and she wouldn’t even answer me.
” His fingers tap nervously against his thigh, completely at odds with his usual stone countenance.
“You know the first thing she did after waking up in the safehouse? She threw a pillow at my face. I may not know much about my own daughter, but I know enough to understand that this silence is all wrong.”
And the first thing she did after waking in the cage was try to strangle me. He’s not wrong. She’s a fighter by nature, not a freezer. I love that about her. I miss her brand of fire like a lost limb.
“I’m sick of feeling useless while my daughter is obviously suffering down the hall.”
Imagine how useless I feel, watching her suffer from the other side of the bed.
I started trying to coax her out yesterday, after spending two hours watching her stare at the bedtable with a distant look in her eyes.
I tried everything I could think of. Sweets, activities, mild threats.
Each suggestion only caused her to pull further away.
“Look, she had a whole life before this,” I say, swirling the coffee in my cup. “She fought the same battle every single day for years. And she didn’t lose that fight.” I step forward, pushing off the counter. “She lost the whole damn field.”
“Should I get her back into a dance class? Hire a tutor?”
“Not necessarily.”
Doing something so familiar in such an unfamiliar way might make her feel even worse. He’s right, though. She needs a real reason to get out of bed.
“You’re useless,” Sasha snaps. Jesus. By his tone and expression, you’d think I took a piss in the coffee pot.
“You have one purpose here, kid. Your job is to keep her happy, and the sooner you fail at that task, the sooner I’ll be shipping your ass back to New York with a goddamned bow for Solokov to do with as he pleases. ”
“I’m fucking trying,” I say, voice rising in the quiet kitchen. He may think all I care about is hiding out from my former employers, but the only thing I’ve been able to focus on in the last four days is the girl flickering out before my eyes. I don’t know how to help her.
“You have one day,” he says, tearing me from my thoughts. “One day, and if she’s still made no progress, I’m calling in professional help and kicking you out.”
My knuckles clench at the barked order. “I don’t think that will help when she’s like this.”
“I’m not too sure, either,” Siderov mutters, stepping back into the doorway. “But I can’t keep standing by and doing nothing.”
I toss the pile of items onto the bed beside Octavia’s head, startling her from the frozen state. Her lashes flash, eyes lifting to mine for the first time in far too long. Even that’s progress, I suppose.
“What’s this?”
The sound of her voice sends a zing through my head. How long has it been since she spoke more than a single syllable to me? The car ride here, maybe?
I lift each item into the air, setting them into a neat line beside her pillow. “Boxing gloves. Hand wraps. Sports bra. Sweatpants. Hair tie.”
She lifts a brow. “They’re all pink.”
“Baby pink. You once told me you’d wear anything if it was pretty and pastel.”
She laughs softly, digging her cheek further into the pillow. “You gonna hold everything I said in the cage against me?”
I don’t bother answering, lowering my weight to the edge of the bed. “Sit up, and I’ll braid your hair.”
“No thanks,” she whispers, turning away.
“I wasn’t asking.”
She doesn’t respond, giving me her back and settling further under the covers. Ignoring me. That’s it. I cradle my arms around her, lifting her up against her will. She wriggles in the hold, crying out.
“Get the fuck off me!”
“There’s my girl,” I murmur, brushing a soothing hand down her arm. “You wanna fight me? Fight me. Anything’s better than the silence.”
She lets out a shriek, squirming harder, but my arms only lock around her.
“Get. OFF.”
I squeeze her closer. “See, isn’t this fun? Imagine how much more enjoyable it’d be in your pretty, new boxing gloves?”
“I’m not messing around, Vas.” Her voice lowers in a quieter fury. “Get out of my room.”
“Our room,” I tease, positioning more of my weight on the mattress.
“My room,” she corrects, glare boring into me. “My mansion compound thingy. My crazy criminal family. In fact, what are you even still doing here?”
My heart squeezes, but I don’t show the discomfort as I offer a cheeky grin. “Business.”
“Business? With whom?”
Your father, technically. And with my conscience, as well as whatever traitorous part of my body decided you were something we can’t live without.
“I killed someone, Vasiliy. Several someones.” Her gaze flicks down to the bedtable, hiding from my face. “I know that means nothing to you people, but it meant something to me.”
“It’s okay for it to mean something,” I say gently.
“And you get as much time as you need to decide what that meaning is for you. But you can’t decide like this.
” I lean down, brushing my fingers over her cheek.
“And I can’t keep watching you fade further and further away from the other side of the bed. You’re dimming.”
Her lashes flutter shut, tickling my fingers. “I’m fine.”
“I know you are. And you’re also going to spend one hour each day boxing with me. You asked me to train you, remember?”
She releases a snort, deflating into my arms. I already miss her fight.
“Let’s go.”
“No thanks.” Her tone is flat. Final.
“What are you going to do instead? Stare at the bedtable and let the bad thoughts overrun the good ones?”
She laughs coolly, tapping her skull. “What are the good ones supposed to look like right now, Vasiliy? Because as far as I’m concerned, everything I built—everything that mattered—is gone.”
I don’t know what to say to that. That life she lived in New York is gone.
Her quiet anonymity and controlled days are a thing of the past, and there’s nothing I can add to make that any less true.
It fucking hurts when she’s upset. It hurts me.
I’ve never felt like that before. With everything I watched her fight through, seeing her so defeated is a knife to the gut.
“One hour. That’s all I’m asking for.” I brace my hands on the mattress, leaning forward. “Afterward, you can get right back in bed. I’ll even tuck you in myself.”
“I said no thanks.”
“Octavia,” I exhale. “Please.”
Yeah. Apparently, I’m not above begging.
The soft words, lowered to a tone most people could never fathom leaving my lips, seem to get her interest.
“Why?” She flips over, gaze wild as it bounces down to the items on the bed and back up to me. “Why the sudden need to box?”
“Maybe I have an instinct for knowing when someone needs something to hit,” I answer with a crooked smile.
Tense minutes pass as we stare at each other, daring the other to fold. Her red hair is wild from the pillow, eyes dotted in dark circles from her tossing and turning every night. Even in such disarray, she’s still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
“Just an hour?”
Relief floods my lungs. “Just an hour.”