43. Vasiliy
Anya is not even six years old.
She doesn’t make calls without the help of her nanny, so I can already sense danger before I even step out into the hall and press the device to my ear.
“How kind of you to answer my correspondence after all these months,” my uncle drawls through the phone speaker.
My heart goes into overdrive.
“Why do you have my sister’s phone?” I ask evenly, pacing down the hall. As far as I know, he hasn’t set foot in my Moscow residence since the day he stormed in, demanding I leave for New York. That was the original deal, after all.
“How else am I supposed to speak to my wayward nephew?”
My spine stiffens.
“I’m sure as shit not going to go through that bastard Siderov again,” he continues. “Honestly, Vasiliy. I wasn’t sure you were capable of dishonoring this family even more than you already have, but here you are, playing house with our enemies.”
“I’m not here of my own volition,” I lie. Hopefully, Sasha was able to convince him of his overlying power on that call.
“Please,” he laughs, and I try not to flinch at the sound.
“You forget that it was I who raised you, not that whore sleeping her way through Moscow or the rotting mass of bones sitting in our family’s cemetery.
I molded you into a force to be reckoned with.
We both know you could’ve gutted that Siderov Pakhan on your first day, injured or not. ”
How does it feel?
Octavia’s words from that day in training find me through his tirade. How does it feel to have control, she meant. My chest ached at the simple question that I could not accurately answer.
Uncle is right. He created me. Molded me. And in making something so deadly, he also gave me the semblance of that control. If only it meant a thing in the face of true torment.
“The nanny fought admirably to keep me from the cell phone. Tell me, Vasiliy, does she remind you of someone? Perhaps that explains your affection for the old bat.”
The man has always woven words into bullets with ease. You’d think I’d have developed a thicker defense against them by now.
For the first time in years, I allow a specific woman’s face to form in my mind.
Soft, grey hair that fell down her back like a waterfall, and wrinkles that deepened with every smile.
I haven’t thought about Marta in a long time.
It’s still too painful. Too difficult to remember the good without recalling the end.
Images flicker in, one after another. Balancing on a wooden stepstool, helping to peel potatoes for dinner.
Her deft hands patching up my injuries after my uncle’s lessons and tucking me into bed with riveting fairy tales.
Naturally, he hated my bond with our housekeeper from the start.
I should’ve known he was biding his time to turn the affection into a lesson.
That lesson came when I was fourteen and thoughtless, and earned a particularly brutal beating from mouthing off to Uncle in front of his allies.
Marta had been horrified when she found me collapsed at the bottom of the staircase.
I tried to stop her from confronting him, but I couldn’t climb to my feet fast enough.
By the time I stumbled into his office, he’d already pulled a gun and shot her in the face.
He said I could either bury her myself before morning, or he’d toss her body onto the road for the scavengers. That was the first grave I ever dug with my own two hands.
“I’ve let this go on for far too long. Either you come back to Moscow, or I’ll find a way to make you comply. I think we both remember how good I am at such things.”
“Stay the fuck away from my sister,” I roar into the speaker, lost to the flood of emotions he’s managed to wrangle free.
“What kind of man would leverage his own niece?”
I nearly snort. As if he hasn’t leveraged her before.
“No, I’m sure I’ll come up with far more delightful ways to get you home, son.”
My eyes scrunch closed. I blow out a breath, biting my tongue before I say something that will only escalate his attack. Useless. I’m so fucking useless.
“All right, I suppose I’ll put Marta…I mean, Lena back on the phone. I’m sure you’ll have an impending reunion to discuss.”
I stay silent, listening to the static of motion on the other side of the call. My heart thumps so hard in my chest, I’m sure a heart attack is on the way.
“Vasiliy,” Lena, Anya’s nanny, gasps.
“Are you safe?” I ask.
“Yes. Both of us.”
I nod to myself. “Change the locks when he leaves the house, and fire the entire security team. There are names for replacements in the binder I left behind. And destroy this phone.”
She hangs up before saying another word.
Fuck.
I should tell Siderov about the threat. He may kick me out, but he has every right to prepare for the hellfire this could bring.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. If I pop back up in Moscow, Mikhail Solokov would be well within his rights to send his hitmen after my sister and me.
I only executed one interrogation with his syndicate, but that’s more than enough to warrant the resources needed to kill me.
All of this, after the best morning of my entire life.
I sigh, turning back toward the door where my own personal angel waits on the other side.
Maybe I can spend just a few more minutes lost in paradise before the other shoe drops.
I’d do anything to stay buried in her for the rest of my life. I turn the door handle…
But the bed is empty, and a small form is curled up on the floor
“Octavia?” I step closer. She doesn’t respond, and my stomach tightens. “What’s wrong?”
When her chin finally tilts up to mine, her face is red and flushed, cheeks glittering with silent tears. There’s something clutched to her chest, so small I nearly miss it on first assessment.
No.
I scramble to the floor, trying to wrap her trembling limbs. “It’s not what you think—”
She shrugs off my touch. “It’s a passport with your picture and a plane ticket to leave. It’s exactly what I think.”
My panic flares. Honestly, I haven’t thought once about the ticket or the fake ID in nearly a month. I’d tucked both beneath the mattress that first week we arrived, back when I was sure there would be a day when Octavia didn’t want me around anymore. I’m such an idiot.
“Please,” I beg, reaching for her hand. Each tear that streams out of her bright green eyes brings a fresh ache. “Please, listen. I bought that months ago, back when we first got free.”
“So,” she sniffs. “You were planning to leave months ago.”
“No, I mean…” Fuck. I drag a hand over my face. “It was a backup plan. I wanted to make sure you were recovering. That you were okay. I didn’t know if you were going to want me to stay—”
“If you don’t want to stay, you can leave, Vasiliy,” she says. Her eyes look past me, flattening with a faraway look.
“Octavia,” I start, only to have the ticket pressed into the center of my chest.
“I meant what I said,” she says with a soft sniffle that rearranges my brain. “I’m sorry for uprooting your life as I did. You shouldn’t have had to wait until I could get myself out of bed before leaving.”
“Octavia,” I try again, crinkling the small paper in my fist. “I was never going to leave, baby.” My hands frame her face, forcing her to see the truth in my eyes.
The tears keep falling in quiet streams. “Please, you have to believe me. It was just a silly thing I did after we were released. I didn’t know how to manage the insecurity of our situation, so I did the first thing that came to mind. ”
“And you had every right,” she whispers, tilting her head. “I’m such a fool.” The tears fall even faster, and my racing heart matches their pace. “I bet you wanted to laugh every time I spoke about running away together. I guess I’m still that naive girl who clung to your shirt in the cage.”
“No. Never. I didn’t want to leave,” I say, leaning my forehead down to hers. “That’s why I only needed one ticket. One passport. I knew I would only leave if you asked me to.” Her skin is flushed and hot against mine, but I immediately miss the heat when she pulls away.
“You don’t have to say that, Vas,” she whispers, wiping her wet cheeks and climbing to her feet. “I won’t hold you back any longer. I promise.” Her voice breaks on the last word.
“You’re not—”
She’s already slipping out of the room, taking my heart with her. I’m torn between chasing after her and giving her time. Would she even believe me if I explained why I bought the ticket all over again? That it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with my own failures?
I don’t want to give her time to think. I want to pull her into my lap and kiss away all the hurt I caused. I want to crawl on my knees at her feet, promising her there wasn’t a single reality where I’d have actually left her.
I don’t do any of that.
My head dips forward.
I hate the distance that stretches between our bodies as her footsteps fade down the hall. Of course, I didn’t leave you, I want to shout after her.
You’re my entire world. Where would I even go?
Except, how can I promise such a thing while Uncle’s veiled threats hang above my throat?
Uncurling the ticket, I tear it down the middle. Each piece falls back into my grip before splitting again. I can’t stop tearing the remains, even when the pieces are hardly big enough to grasp. Paper falls around my legs like a dusting of snow.