Chapter 6 #2
“If word gets out that I have you… if people find out what you can do, they’ll want you for themselves. Or, they’ll kill you so I can’t use you.” I pin her with a stare, watching her lips part as she sucks in a breath. “That would be very bad. For both of us.”
She grabs the notepad again. I have to stay locked inside?
“Yes.”
She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t react. Her features stay the same, no emotion, just plain acceptance, like she already understood freedom was never an option for her.
"Last night you said you can read people by touch or something they touched. Does it work if you’re near the person?”
No. Being near doesn’t work. It has to be an object or touching the actual person.
“What about my picture? I never touched it.”
She looks away for a split second. I don’t let it slide. “Answer me.” I urge, sliding the notepad to her. “Write.”
Her lips press together. She grips the pen harder than necessary before finally writing.
I don’t know. And no, I’m not lying. I really don’t know how I did it.
She pauses, then adds more:
I didn’t see anything with you. I just felt your hatred of him and what you want to happen. I don’t know your plans.
“No?”
She shakes her head.
I edge closer, just enough that she has to look at me. “You don’t ever put your hands on me or take anything I touch, trying to read me. Are we clear?” She nods, expression blank.
I ease back. “There’s one more thing, Nala.”
She lifts her gaze, giving me her full attention. "Don’t ever lie to me. You give me the truth. Always. No sympathy. No instinct. You tell me everything.”
She stares at me, jaw tight and writes: Got it.
I raise a brow. Fucking laughable, this little girl thinking she can give me attitude.
I let it slide and ask, "What else did you see about my father?"
This time she doesn’t hesitate, the pen moves immediately.
He meets with businessmen. REAL businessmen.
She looks up at me like she knows exactly what she’s implying.
“I get it,” I say flatly. “Keep writing.”
The corner of her mouth lifts. She dips her head quickly, pleased she got away with that.
He’s using their stores as a front.
"A front for what?"
Moving money to other places. I don’t really understand how it works. He doesn’t want Volchya involved. Only him and the Albanians.
Fucking piece of shit.
I sit back, keeping my features neutral, not wanting her to see the thoughts actually going on in my mind.
“He’s using Bratva men to do the work, but the deal is between him and the Albanians?”
She nods, writing:
Yes. He’s been doing it for over a year. I know because he thought one of the men was trying to scam him.
My hands curl into fists under the table. Bratva men bleed for him. Kill for him. Yet he’s cutting them out, giving away territory, fucking us over and spitting in the face of every man who's ever been loyal to him.
I force my hands to relax. I can’t be like my father, letting anger control me, losing sight of what’s important.
This girl in front of me is my focus. She’s telling me the things I need to hear.
I regain focus, suddenly remembering I was supposed to check her foot.
I stand and head to the bathroom, grabbing the first-aid kit from last night.
When I kneel in front of her again, she doesn’t pull away this time.
"Let me see if it’s healing."
I unwrap the bandage and see that the cut doesn’t look as bad as it did before. I spray it again.
She draws in a breath. I look up to see her watching me. “Better?”
She nods, her shoulders relaxing as the antiseptic’s sting wears off. I re-bandage it and stand.
“Thanks,” she whispers, her voice still damaged.
“You’re welcome.”
I put the kit away again and go back out to find her moving toward the living room. I grab my phone off the table, checking the time.
Shit.
I almost forgot I have to meet Lev and play the game of ignorance.
“I have to go out for a while.”
She stiffens, looking nervous as I head to the door. “You’ll be fine,” I tell her, grabbing my keys. “Make sure to eat something. Use the microwave.” I don’t know why, but I feel the need to pause at the door, reminding her, “I’ll be back later.”
Half an hour later, I’m at Stary Dvor. Lev’s already there, standing by his car. We don’t bother going inside. Some conversations are better done walking.
“What the hell’s all this about losing something?”
Lev pulls a ski cap down over his low-cut hair. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear before me.”
I shrug. “Right. Because I monitor everything the Pakhan does.
“Someone should,” Lev mutters.
I haven’t shared my plans with him yet, but I know without a doubt, Lev will be on board when it’s time to bring my father down. Not because he hates the Pakhan. No, Lev isn’t emotional like that. It’s because he knows Volchya won’t survive if my father keeps running it this way.
"I talked to a few guys who were there early this morning,” Lev continues. “Someone had to talk him out of killing Belova right in the middle of the street.”
Pity.
"Why Belova? What did she do?"
"She was in charge. I’m guessing that makes it her fault.” He stops, tapping a finger to his chin. “That’s the strange part I can’t wrap my mind around. The Pakhan isn’t saying what was stolen. And Belova isn’t talking either. Why the tight lips if he wants this thing found?”
"As long as he doesn’t expect us to work as private investigators, I couldn’t care less."
Lev watches me, in that quiet, assessing way of his. “You don’t think it’s strange he’s this worked up?”
I shrug again. "No. Because odds are, not a damn thing was stolen. This is a distraction from all the shit he’s doing with the Albanians.
Think about it, in the slim chance something was taken, so what?
It was inside a fucking brothel. How important could it be?
Money? Jewelry? A golden-pussy whore?” I scoff.
“None of that affects Volchya. That’s my father’s personal mess. ”
Lev slips a hand inside his jacket pocket. "I don’t know, Roman. I have a feeling it's going to become all of our business.”
“Then we’ll hear about it when he calls a meeting.” I glance down the street. “Until then, I’ve got bigger problems."
"Like what?"
"Dimitri.”
Lev lets out a loud sigh. “It’s that bad?”
“It’s not going to stop with him. What my father’s doing is just the beginning.” I gesture around us. “Look around, Lev. How many of those Albanian fucks were here ten years ago?”
“Not many," he admits.
“Exactly. Now think about the Pakhan rolling out the red carpet for them. Giving up territory. Cutting deals behind our backs.” My jaw tightens. “What’s the point of Bratva if we’ve handed everything over to them?”
"You said all this to Dimitri?”
I shake my head. “He’s pissed, sure—but he’ll fall in line. He always does. Dimitri will take whatever the Pakhan hands out to him. He’s not ready to accept what actually needs to happen.”
Lev goes quiet, piecing it together. That’s fine. If there’s one man in Volchya I trust, it’s him.
We’ve known each other since we were teenagers, him being only two years younger than me.
Lev was recruited for his talent at forgery.
If it existed on paper, Lev could replicate it so precisely, not even the Kremlin could tell the difference.
That takes patience. Precision. Not the kind of skill some loudmouth, trigger-happy idiot could ever master.
Skills aside, I trust him.
That’s why he’s my right hand. If I fall, Lev takes over. But I don’t plan on falling.