Chapter 7 #2
"Yes." It still hurts to talk, but not as much as this morning.
He reaches into the bag, pulling out a plastic container. "I got you some food.” He gives me a pointed look and says, “Russian food,” as if I was expecting anything else. “It’s solyanka, sweet and sour beef with potatoes."
My lips part, rounding in surprise, before I can stop myself. I honestly wasn’t expecting him to bring food home for me. I think he notices because the corner of his mouth twitches, ever so slightly.
“Still worried about poison?”
I shake my head. “It smells good. Thanks.”
He sets the food in front of me then reaches into another bag and pulls out a stack of books, placing them beside the container.
"They’re all English.”
I stare in awe, unable to hide my surprise, or the sudden rush of happiness.
Books. Actual books that’ll help me not die of boredom.
I reach for the one on top. There’s a teenage boy on the cover, in mid-run, glancing over his shoulder like someone’s chasing him.
The cover is creased like it’s been read before.
“You read this?”
He shakes his head. “It was my mother’s. She probably she read a lot when she was younger.”
Oh. Right. Grigori had mentioned Roman’s mother was Australian.
“Your English?”
“Yes.” His tone hardens. “She spoke to me in English. No more questions.”
He sits across from me, which I’m now getting used to. I wish he’d tell me something, anything, about what happened today. Like, is his maniac father still searching for me.
I reach for the notepad and pen. My voice is healing, but I don’t want to strain it.
Did you do damage control?
He reads it then answers without hesitation. “I didn’t do much damage control. It’s not the right time. I met with a friend and carried on my business as usual.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. My comment did get to him. Does everyone know?
“Not yet. It’s all rumors for now. No one knows why the Pakhan is losing his mind and he won’t explain it. He has too much to lose if he tells the truth about you.”
He runs a hand along his jaw, looking straight at me. “Nala, I can’t wait any longer. I need you to start reading some people for me.”
My stomach tightens as he reaches into his jacket, pulling out several objects, laying them between us. A pen, a lighter, and a pocketknife.
"The other three brigadiers,” he says. “I need more men behind me for what I’m planning. I have to be careful who I trust. I won’t approach anyone unless I’m certain nothing gets back to the Pakhan.”
He nudges the pen toward me. "Start with Dimitri. He has the most men working under him. He’s frustrated but scared. I want to know how much pressure it’ll take before he’s willing to commit to new management.”
I stare at the objects then glance up at him. “How did you—”
His lips curl into a lazy, knowing smile. "I have my ways."
I lower my head, weirded out by the fact that I like his smile.
Your father never got anything of yours for me to read. He only had that picture I told you about.
Roman shrugs. "I'm not surprised. He knows I would’ve noticed. He’s extremely irrational when it comes to me. He thinks I should be much lower in rank, but he can’t do anything about it without losing money and support. He’s worried I’m a better and worse version of himself.”
‘Are you?” I ask softly.
“A better or worse version” He studies me. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
Better.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m not scared of you. Anymore.”
A look of genuine surprise crosses his features, then it’s gone. I don’t know why I told him that. It was only the truth. Somehow, knowing everything I do about him, he doesn’t terrify me. Maybe that means something’s wrong with me. Or he’ll prove me wrong.
“Alright,” he says, pointing to the food. “Eat. We’ll do it after.”
I eat. The food he brought home tastes delicious, reminding me of the meals I used to eat when I had a normal life. He doesn’t watch me this time, instead he disappears into his room, showers and comes back changed into sweatpants almost like mine and a t-shirt.
I try not to wonder what he looks like without a shirt on. I don’t know why I care, and I don’t think I’m supposed to wonder that about him. I also don’t think he’d like knowing I did.
I keep my eyes on my drink, finishing it quickly to pick up the pen he left on the table.
I feel him watching me as I close my eyes, making me nervous, but not in a scared way. In a different way, I can’t fully describe, where my stomach feels fluttery instead of tight and queasy.
I take a deep breath, welcoming the surge of images. They’re blurry at first, which is normal. Soon the faces begin to take shape, the voices grow louder, weaving into my mind until everything fuses together.
Dimitri’s in a bedroom. A woman lies on the bed, bored. Scrolling through her phone. She’s waiting for him to finish talking so she can go shopping. He won’t stop pacing. He’s ranting. Cursing. His face is red with rage. Going out is the last thing on his mind.
He wishes he could put a bag over Grigori Ivanov’s head and watch him gasp for his last breath.
The woman, his wife, tells him to calm down.
Says maybe the Pakhan will reverse things.
Dimitri gets angrier. He knows that won’t happen.
He can’t keep losing territory and money. The humiliation is killing him.
I open my eyes and write everything down, hoping it’s enough to satisfy Roman. He reads it but says nothing. There’s no reaction, except to gesture at the pocketknife beside the pen. “Do this one next. This time, you tell me who the knife belongs to.”
I narrow my eyes and write: You don’t believe me?
“I never said that.” He slides the knife toward me. “Read him and give me his name. Don’t question me.”
I take the knife, run my fingers along the handle, then close my fist around it. The images fall into place faster this time.
A soldier in prison.
Yuri Kotov.
He was in prison for nearly beating a man to death. He’s loyal to Grigori Ivanov because Grigori got him out. He hates what Grigori is doing now. The bad decision, weakness, the changes. But loyalty comes first. Always will.
I open my eyes and tell Roman everything, including the name.
“Yeah,” he says, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “That’s him.”
“Next one.”
I take the lighter and this time the clarity takes longer to come but when it does it’s fast and unmistakable. This reading is short but clear.
I see Alexei. He respects Roman and watches his brigade. He tries to keep his own men as disciplined and tight as Roman’s
I report it the same way I reported the others. Roman re-reads the notes I wrote, completely focused on them, while a dull ache begins to form behind my eyes. It’s from reading three people back-to-back. It’s draining and painful.
I clear my throat, forcing my voice to work. “Upset about Yuri?”
He blinks, surprised by the question. “Not upset. It would be easier if he was on my side.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t need his help.”
“Aren't you worried your father will find out what you're planning?”
“I am.”
“But…”
"I don't have a choice.” He rakes a hand through his damp hair. “He's destroying Volchya. You know it too." His eyes turn cold and calculating. “I wish I could’ve killed him years ago."
His finger rests on the paper with Yuri’s name on it, like he’s already decided what to do. My head is pounding now, harder than usual. It’s almost as if my brain is punishing me for doing this.
“Roman?”
He looks up, frowning when he notices my fingers pressed to my temple. "You’re in pain?”
I nod. “It’s my head. Three readings make it hurt.”
He’s out of his chair in an instant, returning seconds later with a glass of water and two pills. “Ibuprofen,” he says. “Go rest. We’ll continue tomorrow.”
I take them, drink the water and make it halfway to my room before I stop and glance over my shoulder. Roman’s still at the table, his body taut and his expression dark. I can almost see the pieces in his head moving.
He’s plotting murder.
None of this is normal. Nothing about this situation should feel calm or safe. I'm helping him build a list of allies so he can overthrow and kill his own father, and take control of one of the most powerful criminal organizations in Russia.
And somehow… I feel completely at ease.