KIRA
When Sonya came to me with a pair of black slacks and a sweater, and a fresh change of panties, I felt like someone was trying to manipulate me. But I have to admit after two days of wearing the same clothing, I felt like I was sitting in my own filth.
Now I feel fresher, though the clothes are slightly large and a bit baggy.
And all of this is really confusing. I'm not being treated like a prisoner, true to Timur's word.
But the twenty-four hours he promised me it would take have now stretched to more than thirty-six hours and I'm starting to get the feeling he's never going to let me go, no matter how nice he seems.
I'm just glad the gunman isn't around. He scares me, and I'd rather not see his face ever again. I'm finally starting to be able to close my eyes without seeing my cousin’s blood-covered face.
The room is starting to feel too small, and I'm not claustrophobic by any means, but I do feel trapped. It doesn't help that today was a gloomy, rainy day, so the natural light was minimal. And still the guard stood outside that window like a fucking gargoyle planted there just to scare me.
When someone knocks on the door, it startles me, and I turn thinking maybe this time, it'll be Timur and he will give me some sort of update about when I can go home.
But the door swings open to reveal a new guard I've never seen before. He clears his throat and says, "Ms... Uh, er... Kira—" His head dips and he gestures behind himself. "Mr. Kuzin would like you to join him for dinner, please."
I pause for a moment, not sure how to take this dinner invitation.
Sonya gave me donuts for breakfast and a sandwich for lunch.
But the bread was dry and there was no mayo.
It was barely edible, unlike the sandwich Timur left in here the other night, which I gladly devoured upon waking up to pee around four a.m. My belly rumbles and I figure if he's inviting me, maybe it's my chance to talk to him and see what he's figured out.
So I follow the guard out the door and back up the hallway toward the living room. I see Timur seated on the other side of the island at a small dining table. He looks up as I approach and nods at his guard, then gestures across from himself.
"How's your head?" he asks, taking his seat again.
"It hurts." I sit down, absently touching the cut on my head because he mentioned it. It's bruised to the bone but it's scabbed over. Every time I have a strong facial expression, I'm reminded it's there because the scab pulls.
"Sonya can get you something more for the pain if you need it."
"No, it's okay..." I look at the plate in front of me.
Roasted chicken, vegetables, some kind of grain.
It makes my mouth water and my stomach growl, so I pick up the fork and dig in.
The first bite is heavenly, melting on my tongue with just the right savory tang.
The whole setup of this meal is putting me at ease.
Which makes me feel on edge again right away.
Is that what he's doing? He's trying to make me feel at ease so I trust him and tell him what I know? But I don’t know anything, and right now, neither does he.
"I've been trying to figure out what to do with you," he says quietly as he sips his glass of wine.
There it is. The answer I've been hoping he'd give me isn’t at all what I thought it could be.
If he's still trying to figure me out, it means I'm alive because he wants more intel.
I'm not just a stupid woman. I may have had a subdued reaction to being dragged here, but the whole point of controlling myself was to put my captors on edge.
It's what Uncle Victor taught me and apparently, it worked.
"That's a scary sentence," I tell him. He doesn’t even know what to think about me, either.
"It's not meant to be."
"Try sitting in my place..." I shrug and stare at the plate, pushing the potatoes around with my fork. "If you haven't decided what to do, it means I could still end up dead.”
He sets his fork down and leans back. "You're right.
That was a poor way to say it." He rubs the back of his neck, and I notice the bags under his eyes are darker than they were last night.
"What I mean is that your being here creates a problem for my family.
You've seen faces. You've been inside my home.
If I let you go and you talk to the wrong person, people I care about end up in prison or worse. "
My appetite is waning, though probably only because of anxiety. I can't figure out why he doesn't just kill me. The things I've heard about Kuzin men being so ruthless must either be lies or someone was severely mistaken about them. Timur doesn't seem like a monster, but maybe he's biding his time.
If that's the case, I need to give him more reasons to be doubtful and keep trying to "figure" me out.
"You're keeping me alive for a reason, right?
So what do you want to know?" I have to do this delicately and I have to make it look like I'm being one hundred percent truthful.
The entire point is to delay any action on their part to give my uncle time to send someone to get me out of here.
Too obvious of a lie and they'll just kill me.
Too much truth and they may think I'm a threat.
Timur resumes eating, poking a piece of chicken with his fork and planting it in his mouth.
He watches me as he chews carefully, so I act casual and keep eating.
At this point, I'm forcing myself to take bites, but I feel like the tiny shiver in my hands may give me away.
When he swallows and washes it down with another gulp of wine, I wish I had the alcohol tolerance to do the same.
I could really use something to take the edge off.
"Why were you in that building, Kira?" So he doesn't start with my full name, which is good. It's better if he comes to the understanding on his own rather than my directly lying. I'm a bad liar, but I've learned now to do it in moderation as needed.
Staying as close to the facts as possible makes the lie most believable, so I tell him the truth.
"Running numbers for Victor Mirov... It's my job.
" I got my accounting degree and my father decided I'd be useful.
Plus, nowhere else would give an accountant just starting out the sort of salary they pay me, so it was a win-win.
"I see," he says, scowling. "You enjoy working for him?"
"He's a ruthless son of a bitch," I say plainly, and then I look him dead in the eye. "And he's dirty, I'll tell you that."
Timur’s eyebrows peak in the center of his forehead like he's shocked. He wasn't expecting that answer at all. "Dirty how?"
I chuckle and put my fork down, reaching for the wine. But I can only sip to his gulps. I won't let myself get out of control. "He launders money through his businesses and that money comes from his illegal fight ring. Do you not know who Victor Mirov is?"
Now it's starting to get interesting. I guess I'm better at this than I thought. Timur is eating it up. His forehead creases as he takes another bite and chews. That seems to be his tell. When he has to think about his response, he busies himself so he doesn’t look foolish.
"I know Mirov well... What I don't know is how you know him."
I knew that was coming, and I know how to play this.
"I started working for him a few months ago...
I'm gathering information for my father...
" I avoid his eyes this time, like I’m ashamed or feeling guilty.
The key to selling this ruse will be to convince him that someone in the Belova family is gathering intel from the Mirovs behind Kuzin's back.
If that were really happening, I'd be ashamed of what I'm doing, not proud of it.
And I'd want to hide it as long as possible so my ally didn't get butthurt.
I hold my breath, biting the tip of my tongue in hopes that he buys it and when he leans forward, resting his arms on the edge of the table, I know I've at least got him hooked.
"Your father's name?" he asks.
"Nikolai." The fewer details I give him, the better.
I'm making him draw them out, and it's getting trickier by the minute.
The only other Belova name I know is Nikolai and the only reason I know it is because I heard a tragic story of how his wife passed and his daughter fell ill.
It's believable to a point, but if he looks too deeply...
"Nikolai what?" Timur leans in, narrowing his eyes as I lift my chin proudly now. I meet his gaze and harden my expression.
"Nikolai Aleksandrovich Sokolov-Belova...
" I'm scared shitless right now, praying he doesn't know the man and his daughter personally.
But this is a brand-new alliance for him, and I'm throwing caution to the wind that the real Nikolai is so reclusive after his wife's death that no one has seen him for a long time.
My lip quivers, giving me away, but I think Timur reads it as nerves about who I am, not lies.
"And your mother?"
"She passed away," I say, letting my head droop. I almost press my hand to my forehead and then my chest, but I stop myself. I'm not sure if the Belovas are religious, but it feels like a sacrilege to tell this man my mother is dead. God have mercy on my soul.
Timur picks up his glass of water and drinks from it, buying himself time to think again.
I can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes.
He wants to believe me because it would make this easier.
If I'm a Belova, then the path forward is clear.
You apologize, you make amends, and you send me home with a gift and a promise that nothing like this will ever happen again.
It's diplomacy, and from what I've gathered about this man, diplomacy is what he prefers to violence.
But he's not stupid. I can see that too.
"If you're a Belova, what were you doing in Mirov territory?"