Chapter 25
VIKTOR
Clarissa answers the door instead of her housekeeper.
She's wearing an old sweater and looks tired and drawn. I almost expected her not to be home, because the Clarissa I know would be fulfilling what she believes are her social obligations. A Clarissa without makeup and in an old sweater is something I’ve never seen, even when Peter and I were married.
"Viktor?” Her voice sounds as tired as she looks.
"I need to talk to you." I don't wait for an invitation before I shoulder past her. My money pays for this penthouse, anyway.
I'm here to get an explanation from my ex-wife, to try to understand if she has anything to do with Leah's disappearance and whoever shot Iliya.
My right-hand man was barely conscious and suffering from heavy blood loss when I made it to the hospital.
So I'm here, trying to piece together this horrific puzzle, and I’m starting with people who have a reason to make Leah disappear.
For once, my ex-wife doesn't argue. Instead, she shuts the door and follows me into the living room with a view of Manhattan's snowy skyline.
"Answering the door yourself?" I ask. "Does your housekeeper have the day off? Am I paying for that, too?"
Clarissa waves away the question, rolling her eyes as she does. "Peter's frightened away another one. He thinks they're his servants and treats them badly. This is the third one I've lost in the last six months."
When Clarissa talks about our son, not a single word is critique; she's never been able to see his shortcomings. It’s an admission that stuns me for a long moment, and I watch her sink onto the couch, folding one leg under her.
Her blue eyes are red-rimmed. I don't know if I've ever seen her look quite so tired.
Even a year ago, I wouldn't have cared. I wouldn't have noticed.
If I had, my anger would have meant reveling in her evident exhaustion.
But our divorce was a long time ago. I'm a different person now.
And maybe Leah's taught me a few things, like looking past the obvious, because I find myself asking Clarissa, "Are you okay? "
Clarissa jerks, as if I'd told her I was going to stop paying alimony. "What?"
"I asked if you're okay," I repeat. "Have you been sick?"
"No." Her voice is laced with suspicion; a suspicion reflected in her eyes. She watches me like she's expecting a trick.
"I know I'm not supposed to say this to a woman," I begin, "but you look tired. Worryingly so."
"Oh, so you have a new woman in your life, and suddenly you care about everyone?" Her laugh is bitter, but it's the answer I expected. I don't reply, but remain quiet, watching her.
And then my ex-wife does something odd, something unexpected. Her shoulders slump, and her head drops for a moment as she rubs at her forehead with her palm.
"Peter." The word holds a myriad of answers. "The accident destroyed him."
"He feels guilty about Roxanne?"
"No." The word comes out on a sigh. Clarissa shakes her head. "Angry about being paralyzed. Who wouldn't be?"
"Sure."
Clarissa shrugs. "I get it; I do. He's become an absolute nightmare. He's always angry, always screaming. He's run every single nurse, physical therapist, and helper out of here. I'm the only one left. I don't know how much longer I can take it."
This is entirely unexpected: My ex-wife admitting that our son, the way she raised him, resulted in a spoiled man-child. She must surely be exhausted and at the end of her rope for her to admit this to anyone, much less to me.
"I know I’ve always thought he was perfect, and he was my life.
I tried to be his mother, to make sure he had everything he needed.
You know, I didn't have money growing up, and I wanted him to have the life I didn't. I was trying to make up for the divorce and for having you as a father. He never felt good enough. He always felt like he was in your shadow. But I see now what a monster I’ve made him.
I thought those kinds of issues would go away when you have enough money, the kind of money he had.
I mean, it certainly tricked Leah into loving him. "
I grit my teeth and swallow the comment, the backhanded insult about the woman I love. For once, we're getting somewhere.
"Then Andrei would stop by and tell Peter I was right to keep him away from you. You'd only ruin his life."
Again, I have to quiet my reply, quiet my surprise at hearing that my brother, my own brother, was not only visiting my son but actively telling him to stay away from me.
I don't understand, although something starts tingling in the back of my mind.
Something has been bothering me for a while now, but I've attributed it to the situation with Leah and my efforts to control the rebellion within my ranks.
"Did Peter keep in contact with Marius?" I ask.
"Of course. Those two were thick as thieves.
In fact, Marius was the one who introduced him to Roxanne.
I think the night of the accident, they were coming back from one of the parties he likes to throw.
Big ones, with all the DJs and the drugs.
I'm so glad you were able to cover up all the drugs and alcohol in his system after the accident. "
My ex-wife's comments surprise me, jolting the seeds of my discomfort and suspicions deeper. Clarissa might think I covered up the cause of the accident, and I won’t deny there was some alcohol in Peter's system.
But he was far from being drunk, and there had been no drugs.
The cause of the accident was clear: a hit-and-run incident.
The person that hit them had never been found, though I tried.
I stand up, brushing my slacks, trying to ignore the feeling of unease and the sparks under my skin urging me to hurry, hurry, hurry, knowing Leah and the others are in terrible danger. I pretend nothing is wrong when all I want to do is charge out of here and tear the world apart.
I don't wait for Clarissa's permission, but she doesn't complain as I stride up the stairs to my son's room.
The shouts of anger are audible when I'm still halfway down the hallway; when I open the door, Peter is playing a video game from an enormous gaming chair, screaming into the microphone of his headset as he kills things on the screen.
The room is a disaster; things are strewn everywhere, with old food and bowls lying around.
All the curtains are drawn, so it's black as night inside.
I don't look back at Clarissa, but I feel her shrink back as I take in the scene and what our son has become.
I flip on the light and stride across the room to Peter’s shout of rage. "Mom! I told you not to come in here unless I gave you permission! Turn off the light!"
I reach behind the enormous screen on the wall and yank out every single plug.
The room falls silent, the sound of gunfire ceasing instantly.
Peter blinks at me sluggishly against the bright light.
He is unwashed, his scraggly facial hair is unkempt, and he's wearing clothes that appear to have been worn for several days.
"When was the last time you showered?" I ask, my nose wrinkling against the smell in the room.
Peter has quickly gotten over his surprise at seeing me and that his game was so suddenly shut down. He glares at me, and I see the hatred in his eyes. Hatred I’ve done nothing to deserve.
"Why are you waltzing in here and pretending to care about me now? Are you trying to act like a father now? Are you looking past me to take my place?"
Clarissa gasps from the doorway; I might be Peter's father, but even she knows you don't talk to me like that.
But for once I ignore him. I'm not here for this, not today.
"Leah is missing," I state. "So is her daughter and her best friend. They're in danger. What do you know?"
"What, you think I kidnapped them myself? Like I can do anything with these useless, fucking things?" He waves at his legs, disgust curling his lips.
"I want to know what you know.” My voice drops. Most men understand that means they need to start talking, and quickly. My son is either too naive, too uninformed, or too stupid to comprehend.
"I’m not telling you a fucking thing," he spits. “Why do you even care?”
"Because someone is in danger," I growl. "Someone who used to care for you. She’s innocent in all of this, and so is her daughter and her friend."
"Like hell they are! Leah couldn’t get what she wanted out of me, so she moved on to you. She's a gold digger, and you fell for it. Now she has you by the balls because she’s having a kid. You think you're so high and mighty, but you fell right into that bitch's trap."
My son grins, a nasty expression that speaks of triumph. "She deserved it for leaving me. She went after a bigger fish because I wasn't enough for her, so she's getting exactly what she deserves, she and her bitchy friend and her whiny, little kid."
I grab Peter by the collar of his shirt so fast, I don't think he knows what’s happening.
I lift him out of his seat and throw him down on the ground.
He stays there, struggling to catch his breath and scramble to sit upright.
I use my knee to press him back against the end of his bed none too gently.
His hands scrabble at my shoe, leaving scratch marks in the soft, polished leather.
He doesn't stop until I'm cutting off some of his air.
"Do you want to try that again? "
Peter's eyes are large and frightened as he gapes up at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"What are you doing?" he gasps. "I'm your son."
"You keep telling me I'm not your father.
That I abandoned you. You keep treating me with disrespect and telling me what a terrible father I was when you never let me in.
You or your mother. All you wanted from me was my money.
So I'm going to take you up on that now, and you're going to see how I treat those who aren't family. "
I see the fear in my son's eyes. Good.
"You tell everyone you have a mob boss for a father, but you don't know what that means. Now you're going to find out."
I glance back to see Clarissa in the doorway and expect her to tell me to stop, to remind me he's my son, no matter the fact that she turned him against me and kept me out of his life.
But again to my surprise, her expression is implacable.
I see the woman who I once thought would be such a good pakhansha by my side.
I kneel, replacing my knee with my hand before Peter can move. He gasps again. My son might know who and what I am, but he has never seen this side of me. I’ve never let him see it. But he’s shown his true colors, and I’ve lost my respect for him. Now my concern is for Leah.
"You're going to tell me what I want to know, or you're going to find out exactly what I’m capable of."
"You can't do this to me! I'm your son!" Peter's voice is high and whiny, and I despise the begging tone.
I take out a knife from my pocket, and his eyes go to the blade as I flip it open.
"I don't know where she is." His voice is high, his face paling in fear.
"I have no idea. He didn't tell me where he was taking them or what he was going to do with them. "
"Who is 'he'?"
Peter whimpers as I put pressure on his chest. "Marius. Marius asked for ideas on the best way to get to Leah, to get her to trust him. I thought he was asking for you!"
"When?" I snarl, leaning even more weight on him.
"A few weeks ago? I don't remember!"
"We both know that's a lie," I snarl.
"I swear I have no idea what he's planning! I just gave him a few ideas. He doesn't want her around any more than I do! He's helping me teach her a lesson! She shouldn't have left me. He wants to get back at her for leaving me!"
The words come fast and furious, a rush of fear and confession that leaves a horribly bitter taste in my mouth.
When I stand, I turn my back to him, ignoring his whimpers.
"Mom! Aren't you going to do something? "
Clarissa stares down at our son for a long moment with a new look in her eyes: disgust. Has she finally seen what the rest of us have seen for years: the despicable human being our son has grown into?
"I'm leaving," I say, cold and furious. "I'm going to send Mendel and his men over here.
They're going to watch this house and take away his devices so he can't contact Marius or Andrei.
If either one of them tries to contact you or him, tell the guards, and they'll tell me.
You are not to leave this house until I say you can. Do you understand?"
For once, Clarissa nods and doesn't fight back. She hangs her head, looking broken. I leave them behind.
It's starting to snow when I walk outside, frozen flakes drifting down from a sky as cold and gray as my mood inside.
I feel as cold, as frozen, as those ice crystals.
I'm going to have to become even colder to handle this problem. All my suspicions have clicked into place, and I’ll have to forget my humanity to do what needs to be done. To get Leah and her family back safely.
For my new family's sake, I'm going to have to destroy my old one.
I am the monster Leah made me out to be.