40. Marla
MARLA
The cold air hits my face the moment I step outside, sharp enough to make my eyes water. I don't have a coat, and the temperature has dropped significantly since sunset. My breath comes out in visible puffs as I move quickly down the front steps.
I don't have a plan. I just know I can't sit inside anymore doing nothing while Sharon is missing because of me. The guilt is suffocating, pressing down on my chest until I can barely breathe. I need to do something, anything, even if it's stupid.
The driveway stretches ahead of me, illuminated by security lights positioned at intervals along the fence line. The main gate is maybe two hundred yards away. I can see the guard station from here, a small structure with lights on inside. If I can just get past the gate, I can figure out the rest.
"Going somewhere?"
I freeze, my heart lurching into my throat.
The voice comes from behind me, calm and accented.
I turn slowly to find Ekaterina standing on the porch in a thick robe, her arms crossed over her chest. Her long blonde and gray hair is loose around her shoulders, and her dark eyes watch me with a mixture of amusement, curiosity, and understanding.
"I just needed some air," I say, the lie sounding weak even to my own ears.
"Air is one thing. Walking toward the gate in the middle of the night without a coat is another." She descends the steps slowly, her slippers making soft sounds against the wood. "Come back inside before you freeze."
"I can't just sit there doing nothing," I say, my voice cracking. "Sharon is missing because of me. I need to help find her."
"And how exactly do you plan to do that?" Ekaterina asks, her tone gentle but firm. "You don't know where she is or if someone took her. Walking out into the night alone will only give my son and his friends another person to worry about."
The truth of her words hits me hard. She's right. I have no idea where Sharon is or how to find her. All I'd accomplish by leaving is making things worse.
"I feel so useless," I whisper.
"I know." Ekaterina moves closer and places a hand on my arm. Her touch is warm despite the cold. "But freezing to death in the driveway won't help your friend. Come inside. I'll make tea."
I want to argue, but the exhaustion and guilt are overwhelming. I let her guide me back toward the house, feeling embarrassed and defeated. The warmth inside is almost painful after the cold outside, making my fingers and face tingle.
Ekaterina leads me into the kitchen and gestures toward the small table. "Sit."
I sit, wrapping my arms around myself. The kitchen is cozy despite everything, with warm lighting and the lingering smell of the dinner she cooked earlier.
Ekaterina moves around the space, filling a kettle with water and setting it on the stove.
She pulls two mugs from the cabinet, along with a small wooden box containing various tea bags.
"Chamomile or black tea?" she asks.
"Chamomile, please."
She nods and prepares both mugs while the water heats. The silence between us isn't uncomfortable, but it's heavy with unspoken things. I watch her move, noticing the way she carries herself with quiet confidence. She's small, but there's strength in her posture that reminds me of Russ.
Does she know what her son is? Does she know that he's a mafia boss? I mentally shake my head. She must know.
When the kettle whistles, she pours the hot water over the tea bags and brings both mugs to the table. She sits across from me, wrapping her hands around her mug. Steam rises between us, carrying the soothing scent of chamomile.
"How long have you known my son?" she asks after a moment.
The question catches me off guard. "A few weeks. Not long."
"And yet here you are, living in the house he built for me, surrounded by armed guards, and worried about a missing friend." Her dark eyes study me carefully. "That's quite a lot to happen in a few weeks."
I don't know how to respond to that, so I take a sip of tea instead. It's hot and slightly sweet, exactly what I need.
"I moved in today because I sensed something had changed with Rustik," Ekaterina continues. "He's been distracted lately. Restless. More protective than usual, which is saying something." She pauses, her gaze never leaving my face. "I came to investigate what—or who—had destabilized my son."
My stomach twists with anxiety. "I didn't mean to cause problems."
"I didn't say you caused problems." She takes a slow sip of her tea. "Rustik has spent years keeping everyone at arm's length. He's charming and friendly on the surface, but he never lets anyone truly close. Not since his father died."
I don't know what to say to that, so I stay quiet.
"But lately, he's been different," Ekaterina says. "Distracted during visits. Checking his phone constantly. Leaving early or arriving late. And then today, when I arrived, I saw the way he looked at you." She sets down her mug. "How do you feel about my son, Marla?"
The question hits me with such surprise I almost drop my teacup. I open my mouth, then close it again. No one has ever asked me how I feel about anything. Foster care didn't include conversations about emotions or feelings. You survived, you followed the rules, and you didn't make waves.
"I don't know," I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes, you do." Ekaterina's tone is gentle but insistent. "You're just not ready to admit anything, even to yourself."
She's right, and the realization makes my chest ache. I stare down at my tea, watching the steam rise and dissipate. "It's complicated."
"Love usually is."
"I didn't say anything about love," I say quickly.
"You didn't have to." Ekaterina leans back in her chair, studying me with those sharp dark eyes.
"I've been watching all day. I see the way Rustik touches you, like he needs to reassure himself you're real.
I see the way Alexsey looks at you when he thinks no one is watching.
And Nikita, he's the most controlled man I've ever met, but even he softens around you. "
My face burns with embarrassment. "You figured it out."
"That you're involved with all three of them? Yes." She doesn't sound shocked or judgmental, just matter-of-fact. "It's unusual, but not unheard of."
"This wasn't supposed to happen," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
"I was just doing research for a book. One-night stands, nothing serious.
" When she gives me a strange look with raised eyebrows, my face flames with heat.
"I'm a writer. Mostly blogs for clients.
I wanted to try my hand at romance, but I don't have a lot of experience with relationships. "
"And you thought one-night stands would give you that?" she asks doubtfully.
I blush again. "It was my friend Sharon's idea, but I went along with it. I'd never done anything like that before, but told myself it was just research. But then everything got complicated, and now Sharon is missing, and I'm trapped here, and I don't know what I'm doing anymore."
"You're surviving," Ekaterina says simply. "Just like you always have."
The words hit something deep inside me. I look up at her, surprised.
"You think I don't recognize someone who's learned to survive on their own?
" She reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers.
"I see it in the way you hold yourself. The way you watch everyone carefully, always assessing threats.
You've been taking care of yourself for a long time, haven't you? "
My throat tightens. "Pretty much my entire life."
"Foster care?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"That explains a lot." Ekaterina squeezes my hand gently. "You're not used to being protected. You're not used to people caring about your safety or your feelings. So when three dangerous men suddenly decide you're worth protecting, it terrifies you."
"Yes," I whisper. "It terrifies me."
"Because you think if you let yourself feel safe, something will happen to take it away."
The accuracy of her observation brings tears to my eyes. This woman sees way too much! "Everything always gets taken away."
"Not always," Ekaterina says quietly. "Sometimes, if you're very lucky, you find people who stay. People who fight for you instead of abandoning you."
"But what if I'm not lucky?" The question comes out broken and raw. "What if this all falls apart? What if Sharon doesn't come back? What if Zach finds me? What if the guys realize I'm not worth all this trouble?"
"Then you survive that too." Ekaterina's voice is firm now. "But you don't run away before it happens. You don't sabotage the first good thing you've found in years just because you're scared."
I stare at her, my vision blurring with unshed tears. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to let people in."
"You're already doing it." She gestures around the kitchen. "You're here, aren't you? Living in this house, letting three men protect you, worrying about your friend. And opening up with me. That's letting people in, Marla. It's messy and terrifying, but you're doing it."
A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away quickly, embarrassed. "I feel so weak."
"Being loved by difficult men does not make you weak," Ekaterina says, her voice carrying absolute certainty. "It makes you brave. Because loving them back, trusting them with your safety and your heart, that takes more courage than running away ever could."
The words settle over me like a blanket, warm and heavy. I realize I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face as something inside me finally breaks open. Ekaterina doesn't tell me to stop or look away. She just sits there, holding my hand, letting me fall apart in her kitchen.
"I'm scared," I admit through the tears. "I'm so fucking scared."
"I know." Her thumb rubs gentle circles on the back of my hand. "But you're not alone anymore. That's what you need to remember. You're not alone."
We sit there for a long time, drinking tea and talking about nothing and everything. Ekaterina tells me stories about Russ as a child, about his father and the life she's lived. I find myself opening up in ways I never have before, sharing pieces of my past I usually keep locked away.
By the time we finally head to bed, the sky outside is starting to lighten with the first hints of dawn. I'm exhausted but somehow lighter, like something heavy has been lifted from my chest. I fall asleep almost immediately, Ekaterina's words echoing in my mind. You're not alone anymore.
The sound of vehicles pulling up outside wakes me. I sit up quickly, my heart racing. Sunlight streams through the window, telling me it's late morning. I must have slept for hours.
I throw on clothes and rush to the living room. Through the window, I see three black SUVs parked in the driveway. Nick, Alex, and Russ are climbing out, all three looking exhausted and dangerous. Their clothes are rumpled, their expressions hard. There's dried blood on Russ's knuckles.
The front door opens and all three men enter. The atmosphere is thick with tension and barely controlled violence. Nick's green eyes are cold and flat. Alex's jaw is tight. Russ looks like he's been through hell.
They see me standing there, and something in their expressions shifts slightly. Not softening, exactly. Or maybe it is. Russ's mom said their expressions change around me, and she's known them for years.
Russ walks slowly toward me. His light eyes are bloodshot, his blond hair disheveled. When he speaks, his voice is quiet.
"We found Sharon."