Chapter 29
MARIYA
The cemetery gives me the creeps.
I've never liked these places. Too quiet and still, with rows of headstones stretching out like silent witnesses to lives that ended too soon. The grass is perfectly manicured, the paths clean and well-maintained, but there's something about walking among the dead that makes my skin crawl.
I pull my jacket tighter around myself, even though the afternoon is warm.
The note in my pocket feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and my heart pounds with each step I take deeper into the cemetery.
Behind me, at a respectful distance, Andrey and Matvey follow with two guards.
Far enough back that it looks like I'm just a woman visiting a family member's grave.
Close enough that they can reach me if something goes wrong.
Because something always seems to go wrong these days.
I scan the headstones as I walk, looking for the name I've only heard in stories.
Katya Pushkin. My father's baby sister, and the aunt I never met.
He used to tell me about her when I was younger, his voice going soft in a way it rarely did.
How she'd been his favorite sibling, how she'd moved to America to marry an American man she'd fallen in love with, and how she'd died just five years later, giving birth to a stillborn baby.
"She was brave," he'd told me once, his blue eyes distant with memory. "Braver than any of us. She chose love over duty, and she never regretted it."
I'd asked him once where she was buried, and he'd told me. A cemetery in this city, under the shade of an old oak tree. At the time, I'd thought it was just another story. Another piece of family history that didn't really matter to my life.
Now I'm hoping it's the key to reaching him.
The oak tree comes into view, massive and ancient, its branches spreading wide over a section of older graves. I move toward it, my eyes scanning the names carved into weathered stone. Most of them are faded, the letters worn smooth by decades of rain and wind.
But then I see hers. The headstone is simple, just gray granite with her name and dates. But what catches my attention are the flowers. Fresh white tulips, their petals still perfect, are arranged carefully at the base of the stone.
My breath catches in my throat. Someone's been here recently. Very recently.
I glance back at Andrey. He's standing about fifty feet away, his blue eyes fixed on me. Even from this distance, I can see the tension in his body, the way his hand rests near his hip where I know he keeps his gun. He nods once, a small gesture of encouragement.
I turn back to the grave and kneel in the grass.
My hands are shaking as I pull the note from my pocket.
Andrey helped me write it, mostly in code that would look like gibberish to anyone who didn't know what to look for.
I hadn't wanted to do it that way, hadn't wanted my father to know I was working with the Bratva now, with the very people he'd testified against.
But then, he knows I married Andrey. There's no point in pretending otherwise.
The note is brief, just a few lines asking him to meet me to talk. To explain what the hell is going on and why he's hiding while not letting me know he's okay—until now.
I look around carefully, making sure no one else is watching. An elderly woman tends a grave several rows over, but she's not paying attention to me. A groundskeeper works near the entrance, too far away to see what I'm doing.
Slowly, carefully, I reach forward and tuck the note under and behind the white tulips. The stems are still damp, like they were placed here this morning. Maybe even within the last hour.
As I'm pulling my hand back, my fingers brush against something cold. Something metal.
I freeze, my heart slamming against my ribs. Slowly, I move the tulips aside and see it.
A necklace. My mother's necklace.
The one with the small sapphire pendant that she wore every day until she died. The one my father had buried with her because he couldn't bear to see it on anyone else. The one I thought was gone forever, six feet under in a cemetery in Russia.
But here it is, lying in the grass beside my aunt's headstone. Waiting for me.
My vision blurs with tears, and I have to blink them away as I pick up the necklace. The chain is delicate, the sapphire catching the light as it dangles from my fingers. It's real. It's her necklace. I'd know it anywhere.
My father was here. He left this for me. He wanted me to know he's watching, that he's close, and that he remembers.
I clutch the necklace to my chest, and for a moment, I can't breathe. This small piece of my mother, this proof that he hasn't forgotten me.
I slip the necklace into my pocket and stand on shaking legs. The note is hidden behind the tulips, and the necklace is safe with me. Now all I can do is wait and hope he finds the message. Hope he responds.
I walk back to where Andrey is waiting, and his eyes immediately go to my face. He sees something there, something that makes him step closer.
"You found something," he says quietly.
I nod, not trusting my voice. He doesn't push, doesn't demand to know what, just places his hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the SUV.
The drive back to the estate is quiet. I stare out the window, my hand in my pocket, my fingers wrapped around the necklace. Andrey's hand rests on my thigh, warm and solid, and I find myself leaning into the touch, needing the connection, the reminder that I'm not alone anymore.
When we arrive, Matvey is already gathering men in Andrey's office. I follow them inside, and no one questions my presence. I'm the Pakhan’s wife now. I have a right to be here, to know what's being planned.
The office is crowded with bodies. Matvey stands by the window, his massive frame blocking most of the light. Three captains sit in chairs arranged in front of Andrey's desk, their faces grim. Two more guards stand by the door, weapons visible at their hips.
Andrey moves behind his desk, and I take the chair beside it. Close enough to be part of the conversation, but not in the way.
"The new family," Andrey says without preamble. "What do we know?"
One of the captains, a man with a scar running down his jaw, speaks first. "The Gusev family. Moved here from Moscow about three months ago. Led by their Pakhan, Anatoly Gusev. He's got maybe twenty men, all of them experienced."
"That's all we could find," another captain remarks.
Andrey frowns. "I won't lie, it fucking pisses me off that we don't have more information, but we'll get it soon. Gusev isn't exactly being quiet while trying to make a name for himself."
The meeting continues for another hour, with the men discussing tactics and logistics. When it finally breaks up, the men file out of the office, leaving just Andrey, Matvey, and me. Matvey gives me a long look, something that might be approval in his dark eyes, then follows the others out.
The door closes, and suddenly, the office feels too quiet. Too intimate.
Andrey stands and moves around the desk, stopping in front of me. His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I lean into his touch, needing the contact. "It's just a lot."
"I know." He pulls me to my feet and into his arms, and I go willingly.
His body is solid against mine, warm and alive, and I press my face against his chest, breathing in his scent.
"But we're going to end this. We're going to find your father, get the answers we need, and eliminate anyone who threatens you. "
I pull back enough to look up at him. "What if we can't find him? What if he doesn't respond to the note?"
"Then we keep looking." His voice is firm, certain. "We don't stop until we have answers."
I nod, wanting to believe him. Wanting to trust that this will all work out somehow.
That night, Andrey takes me to bed with a gentleness that surprises me. His hands are careful as he undresses me, his mouth soft as it trails across my skin. He makes love to me slowly, thoroughly, like he's trying to memorize every inch of my body. Like he's afraid this might be the last time.
When we're both spent and tangled together in the sheets, he pulls me close, his arm wrapped around my waist. I can feel his heart beating against my back, steady and strong.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he murmurs against my hair. "I promise."
I want to believe him. But I've learned the hard way that some promises can't be kept, no matter how hard a person wants to keep them.
I lie awake long after his breathing evens out, staring at the ceiling and thinking. An idea forms in my mind. Dangerous and reckless, but possibly the only way to end this quickly.
In the morning, I wait until Andrey is in his office with Matvey, then I walk in without knocking, my decision made. Both men look up as I enter, and I see Andrey's expression shift from surprise to concern.
"What is it?" he asks.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the argument I know is coming. "I want to help with drawing out the Gusevs."
"Absolutely not." His voice is flat, final.
"Hear me out." I move closer to the desk, my hands clenched at my sides. "The Gusev family wants me. They put up the bounty, so let's give them what they want."
Andrey stands, his jaw tight. "Have you lost your mind?"
"No. I'm suggesting that I be the bait."