Chapter 28
NATALIA
Stinging ass and soreness between my legs notwithstanding, I can’t look at Leks without feeling guilty. I need to do something to help him, to reverse the damage I’ve caused, or else I’ll spend the rest of my life feeling like a criminal on the stand whenever my husband glances in my direction.
While he dishes out scrambled eggs, I make my suggestion, my heart in my mouth.
“Leks, I need to make it up to you. I feel indebted.”
A lazy smirk falls over his face and his gaze turns heated for a second. “I can think of a few different ways you could repay a debt to me if you feel like yesterday wasn’t enough.”
It’s first thing in the morning, so it takes a few beats of him mentally undressing me before I realize where his mind has gone.
“No! I mean… I have useful skills.”
“Oh, I know.” He lets out a filthy chuckle, his eyes flashing with amusement.
I shove my elbow into his side only for his torso to respond with absolutely no give. I really need to stop doing that. I’m pretty sure I’m only hurting myself.
“Actually useful,” I specify. “In a non-sexual manner.”
He raises an eyebrow as if he thinks that sex does make me actually useful to him, but shrugs his shoulders with a sigh, rocking back in his chair and eyeing me coolly.
“Last time I gave you a job, you used it to spy on me.”
“Yes, but this time, I won’t.” It sounds like a weak denial even to my ears. “I promise. You know I feel awful. Send guards to keep an eye on me.”
He makes a face at that. Since that day in the break-room, he hasn’t exactly been enthused about me spending time with anyone of his men other than Yuri — and even then, I’ve noticed Yuri no longer calls me “darlin’” the way he used to.
I expect Leks to tell me that it’s ridiculous to expect his trust after what I’d done. And to mock the idea that I could help him, even when he barely blinked an eye at kidnapping the curator from the Met to assess the art.
“You are good with the paintings,” he says, chewing thoughtfully. It’s ridiculous how much the simple acknowledgement made my heart sing.
“And the sculptures,” I add in a tone that I hope is persuasive.
He swallows a gulp of orange juice then turns to me with a heavy stare.
“You have to know, zolotse, that every forgery you find will be used as a mark against your father. We’re taking this evidence to the Pakhan with every intention of taking your father’s seat and proving that we’re safer hands for the art and the entire port district. Sooner, rather than later.”
I look down at the food on my plate. I know that Leks and Yuri think my papa is profiting from the forged art.
Yet I struggle to wrap my head around the idea that the quiet, meticulous man I’ve lived with my entire life, who taught me how to treat the artworks with respect and reverence, would do that.
I shake my doubts away and nod.
“I don’t care,” I lie. I do care, but I can overcome that if it will help Leks and Yuri. And if it turns out my father is doing something wrong with the art, I want to be the one to find out about it.
Leks narrows his eyes. It still unnerves me, the way he can see through my skull like it’s transparent. “You don’t care about a plan that will turn your precious family name to mud?” His voice drips with sarcasm.
“Fine. I do care, but I’ll still do it.”
He gives a nod. “As long as that’s something you can handle.”
“I can,” I say, taking a bite of toast and getting ready to go.
He lets out a throaty laugh at how excited I am to see the paintings. It’s not exactly a hot job in the Bratva, apparently.
He tosses me a key and a notebook with codes.
“Vault one is all yours.”
I bring Dasha with me, to keep me company. She purrs at the sight of the paintings all lined up in their sliding panels, like she’s missed them too.
“Feels like home,” I comment to her.
This is all I’ve wanted for the longest time. Peace. Quiet. Space to analyze these paintings for as long as I want.
At first, it is perfection. It’s silly, how seeing the paintings lifts my mood.
The littlest details are an escape. Brush strokes, colors, textures and subtle shimmers of light. They all take me deep into a tunnel that’s far away from the world.
Leks has tasked me with reviewing all of the inventory in the secure vaults at the docks.
Hundreds of paintings, some of which I haven’t seen in years, since I was a child.
The paintings are calming and familiar and remind me that while everything might have changed with my family, some things have stayed the same. Some things are still true.
I know this job is important to Leks, too.
He’s trying to catch my father using a forged painting instead of the real thing and flag it with the Pakhan, Viktor Zakharov. If news got out that some paintings were forged, it could destroy entire networks of deals and put people’s lives at risk.
The theory they have at the moment is that my father is mixing up the real paintings with the forgeries, allowing him to double-dip without acquiring any new assets.
Unravelling the lies all depends on these vaults which have been filled to the brim with art for years.
They’re heavily guarded, of course — Leks and Yuri both started out as some of the surly-faced, deadly guards surrounding the vaults.
The Pakhan won’t be able to ignore it, not when they have this much proof. The Council would put him in exile, at the very least, leaving Leks free to take my family’s seat.
I thought Leks might be exaggerating about the paintings.
After spending a morning in the vault, I’m worried he’s not, and that’s even worse. If the real artworks are missing, I might never see them again in my life.
Last time I looked at these paintings, twenty-five of the paintings — exactly half of the vault — were forgeries. The rest were real.
Now, I can only find one real painting in the entire vault.
Even at a glance, I can see several obvious defects. I chew my lip. These are paintings that I’ve seen before, that I know were authentic when I last saw them. How have they been replaced by fakes so quickly?
When I check the time, it’s only been two hours. I’m surprised to find myself restless. I used to be able to do this for hours on end.
This was all that would fill my days, that I would look forward to every morning.
But somehow, it feels like something is missing. Even after a few hours away from him, doing what I love, I want to see Leks.