Oleg clenches his jaw. “Do you have any idea what Vladimir is capable of?”
He’s ignored two of Vladimir’s calls already, saying that he was in public places and couldn’t speak, but Vladimir expects him to call back and soon. He’ll want a report on what the fuck went wrong this time.
“I do, as a matter of fact,” Bes says, his tone dry. “If you don’t want the throats of your lovely family slit, I suggest you go back to your breakfast like your wife ordered, and let me get on with my job.”
Oleg glances around, acid pushing up into his throat as he searches the faces of the tourists. The motherfucking assassin is watching him? Oleg is the one paying Bes. He’s in charge. How dare that lowlife Russian sniper spy on him like he’s the goddamn target?
“Have I made myself clear enough for you?” Bes asks.
“I’m the one paying you,” Oleg says, fighting to keep the fear from his tone.
“Yes,” Bes drawls. “But there’s always someone willing to up the price.”
Oleg grips the rail hard. “Listen to me, you lousy—”
“I’d be careful with the insults if I were you. I’m sure Volkov will pay handsomely to know who ordered the hit on him.”
Oleg goes cold in the heat of the day. How the fuck did this happen? How did the power switch from him to the man he hired? Bes is a rat, a lowlife, a dirty son-of-a-bitch traitor. If Vladimir finds out Bes is threatening to sell them out, he—Oleg—is dead. Hiring an unreliable cleaner isn’t something Vladimir will let go unpunished.
“What do you want?” Oleg bites out.
“Evidence.”
Oleg drags the handkerchief over his face. “Evidence of what?”
“Evidence of the crime you and Vladimir Stefanov committed.”
Oleg freezes with his hand in midair. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
Impossible. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bes laughs again. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Listen here, you—” Oleg swallows the insult, remembering Bes’s threat. “You know how the business works. Vladimir and I collaborated on many things.”
“I’m talking about the reason you want Volkov dead.”
Oleg tightens his fingers around the phone to prevent them from trembling. “How did you find out?”
“A man like me has his ways.”
“Tell me,” Oleg says, spittle flying from his mouth.
“It doesn’t matter. All you need to worry about is delivering the evidence of Stefanov’s culpability.”
Oleg is all but shaking in his shoes. He can’t believe his ears. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I never joke, Oleg. You should know that about me by now.”
“Do you have any fucking idea what Vladimir will do to you if he finds out? To me?”
“What do you care about what happens to me?” Bes asks. “With regards to you, Stefanov will never find out. He’ll be out of the picture before he has a chance to try.”
“You want to bring Vladimir down?” Oleg casts a glance at his family and waves at his frowning wife again. “Why?”
“Stop asking questions that don’t matter.”
It fucking matters, because if Vladimir goes down, so does he. Oleg swallows. “Who’s paying you for the information?”
“Don’t worry,” Bes says. “I’ll keep your name out of it. Give me what I want, and you can continue your wine tour with your perfect family.”
Oleg feels like he may be sick. “What about Alex Volkov?”
“You uphold your end of the bargain, and I’ll uphold mine. Deliver the information, and I’ll deliver Volkov’s head on a platter.”
The line goes dead.
Lowering the phone, Oleg stares at the screen. He’s shaking with fury. How dare that assassin threaten his family? He’ll skin him alive. The only reason he’s not retaliating right now is because he can’t let Vladimir find out that Bes knows the truth. If Oleg kills Bes, he’ll have a hard time explaining it to Vladimir. Vladimir is a highly intelligent and intuitive man. He’ll see straight through a lie. Besides, hunting down Bes might take months. No, Oleg’s best bet is to play along. He’ll deliver the evidence and let Bes bring Vladimir down. Once Vladimir is out of the way, he’ll kill Bes.
Taking a roll of Tums from his pocket, he pops the pill from its casing and slips it onto his tongue. The more he thinks about it, the more Oleg believes it will not only be the best solution, but also a blessing in disguise. Let Bes do him the favor of getting rid of the ever-present threat of Vladimir. And once Bes himself is dealt with, no one will ever know the truth.
When Oleg walks back to his wife and children, his heartburn is already fading.
8
Kate
When I wake up the next morning, the bed beside me is empty. A sliver of light falls through the crack in the bed curtains.
Pushing up on one elbow, I pull one curtain aside. Daylight spills through the windows. The bedsheets are wrinkled. I lay a palm on Alex’s pillow. The fabric is cool, but his scent clings to the linen.
I drag a breath of cardamom and spices into my lungs. Even in his absence, his presence lingers in the room. The events of last night weigh heavily on my chest. Folding my arms around my knees, I take a moment to reflect on our fight.
He’d come to bed long after midnight with vodka on his breath. I pretended to be sleeping, but the soft “goodnight” he whispered told me he knew I was awake. He respected my wish and kept his distance, not touching me during the night. I was both grateful and disappointed, and there was a moment when I almost gave in. In the scary, lonely hours of the early morning, I wanted to snuggle against him and throw an arm over his waist. A part of me wanted to anchor him to the bed, to prevent him from going out there, where it’s dangerous. But another part of me couldn’t—can’t—forgive him. I don’t know how to make peace with our new circumstances. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be any longer. Our roles have changed, and I’ve yet to figure out where and how I fit into his life.
Am I his girlfriend or his prisoner?
Does he see me as a woman he cares about or merely his possession?
Ugh. I need to think, but my mind is clouded with confusion and emotions. Climbing from the bed, I go to the bathroom. The cupboards are stocked with all my usual brands of toiletries, and a box of contraceptive pills waits on the vanity. I pull out the sheet of pills. The pills have been popped out on the days of the month that have passed. It’s not a new box. Alex thought about everything when he instructed Marusya to pack. I take today’s pill and have a quick shower, which doesn’t clear my head as I hoped it would.
The closet is stocked with many of the clothes Alex bought for me in New York, including formal wear and evening dresses. Thank goodness Marusya packed some of my own outfits at the bottom of the bag. With the way I feel, I need clothes that are familiar and comfortable.
After dressing in a pair of jeans, a warm sweatshirt, and my sneakers, I venture downstairs. The only sounds that greet me are the dong of the grandfather clock, announcing that it’s ten in the morning, and the clanging of pots coming from the back of the house.