Malda’s brows rose in surprise. “What are you going to do?”
I shouldn’t have offered. My eyelid twitched in irritation,
Malda shook her head. “I don’t really care. To be honest, I don’t care about any of it. I’m just here to figure out why a 39 year old uni professor… is in a serious relationship with a 22 year old daughter of a crime boss, and then to figure out if that reason is true.”
“I don’t care who she’s the daughter of, Malda. She’s Ophelia, no one else. Her parents hated me. They’re gone. Her brother threatened to kick my ass but never had the guts to do so…he’s dead. Her annoying little sisters are in Saint Petersburg and out of the way. For now, at least, I have her all to myself. It doesn’t matter how long until it ends… only as long as it lasts.”
Malda rolled her eyes with a huff, the indignation on her face intensifying.
My own irritation with this setup was starting to boil over. “I don’t have an ulterior motive, if I did, I’d get with Vyachaslav’s slut daughters.”
“I’ll make sure to recount that verbatim.” She stood up, turning her nose at me as she sauntered out of my office.
Watching her sashay away, I stroked my beard thoughtfully.
Pausing at the door, she cast me a dull look over her shoulder. “You’re not hot enough to have someone half your age in love with you.” Malda disappeared, leaving me in contemplative quiet that made my office seem small.
Ophelia’s parents weren’t even buried, yet people were making moves on Ophelia’s life ‒ as if they had that right. Grinding my teeth, I sat back to cross my knees and cup my chin. Why Vyachaslav? Why not Aleksander or one of the dozen other kids he had running around Russia in positions of power?
“It’s not like I can just ask him…” Fishing my cell phone out of my pocket, I shook my head slightly. Last night had been long and dreary. Ophelia didn’t sleep soundly, which meant I didn’t sleep at all. She mumbled all night, probably recounting her conversations with Aleksander Makovich. I didn’t understand any of it, but she’d wake up after a while before settling back down.
Thank God, it’s not a busy time for me, then I’d really feel bad. Shooting Ophelia a quick text, I grimaced as my words bounced off the walls. Class didn’t start for another 15 minutes, but they’d be the longest minutes of my life. Thankfully, Malda showed up to remind me that my life with Ophelia was subject to the scrutiny of people we’d never meet. Just what I need.
I loved Ophelia. I loved her brightness and her cool-headedness. I loved the way she puckered her lips when she was frustrated. I loved the way she shivered dramatically when I touched her unexpectedly. Her little, tiny hums when she ate something she found particularly delicious…
The only part of her I didn’t love was her last name. Ophelia refused to marry me, and even though I was 38 at the time, I hadn’t understood why. Did she care about her parents hating me or did she just say she didn’t to ease my worry? Was she just using me for that sense of normalcy that she always said she wanted?
But, now… the picture was becoming startlingly, disturbing clear. The reasons she’d given for not marrying me suddenly made sense. Ophelia would always be a Cherinivsky. She couldn’t just walk away from that title because of a vow that didn’t mean anything to anyone but the two making it. Marrying her meant getting sucked deeper into the shadows of her life, not bringing her closer to the light.
Behind my lids, Ophelia’s 22nd birthday only 5 months ago flashed vividly. I knew it was fruitless, but even then, I wanted her to have that symbol. She deserved to look at that ring and feel like a woman in love. For a few moments, maybe she’d try it on and fantasize about life with me… just a professor and his wife.
It was cruel.
My cheek twitched as my phone gave off an insistent buzz, and I shook my head viciously. Ophelia wasn’t awake; she was probably the worst morning person I’d ever met. Especially, considering last night, chances were good she wouldn’t wake up until noon.
Unknown Number: ‘Meet me in Red Square at 1pm.’
Tapping my phone against my thigh, I grimaced down at the screen. I wasn’t good with games…mysteries, yes, but not games. And I had no doubt at all that this was a game in which I staked my life.
For Ophelia, I would do it.
6
Ophelia
“So, you got a creepy text after getting ambushed by Makovich in your office… and you still went? Why?” Standing over the stove, I cast Sascha a curious glance over my shoulder.
He shrugged, not tearing his eyes off whatever he was reading.
Scanning him through narrowed eyes, I pursed my lips thinly to hide my frown. “What happened?”
“For what it’s worth, it wasn’t that creepy a meeting. I was approached by someone named Kiri, but she was obviously expecting someone more handsome.” I snorted at the drawl, turning back to the stove to stir my noodles with an ugly smile. “Why does everyone think I have to be really hot for you to want me? I’m going to be 40 in a few months. I think I look pretty good.”
“You are really hot to me, Sascha and don’t change the subject. What’d she want? That’s one of Vyachaslav’s daughters…the youngest one.” My brows furrowed in thought as I stared down at the boiling water. Kiri Makovich was a proper slacker; she never did anything requiring too much energy. The few times I’d met her, it was obvious she didn’t put much into her appearance. Whatever she could reach, she threw on, even if it didn’t match.
“I’m honestly not sur,” he replied. “All she did was complain about how her brother was sending her around like a chicken with its head cut off. Said she hated Saint Petersburg, how she wanted to come back to Moscow and fade into obscurity. Basically… you, if you were a whiny brat who never takes responsibility for anything.” He slapped the paper he was reading on the table to groan in foreboding. “I barely got a word in. I don’t know how that old man managed to raise all those kids and got such a mixed bag.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard her speak… and yet, she complained like that to you?” To say the clash of experience was odd was an understatement, and I turned to face Sascha fully. He looked tired, and guilt clawed at my throat as I raked my hand through my hair. “After dinner, I was going to go back to my apartment for the night. My handler is supposed to show up at some point in the next few days, and I have to go to my parent’s house in the morning to figure out what the hell is going on.”
“Do you think you’ll find anything you don’t want Makovich to know about?” Sasha asked.
I gnawed on my inner cheek as I nodded.
Sascha scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Whatever your parents were into, you’re going to clean it up before it becomes a scandal.”
“They tried to kill Vyachaslav and not Aleksander. I need to find out why. I have a few theories— the most likely one being that the Avernisk’s tried to pin everything on us. Erik was good at that… making people think his ideas were their ideas. It didn’t matter in the end, but I know he’s alive. Aleksander would’ve kept him alive for the same reason he kept me alive.” My brain churned endlessly, trying to eliminate possibilities. I didn’t know enough about the whole picture yet, to pinpoint the Avernisk’s motives. Of course, Aleksander wouldn’t need to interrogate them, but that put me in a bad way. “What happened to the others— do you know?” Clenching my jaw, I inhaled deeply.