by Raven Scott
Alarm bells rang in my head at this, but I didn’t have a chance to open my mouth. A small two door pulled up in front of the building, a nondescript baby blue. Hanging up on Aleksander, I rushed over as Ophelia climbed out of the passenger seat and slammed the door behind her.
Wrapping her up in my arms, my cold body burned from how hot Ophelia was. Her shivering reverberated off my ribs, squeezing my lungs until they were completely empty. Burying my face in her thick, mahogany hair, I squeezed her tightly. Clammy palms gripped my sides, but all I did was hold her while the car peeled off the curb and into traffic.
Ophelia’s tears stained my thin, dark grey button down, seeping through the fabric to curl my chest hairs. Cupping the back of her head, I savored the feel of her ‒ the smell of her shampoo ‒ the sensation of my shirt tightening from her grip.
“… C-can we go to your p-place?” she asked in a stammering voice.
Grumbling lowly in acknowledgment, I exhaled a heavy breath to clear some of the anxiety that’d settled on my shoulders. Still, though, Ophelia didn’t move, and I surely did not intend to rush her.
4
Ophelia
My mom’s hatred for me brightened by her tears, her glare hot enough to melt steel.
Discomfort gnawed deep into my gut, and I held my shaking hands behind my back. In her eyes, I saw how hurt she was by my betrayal; I could almost hear her cursing me behind the white circle around her tightly pursed lips.
“You’re choosing that nasty dog over your own family! You bitch! You’re no daughter of mine!” Even in this moment before she died, my mother somehow found a way to hate Sascha.
Sadness gripped my chest, but it wasn’t as bad as when I’d called him.
By my side, Aleksander cocked his head. “What does that have to do with you attempting to assassinate my father? How does Ophelia’s boyfriend fit into this in your fucked up head?”
My mom’s eyes had widened in fear.
Those two questions were ones I asked myself often— not in this context, though. Anything that happened, good or bad, my mother found somehow to blame Sascha. I was happy? Well, Sascha made my family look bad. I had a sniffle? Sascha must’ve gotten me sick. It made no sense, compounded by the silence engulfing the garden.
“Is it because she lives and you die?” Aleksander raised a brow at her. “Even then, the boyfriend has nothing to do with it. Why wouldn’t Ophelia do whatever she needed to do to save her own life? Do you honestly think wanting to live is a betrayal? As far as I’m concerned, you betrayed your children when you decided to kill yourself.” Sauntering over to my mom, Aleksander grabbed her chin to pull an ugly squawk from her.
She shivered violently, her hands tied with zips behind her back. Screaming was useless; we lived too far away from anyone because my parents prized their privacy.
The irony was lost to me in this moment, though.
“Even if you did kill my father, you wouldn’t have killed me. The only way this was going to end was you, dead, orphaning your children and giving me the opportunity to lord over your precious, precious girl. I can do anything to her. I can give her to Demitr, as you carelessly handed me her life without any hesitation. That’s betrayal. Turning your back on your children, and now… you’re leaving all your daughters under my heel.”
Jerking up, a shuddering gasp ballooned my lungs with cold air. Holding my eye as it threatened to pop from the sharp ache behind it, I panted viciously. The ringing in my ears slowly died down, and a shiver lodged between my shoulders as I pulled my knee up to prop my forehead.
“Oppie…”
Sascha’s voice, roughened from a troubled sleep, smoothed the goosebumps blanketing my skin. Glancing over as his warm, smooth palm glided up my back, I couldn’t hide my grimace.
“Are you hungry? When was the last time you ate?” he asked.
“I don’t remember. I should eat, yeah.” Relief flooded my body, and I sunk down to cuddle against his chest. Sascha’s familiar smell clung to my nostrils. The feel of his body warmed the cold sweat on mine. Twirling his chest hairs around my finger, I closed my eyes to summon the energy to open my mouth. “My mom’s last words to me was how much she hated you.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Of course, I wanted to talk about it; I just couldn’t find the words to use.
Scratching my head lovingly, Sascha was so patient. He didn’t wait on bated breath or grow tense even as the silence grew heavy and thick.
“My mom and dad bought into the Avernisk’s power play. That in itself is stupid enough to make me think I’m not even their daughter. How can something so incredibly, obviously stupid and risky to me be a viable plan to them? Aleksander Makovich would’ve still been alive— he still would’ve been in control. This would’ve ended the same… thinking of any other alternative is a delusion.” Licking my lips heavily, my frown deepened. “I don’t know what to feel. Maybe, it’ll clear up in a few days when it really hits me.”
Sascha grumbled in acknowledgment, “You’re a rational person, Ophelia. Any rational person would’ve known that plan wasn’t going to work. Power corrupts people, kills people. I’m sure that you just got all the good genes your parents lacked.” Fingertips smoothed by a life of pens caressed my cheek and neck, and Sascha pressed his chin against my forehead. “I’m not so fragile a man that I’ll be upset you’re more successful than me.”
“He’s sending me a handler when he gets back to Saint Petersburg.” My tongue tingled with the need to speak what I feared to bring up; Aleksander’s ultimatum was a lose-lose for me. Either I did what Aleksander commanded, or I gave the Cherinivsky to someone who would. Simple and effective. And disgusting. “Both my sisters are going to Saint Petersburg, too. I’m not going to be able to sit back anymore.”
“Your sisters are spoiled babies. Your brother was a tool. Ophelia, how much do you honestly think your day to day is going to change from this moment on? I’ll still be right by your side. You may trade cleaning up the mess to avoiding the mess in the first place, but… I honestly don’t think much will change.”
Of course, Sascha had a point as he always did. He never opened his mouth without something perfect to say. This was why I loved him, even in a situation like this, he stabilized me with the questions that needed asking, not being hung up on trivialities. “You’re only saying that to make me feel better about the fact that I watched them shit themselves one by one.” Sascha’s beard bristled against my forehead at my bitterness. “My parents and brother did something stupid, and they suffered the consequences. There’s no reason to feel upset that they’re dead, but watching it changed something. I just—I don’t know what that is, yet.”
“Feelings don’t need reason. It’s okay to be disturbed by what you saw.”
I blubbered a breath as this, the helplessness of it all sucking the air from my chest. Against my cheek, Sascha’s heart beat strong and steady, and I clung to it like I never had before.
“If they wanted a plan that worked,” he replied. “They didn’t have to go to Avernisk. I know how much you look down on them. You could’ve come up with a better plan.”
“If I knew—even suspected what they were going to try, I would’ve told Makovich. I probably would’ve been interrogated or something as to why I blabbed— why would I knowingly bring information to him that would most definitely kill my family off? Because I don’t want to be associated with it— that’s why.” Tilting my head to gaze at the soft lines of his face, I reached to stroke Sascha’s beard gingerly. “I love you, Sascha.”
“I love you, too, Oppie.”
His kiss scrubbed my brain of the images haunting me— even if just for a fraction of a second.
Tightening his arm around me, Sascha cupped the back of my head. “What do you want to eat?”
My mouth wasn’t dry anymore, the taste of him blossoming on my tongue as it touched his tentatively. “Pizza?” Being with Sascha was bittersweet, a window into a life I
wanted but couldn’t have.
Sliding out from underneath me, he smiled so sweetly that it made my heart ache. I reached to thread my fingers through the longest part of his beard; it didn’t even reach his Adam’s apple, but it couldn’t be any longer. “You think I should have a new nickname now? ‘Oppie’ was just to piss off my parents.”
“It’s grown on me like a nasty fungus, Oppie.” He winked at me. “Peppers and sausage?”
Flames licked my cheeks as that wonderful heat flooded my veins. “You know me so well.” Sitting up myself, I hugged my knees. There was nothing more pure, better, than this moment. Even so, worry throbbed against the backs of my eyes. “So… my family is gone. My sisters are in Saint Petersburg. Maybe you and me have a shot…?”
“We’ve been together for four years, Ophelia. We shot our shot when we hit year 2, and your parents didn’t manage to break us up. Your parents hated me because I’m almost twice as old as you and just a university professor. Things are going this way, and it’s a good way, Ophelia. It’s not perfect, but you need to replace the lack of relationship tension with relationship tension to balance the universe.”
“You’re an atomic scientist, you cracked the universe, Sascha.” Crawling onto my knees towards him, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders to kiss his neck. “What kind of equipment do you need to crack my nuclei?”
“I’m not going to fall for your science talk, you vixen. I bet you don’t know the first thing about gastronomy. Come on.” Long arms curled under my ass, and Sascha hoisted me up with a grunt. “Pizza’s not going to cook itself.”
“This would be more fun if I didn’t have a nightgown on.” That inappropriate sense of normalcy hung like a veil in front of my eyes.
Sascha hummed softly but didn’t answer immediately as he reached to turn on a lamp. “You don’t have underwear on, that’s good enough.”
Light spilled to banish the consuming darkness that threatened to overwhelm me, and I nuzzled his neck and shoulder greedily. Snorting a laugh, I hugged Sascha with my knees as spittle stained my lips.
He smiled, rounding the bed with strong strides that rippled through me. “I have an early class, so I’m not sure how long that’ll last. Especially considering you’re numb right now, and pretty soon… you’ll be mad. Real mad. That’s when it’ll get fun, Oppie.”
“So, you think I’m… boring…?” Kissing his bare shoulder, I hummed at the beauty of that word. “I like it.”
5
Sascha
“Who are you?” Frowning as I sat my briefcase on my desk, I cast a curious glance at the woman sitting on the sofa.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder before standing up. The long, lean pants, the vest, the glasses… a professional of some sort.
Definitively not one of my students. Too confident to be one of my students. “You’re not one of my students.”
“I’m Malda. I’ve been assigned to you by Vyachaslav Makovich. You’re dating the Cherinivsky girl.”
My cheek twitched, and I gazed at her from under furrowed brows. “Vyachaslav Makovich… not Aleksander?” Curiosity colored my tone.
Malda nodded firmly.
“Wonderful. I have the both of them on me, now?”
“Better the father than the son, if you ask me. Aleksander’s a monster of a man. I promise not to interfere with your life, but it’s my job to find out how much you know.”
Rounding my desk, I sat down to take a deep, steadying breath.
Malda didn’t hesitate to walk over and drop across from me. “I do not want to be here, Sascha. I don’t like Moscow. I don’t like school.” Malda physically shivered in disgust, her eyes bouncing around warily between lines of dark charcoal. She crossed her knees, somehow managing to look sophisticated and impudent at the same time.
The silence stretched, and I opened my mouth when it became apparent that she wouldn’t, “So… considering you’re not going to understand most of what I teach, and you’re not going to just go away, what are you really doing here in my office, specifically? Why did Vyachaslav Makovich send you, not his darling boy?” Maybe there was more going on than just wanting to keep an eye on Ophelia. That ‘maybe’ was only worried by the fact the old man sent Malda. Unless she was lying. “I doubt it has anything to do with the fact that, theoretically, I could build an atomic bomb.”
“Please! Makovich doesn’t care about that. Anyone with the internet can make a bomb. He assigned me to you because he thinks it’s interesting that you know everything about Cherinivsky, but you don’t do anything with it. Everyone has an ulterior motive, it can’t be just because you fell in love with a teenager.”
Covering my mouth to stifle my scoff, I flopped my head back to inhale a stabilizing breath.
Malda eyed me critically, but nowhere in those shrewd eyes was the disgust she felt for my profession. “When did you two really meet? And before you try the same thing on Aleksander on me…don’t. Aleksander allows it because it amuses him. Vyachaslav is a crotchety, old bastard whose sense of humor shriveled smaller than his balls.”
“… At the Summer Festival in Vladivostok. She was 17. Ophelia was alone, trying to win a fish… a blue one. That festival is 12 days long. On the last day, I asked for her number, and she gave it to me.” The memory was so strong, even after 5 years. Ophelia wore this cute dress with spots on it ‒ a black dress with matching black shoes. She’d gathered her hair, but not all of it. Her face was long but soft… like an angel. “Ophelia wanted to wait until she was 18, when she could move out of her parent’s house. They hated me from the second they found our texts. Someone from up high kept them from exercising their parental right to step on her neck.”
“That’s not all of it, is it? You just found this gorgeous, rich girl so intriguing that you kept up a relationship with her entirely through text for months?” Incredulousness thickened Malda’s tone, her eyes widening with skepticism. “You’re obviously not a dumbass, at the very least, Sascha Matheson. Explain to me how you managed.”
“I didn’t fall in love with her through a cell phone screen, if that’s what you want to know. When she moved out, I went to her place a few times. She went to my place a few times. Then, she stayed the night, and that turned into a few nights a week. We didn’t have sex until Ophelia’s 19th birthday. 20th birthday, we went to an aquarium. 21st birthday, she got black out drunk for the first time. I was sober. 22nd birthday, I bought her a ring. She keeps it in my left nightstand, second drawer ‒ are you going to check if it’s there?” My tangent came to an end. “Do you want to know what I’m going to do for Ophelia’s 23rd birthday?”
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.” Mald
a 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.