by Raven Scott
Sascha grumbled lowly in acknowledgment, “In my honest opinion, Oppie… these guys are accustomed to power. They’re built on the assumption that their power is absolute. Having you, someone too good at your job, is as much a threat as it is an interest, I think. You’re equal parts an asset and a danger. Whether or not that’s a bad thing is up to you. Did Malda say why they wanted you to fix the issues they’re having with the guys in America?”
“I can guess. If Aleksander runs for Prime Minister and succeeds, having Santino as an established business partner will persuade the rest to cooperate. If Russia can get on America’s level under Aleksander, Carlyle Santino will essentially rule the world.” It sounded so stupid rolling off my tongue—ruling the world, a phrase exclusive to books and movies with bad plots and incompetent villains. “They’re in it for the long haul; I have no doubt at all that it was Santino who initiated the fix. He’s a psychopath, or close enough to it. What else did Vyachaslav say?”
“He brought up his wife and daughters…I mean, he basically talked around me, so whatever that’s worth…”
Lifting my head as Sascha trailed off, I frowned under furrowed brows.
Troubled lines deepened when he pursed his lips, his eyes flashing as they caught mine. “Did your mother ever cheat on your father?”
My breath caught against the loose lump forming in my throat and I pushed myself up to sit fully. “Probably. I know that once Martin was born, they stopped everything. Rumor has it my sisters aren’t my dad’s kids. That’s what Vyachaslav wanted to talk to you about? My parents’ whoring around?” Oh, I know where this is going.
My Sascha developed the most uncomfortable look now.
I reached to hold his hand. “Is this about Vyachaslav thinking I’m his daughter?”
Surprised, brown eyes widened at my declaration.
I puffed out my lips to hide my frown. Running my free hand through my hair, goosebumps blanketed my arms and legs.
“Do you know for certain you’re not?” he asked. “When did you find this out?”
The air became so heavy and thick, so it felt hard to breathe. Flopping onto my back once again, I stared up at the ceiling through glazed eyes. “I found out when I was, like, 13. My parents were arguing as usual, and my mom was crying about how their plan to get under the Patriarch’s skin didn’t work—how it was all my fault and blah, blah, blah… It didn’t take an extraordinary leap to figure out their plan.” Curling my fingers as my lips twitched down, I blew out a heavy sigh.
Sascha stretched out beside me. Palming my abdomen, he tangled his legs with mine.
I went on, “My dad is my dad…Vyachaslav’s just a contributor. I suddenly knew why I felt so out of place, why I always felt like my family wasn’t my family. But Makovich isn’t a family at all. They’re abusing associations with particular leverage. Honestly… I never thought about it after that day. My dad even at his worst was a better dad than Vyachaslav. At least, I have one or two happy memories with him.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Sasha asked.
My brows rose a little at this, and I tilted my head at him.
Sascha propped his chin on his fist. “I was screwed all afternoon because of that shit, Oppie. I made one of my classes do silent reading, for Christ’s sake.”
“I just said why…I’ve literally never, ever thought about it again. I’m saying that like I was ignoring it, either. I’m not a Makovich. I don’t want to be a Makovich…and no one else wants me to be a Makovich. Vyachaslav coming to see you means he doesn’t want this getting out, and I have no intention of throwing myself into boiling water. Not to mention… this is the one thing where I know that I don’t want any more answers. Those people… I’m not one of them.” Even when my parents were alive, I never understood what they thought would happen. “Desperation breeds regret. I don’t want to regret learning more than I can’t unlearn.”
“How can you just sit on that knowledge, though, Ophelia?”
“Why does that tidbit of information matter so much?” Combatting his question with my own, I covered Sascha’s hand with mine. Tearing my eyes off him to gaze at the ceiling once again, I frowned. “Information only gains importance because of what actions can be taken on it. I never have and never will act on that information. As far as I’m concerned, Vyachaslav is worrying for nothing. Outing him means outing myself, and I’m sure as shit not giving Aleksander that power over me— not again.”
Sasha looked thoughtful. “You have a point. So, what do you think it all means?”
Rolling my bottom lip between my teeth, I let the silence stretch. I was missing something here… something I just couldn’t see. If Makovich did manage to get into America and stabilized the homeland, it’d change the balance of power in the world. To achieve that in the seemingly short timeline Aleksander had planned, he needed to centralize everything. The shadows and the light—there must be a delicate balance he was trying to find. “I don’t know… All I do know is that Vyachaslav taking a more active approach to this is worrying. For now, I’m going to just enjoy this lull. It’s obvious they want me to stop my investigation, so that’s what I’ll do.” Having answers wasn’t the goal I wanted my entire life to culminate to. I rolled onto my side to face Sascha. “Cherinivsky… Makovich… those aren’t the names I want behind mine.”
“Do you want to get married?” He asked the question so easily.
I sighed before shaking my head.
“Why not?”
“Marriage is not something I have a good experience with. I don’t want what we have to be tainted by expectation, Sascha.” Sourness coated my tongue.
He hummed as he slung his arm over my waist.
His warmth seeped into my skin, his fingertips brushing my lower back comfortingly. Closing my eyes to savor his feel and smell, I let all my worries wash away. “I love you too much to marry you.”
“How long are you going to be in America?”
“I don’t know, yet, but I want you to come with me. I thought you could see your brother? It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Almost a decade.”
Squeezing me to his chest, Sascha grumbled in agreement.
I would be anxious about going to America another time. Right now, in this beautiful moment, I simply loved him with all that I was. “Want to cook dinner together?”
“I would love to, Oppie. What were you thinking?” Sweeping his hand up my back, Sascha nuzzled my forehead tenderly.
A tiny smile crested my cheeks, the peace of this moment wrapping around my bones. “Maybe we’ll keep with the America theme. I’d have to look up some recipes, though.” The peace didn’t last as I rolled sloppily over and off the sofa with a grunt. Worry prickled down my spine as Sascha’s revelation overtook my brain. If Vyachaslav and Aleksander had planned everything as well as I suspected… I was fucked.
It meant that scaring my pants off was intentional, and not just for fear’s sake.
It meant that reassuring my pants back on was also very much according to their plan.
It meant… I had nothing. I had no leverage. I had no security. I was completely at Aleksander’s mercy— but, hey! At least I wasn’t pissing myself every time I wasn’t trying to get a 360 degree view of myself and my surroundings.
Scowling lightly as I left the living room, I raked both my hands through my hair. There’s nothing I can do about it, now. I’ve been totally fooled. There’s no use wasting energy on it. I just have to learn not to underestimate Makovich again.
Of course, I may or may not be part of Makovich, but I’d successfully ignored that prospect for a decade. I could keep ignoring it. Obviously, the Patriarch didn’t want that information getting to his kids— that he’d cheated on their dead mother. If Aleksander Makovich has plans for me, I’ll just have to take it all as it comes. Dealing with the aftermath of acknowledging my parentage was way worse than anything he could do to me.
This time, though, I would handle it better.
; My reason why wrapped his arms around me to crane his neck and kiss my cheek. “I love you, too, Oppie.”
I’m so screwed. I’m so fucked. God damnit.
26
Sascha
“So… this is all going to happen while we’re in America?” Skepticism strained my voice as I rocked back on my heels.
Ophelia nodded firmly.
The computer generated model looked nice and clean. On the screen, the house didn’t look anything like where Ophelia and I currently lived.
“It’s only been two weeks since Vyachaslav came to my lecture hall, Oppie. I know things are looking up, but this seems a bit too optimistic, don’t you think?”
“Do you think? According to the email I got the other day, we’ll be in America for a month. And it’s all paid for by Makovich Industries. And I want it done before winter. It’s already late in September, and the rains are already starting up.” Ophelia’s family assets had been transferred to her, and she just went with it. That same day, she’d contracted a company to rebuild her parents’ house. She spent a good amount of money on something for herself, even though she refused to tell me what it was.
My understanding of how much money she had, just in liquid, was completely inaccurate. All these years together, and I never knew exactly how much money Ophelia had access to. She never showed off; of course, her nice clothes for company events were expensive, but these past weeks were something else entirely.
It’d calm down, I hoped. Ophelia was entitled to a little splurging. These past four years, she’d been very good at managing her money because she was always afraid of her parents cutting her off. They’d certainly threatened it a lot ‒ if she didn’t break up with me ‒ if she didn’t make them look good… if this and that and all the other petty reasons.
“So, what do you think of the plan?” The head builder was a mason whose age was impossible to determine on his looks alone. “We can always change it. It was smart of you to tear it all down. It’s much easier this way than doing a remodel.”
Ophelia turned at the deep voice. “I like it.” We were downscaling by a good half the size of the current place. Ophelia had gone all out on this project, hiring the best construction firm and throwing money around to get it all expedited. Of course, it helped that everything was going through Makovich Industries. “I’m already excited to come back and see it.”
“Good. I’m excited that you’re excited. We’re going to come in and tear everything out about a week before you leave. You can set the date with the receptionist on your way out. So, is this your first home together?”
Wrapping my arm around her, Ophelia practically beamed, and my heart stuttered. She was so beautiful, so happy, so upbeat, and I blinked to capture her expression. Around us, the light streaming through the floor to ceiling windows dimmed from her sheer force of personality. And I felt more than content to bathe in it, to just sit back, let her warmth touch my face and sear my eyes out of their sockets.
“I have faith that you’ll exceed our expectations, Mr. Ruben,” Ophelia replied. “You came highly recommended.”
Hard hands from years of harder work opened the door to the firm, and I stepped out of Ruben’s office as I spoke up, “You’ve done two of Makovich’s branch offices, right?”
“I also did Aleksander’s home. Not the décor, though. I vehemently disapprove of frescos on the ceiling.” He shook his head in disgust. “I still hate that woman that suggested it.”
I chuckled knowingly.
“Yeah— we’ll be able to handle painting and stuff… and none of it is going on the ceiling.” Nodding firmly to herself, Ophelia pulled her hair over her shoulder to sigh in content.
Ruben walked us down the aisle towards the elevators.
The moment of quiet didn’t last long as Ophelia added, “I’m grateful that you guys are working with my schedule. I know a month isn’t a long time.”
“It’ll take two days to tear it down and haul everything away, and then a week for the new foundation to set. I have my whole office on this. All the extremities are available as soon as we need them, too. The only thing you’ll need to do is paint, like you said.”
This appointment had been just to approve the plans for the house. Ophelia let these men do their jobs, and things were progressing smoothly. These people were professionals, but one month to build an entire house… Clenching and releasing my jaw, I gazed around the office space through narrowed eyes. This firm had around 50 people; it was small enough that I’d been surprised when Ophelia contacted them.
“So, we’ll see you in two weeks.” Ruben shook my hand, his calloused palm scraping against mine.
His declaration rang in my ears; in three weeks, we’d be heading to America with Aleksander Makovich.
That prospect was worrying.
“Sascha?”
The call snapped me from my troubling thoughts
Ophelia touched my arm. “Ready to go?”
“Oh—yeah. Did you talk to the receptionist already?”
She ducked her head in a nod, her expression morphing in worry.
Reaching to scratch my beard, I squeezed her to my side with a frown of my own. “Things are just going good, Oppie. I mean, not even a month ago, Aleksander was threatening to kill you.”
“… Do you think I’m not suspicious?” she asked. “I just want to enjoy it until I can’t.” Punching the elevator button, Ophelia rested her cheek on my shoulder. “If I fix Makovich’s relationship with Carlyle Santino… they won’t need me anymore. I may not be afraid of Aleksander as I was, but I’m still wary of him. He’s frightening. Even knowing what I know won’t be enough. Once I do what he wants, what’s to stop him from—?”
“Oppie… I’m sorry for bringing it up. Jesus Christ. What happened to Aleksander being a fumbling idiot that you can hang information over?”
Shooting me a wild look, Ophelia’s frown deepened.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, dread gnawing at my gut.
She sucked in a sharp breath then let it out. “I have no information he doesn’t already know. Inviting me there, asking me to find something. It was all a pretext to get me to stop being a little bitch. And it worked. It’s been bothering me since Vyachaslav showed up at your hall. Aleksander played me.” The elevator doors slid open, and Ophelia stepped on before me. Inside the metal box, we could speak a little freer, “I doubt my parentage is the real reason Vyachaslav came to see you. He was probably scoping you out, or if you really were a sidekick, or if you had some ulterior motive. Even that’s a flimsy idea, though.”
“… I shouldn’t have brought it up.” The words I dared not say balanced on the tip of my tongue. Killing Ophelia was very much still an option for Aleksander. He’d gotten the better of her so completely. What’s worse— I couldn’t even begin to think of a way to deal with it. Helping Ophelia with this kind of problem had never been difficult, but the stakes had never been so high. Giving her advice on how to sound smart in front of Ukraine’s Prime Minister was not the same as trying to prove her usefulness to a man who knew her better than she knew herself.
“Sascha, it’s okay. I can’t get ahead of Aleksander. If by my own logic, even me making him look dumb is a lie. Everything’s a lie, everything’s wrong. So, that means that Aleksander has spent all this time, years maybe, even. Tying me into his plans. And they’re bigger than I can fathom. I mean— America? I don’t fucking want to go there for a whole month. I don’t like feeling like I’m not going to come back.”
Clenching my jaw hard, I squeezed her to my side as the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. Dread curled in my gut, but just as she realized, so did I. There was no fighting this.
She sighed hard. “If I do come home, I want to be home. Russia is my home. Moscow is my home. You’re my home, Sascha and if Aleksander screws me all up again, I want to have something to come back to.”
“Speaking of home… I don’t think I want to go back to teaching aft
er our trip.” Inhaling deeply through flared nostrils, my heart raced.
Ophelia tensed beside me. Her eyes whipped up, and she puffed out her lips in confusion while the elevator clamored to a stop.
“I’ve been thinking of going to the Dean to find a replacement.”
“O-oh. Why?”
Stepping off the elevator rather than answer, I reached to tug my beard. I could remember being passionate about atomic science once, but that time had passed long ago. The monotony of teaching was stifling, and there were so many other things to do. “If you’re going to be a bigshot Russian crime boss, I might as well enjoy the lavish life.” Grabbing her ass and squeezing hard, I smirked when Ophelia giggled. “No, seriously… I’m just getting tired of teaching. I have been for a while. I figure… if I’m going to be gone for a month, I should explore the option of exiting the University on good terms. I’m supposed to have a meeting with the Dean of Sciences later this week.”
27
Ophelia
Swishing my hips to the music engulfing the living room, I closed my eyes and flopped my head back. Sascha had gone grocery shopping, leaving me to my own devices. Truthfully, I think he just liked driving the sports car… a small smile crested between my cheeks.
The beige paint on the walls rippled, the carpet squishing between my toes as I bounced from foot to foot. Sweat slickened my skin, matting my hair to my neck and shoulders. My panties and loose, elastic bra stretched with each smooth movement I made, and I wrapped my arms around myself. Pulsing, hard bass slammed into me rhythmically, rattling my teeth and tingled the bridge of my nose.
But it felt nice. I felt nice.
“Ah…“ Everything was going okay, considering the circumstances. Okay enough that I could fool myself into thinking things were better than they really were. Sometimes, lying to myself wasn’t so bad. Twirling around, I bopped my head to the dark, primal beat and let my inhibitions and worries fall away.