by SR Jones
“I’m taking Esme upstairs,” I tell Vasily. “Why don’t you and Uncle Monty decide where he’ll be staying?” I make it very pointed then head out of the room with my baby girl.
I take her upstairs, and as she climbs the stairs and walks along the corridor, her nose crinkles. “Mummy, this house is a mess.”
I laugh. “It is that, Esme.”
She smiles up at me. “Doesn’t matter, though, because you can fix up a house, and Corfu is gorgeous!”
“You like it?” I ask her.
“I love it. It’s so pretty. It’s like my dream place. And when the big man with the blond hair brought me here, he told me they are going to build lots of houses, but guess what, Mummy? There’s also room for horses, and he says there are some ladies here who would love that so they might even have horses. If they get horses and you are still their friend, can we come visit again? I’d love to come and ride their horses, and maybe go to the beach. Do you know that riding horses on the beach is meant to be one of the top bucket list things you can do? My friend at school, Jenny, did it in Wales, and she said it was the best day of her life.”
I smile and surreptitiously wipe away tears.
I shouldn’t give my daughter false hope, I really shouldn’t, but I look down at her and ruffle her hair. “Maybe one day, if things go the right way, we could live here. What do you think about that?”
“Oh, wow. Imagine. It would be awesome. Would Uncle Monty stay? He’s so nice.”
I swallow down my rage. “Probably not, darling. He’ll have work to get back to in England.”
We head into the room where I’ve been sleeping, and the next two hours are spent with Esme talking to me non-stop about her life as I soak it all in.
For the moment, at least, this feels normal. I only wish it could last.
Chapter Twenty-One
Zoey
Esme has been here for three days now. She’s sleeping with me, which means I’ve not had any time alone with Vasily. I’m kind of grateful for that because I don’t know what to think about the mess we’ve made of things. I’m also missing his touch, which I hate myself for a little.
Monty has headed back to the UK, thank the Lord, so I don’t have to see his face. He’s on a warning that if he steps one foot wrong, he’s dead. He didn’t take it personally and called Vasily yesterday to share some more intel, and tell us how cold it was in England as if we’re all pals having a catch up. I still think he’s a psychopath despite what he said.
It’s still ridiculously warm for the time of year, and yesterday, Damen told me the weather is most unusual. He and his friend still haven’t returned to Athens. The men are plotting; I know they are. Vasily, Ilya, and Alexei head off to the big house, as we all call Andrius’ residence, regularly. It’s a bit ridiculous calling his current residence that as this place is bigger, in terms of the plot size and how many buildings it has.
It’s nearing seven o’clock, and I am so tired. I ache all over today as if I’m getting sick, and I pray my stomach bug isn’t coming back.
I’m in the kitchen, wondering what the hell I can cook. The stove top works, but not the main oven. Ilya went out a few days ago and got supplies, but he mostly bought pasta, jars of sauce, olives, bread, olive oil, butter, hams, and cheese. There’s nothing healthy or fresh to be seen.
I suppose it won’t kill any of us to live off carbs and fat for a week or so. Pasta with parma ham and sauce it is then.
The door opens, and Vasily walks in. “We’re eating at the big house tonight.”
“Who, we?” I ask.
“You and me, Ilya, Alexei and Esme, we.”
I shake my head. “No way. I’m not taking Esme there. They hate me, and the atmosphere will be awful for her.”
“We’re invited, and we’re going.”
“No.”
“Yes, darling. We are.” He comes over to me and lifts my hair from my nape. “And tonight, when Esme goes to bed, you come to me for an hour.”
“No.”
“Yes,” he whispers, and I can already feel my resolve breaking. He pulls away. “You need to get changed.”
I sigh. “The clothes Ilya bought yesterday are awful. They make me look like a stripper from the sixties.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I think that’s kind of his wife’s vibe. Probably all he knows. I like you in sixties stripper clothes, though.” He winks and then smacks me on the behind.
I stare at him. “Did you just slap my arse?”
“Yeah,” he whispers again. “I’ll do it again later, but I’ll pull your hair too and spank your pussy until you come.”
Holy fuck, that sounds good. But, no, no, no, I can’t.
“Uncle Vasily.” Esme’s voice has me stepping away from Vasily as if he has the plague.
Since when did he become Uncle Vasily?
“Hey Esme-bee,” he says with an easy smile.
“Can you take me and show me the stables?” she asks.
“Yeah, of course.” He takes hold of her hand. She happily lets him, and they head out the door.
“You coming, Mummy?” she asks.
“Yeah, come look at the stables with us.” Vasily holds the door open for me, and I follow him, utterly perplexed.
We look at the stables, and Esme has an in-depth conversation about horse breeds with Vasily where she tells him Arabs are her favorite, and he tells her she needs to see a Friesian before she says that. I’m utterly at sea with this version of Vasily. A version I honestly didn’t think would, or could, exist.
We go back to the house and get ready for supper, at the house of a man who wants me dead. Cassie will be there, and she wants me dead too.
Great!
When we arrive at Andrius’ property, my heart is pounding, and my hands are clammy. I keep having to let go of Esme’s hand and wipe mine on my skirt. It’s a long, tight skirt with heels and a blouse. It’s not me at all, and I feel like someone playing dress-up.
“You look pretty, Mummy,” Esme says.
“Doesn’t she?” Vasily agrees.
We’re let in at the gate, patted down and checked, even Esme, which makes me livid. Fucking hell, we ought to leave right now.
As we’re walking up the drive, a big, fluffy golden dog comes running at us. Gulliver.
“Doggy,” Esme says in delight. She isn’t scared of them, thank God. “Hey there, shaggy doggy.” She puts her arms around Gulliver and says hello, stroking him gently.
A shadow blocks out the light from the lamp above us, and I look up to see Cassie staring down at Esme with an odd expression on her face. I swallow hard. “Erm, Cassie, this is my daughter, Esme.”
Cassie stares at Esme as she stands and grins. “Hello, Cassie. Wow, you’re so pretty,” Esme gushes.
We’ve talked about employing the mouth to brain filter, but Esme rarely manages it.
“I mean, really, really pretty, and in a nice way. Like, some people, they are pretty, but it’s not deep down, you know? You are pretty in a way I can tell you’re nice as well. That’s the best kind of beauty. Is this your dog? He’s gorgeous. He’s a Golden Retriever, isn’t he? I know my breeds. I want a dog one day. I want a horse even more, but a horse is less practical. A dog is easy, but I couldn’t have one because I couldn’t live with Mummy for a long time as she had work things that made it hard. I might be able to now, though. If I do, can we get a Golden Retriever, Mum?”
I am at a loss for words, and I look back at Cassie who sniffs and wipes her eyes quickly. She bends down. “How old are you, Esme?”
“I will be nine soon,” she says proudly.
“That’s big.”
“It is only one year away from double digits. And then only three years away from being a teenager. And then after that, only six years from being an official adult. So not long until I’m grown, really.”
Cassie laughs. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
She stands and looks at me as Esme follows Gulliver up the drive.
“You and I will never be friends. Ever. I can’t forget what you did. It’s a horror show that plays over and over in my mind. I wake up at night screaming. Because of you. But… I understand.” She turns to watch Esme and puts her hand over her stomach. “I do understand. You need to know, your daughter will never be in danger from me or from K.”
She doesn’t say I won’t be in danger, but so long as Esme won’t be, that’s all I need. After all, if K and Andrius go for my plan, I might not be alive in a few weeks, and Esme will need a home.
The table is groaning with food when we reach the outside patio area, and I have no clue where to sit. There isn’t anywhere that isn’t next to someone who hates me.
People glance at me then look away, purse their lips, or furrow their brows. Some, like Bohdan, regard me with outright disgust as though I am a slug or a spider crawling across their delicious feast.
I don’t know if I can do this.
Violet steps out of the house, and she sits at the end of the table, and pats the chair next to her. “Zoey, come sit by me. You too Esme; I’d like to meet you.”
I pass by Dasha and Bohdan to do so. Dasha gives me a small, brittle smile then looks away. I sigh and squeeze past them, but I tread on Bohdan’s foot.
“I’m sorry,” I say automatically.
“Oh, it’s fine,” he drawls. “Not like you shot me three times and nearly killed me. I think I can let this one go.”
Esme is right next to me, holding my hand, and my heart speeds up as panic overwhelms me. I can’t do this. I just can’t. What was Vasily thinking? Why did Andrius invite me? To punish me?
“That’s enough.” I turn to see Andrius standing by the open patio doors.
“Esme, do you want to go with Leela and see the house?” Andrius smiles at my daughter.
One of the maids beckons to Esme and holds her hand out. Esme turns to me, uncertain, but she takes Leela’s hand when I nod and smile. Esme trots off with the armed maid, and I try to control my rapidly spiraling panic.
“A few days ago,” Andrius begins, “Zoey came to me with a proposition. We all know she did what she did under duress. I think, having met Esme, all of us understand why she did it. Some of us can forgive; some of us cannot. Would any of us have acted differently in her shoes? Possibly, but most likely not. We have rules in this world. You harm one of us, we come back twice as hard for you. However, you atone for what you did, and you can be forgiven.”
“How can she atone?” Bohdan scoffs. “Other than basically letting us plug her with three bullets and making sure she needs surgery.”
“Or,” Andrius says, “taking out one of our top enemies and the man who ordered this in the first place.”
Shit. I didn’t think he’d go there tonight, in public. I haven’t told Vasily about it.
“What?” Vasily says. He turns to me, his eyes narrowed, jaw tense. “What is he talking about?”
“Zoey came to me,” Andrius says. “She had a plan. It’s a damn good one, and it means she will take out someone who is a threat to us all; at great risk to herself, I might add. I’ve talked to K, and he agrees with me that if Zoey does this, then she has a clean slate. That means you don’t have to like her, Bohdan, or be her best friend, Cassie, but we do have to be civil to her, and there can be no threats against her. K feels that if Zoey does this, knowing that it will be going a long way to making sure Cassie and their child is safe in the future, that Zoey will have repaid her debt to him. And her debt is to him. He’s the one having to face months of rehab, and yet he told me today that if Zoey does this, he’ll consider them even.”
“Nothing can make them even,” Bohdan says.
“She isn’t doing anything,” Vasily speaks over Bohdan, and he’s livid. It literally vibrates from him.
“That isn’t up to you, Vasily,” Andrius replies.
“Fuck you, it’s not. You would stop Violet from doing anything you thought unsafe.”
“I want to do it,” I tell Vasily. “I want to do it to repay what I did. I want to do it to keep Esme safe. I also want to do it so I can train with these men here.”
“Erm, no, you’re coming to Moscow with me.”
“No,” I say. “I’m not.”
“Fuck you, you are.” He grabs my arm. “We’re leaving.”
He’s half dragging me down the driveway. I yank my arm free. “Let go of me. Listen, Vasily, you can’t make me go to Moscow.” We’re far enough away from the others now to talk freely.
“I’m the only reason you’re alive,” he seethes. “If I hadn’t married you when I did, you’d be dead. Do you understand? You’re mine now. You do what I tell you.”
“I was yours, and yes, you were the only way for me to stay alive, but now, you’re not. I made my own deal, with Andrius. So you don’t get to dictate to me.”
His face twists. “So that’s it? You’re just done with me?”
My heart hurts at the pain in his eyes. “Truthfully? I don’t want to be. It’s fucked up, and I should walk away because you’re … you’re deranged, to be honest. I don’t want to walk away, though, but I won’t go to Moscow with you and be some gangster’s moll. I don’t want that life for Esme, and I won’t be with you under duress.”
“But my life is in Moscow,” he says idiotically.
“Yes, and you can go back to it, and you can come visit me when you get the chance, and we can fight, and fuck, and do what we do best.”
“Casual,” he sneers. “Like fuck buddies?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Me coming to Moscow, though, and us playing house, is not happening.”
“You don’t get to fucking choose!” He glowers at me.
I shake my head. “Yeah, Vasily, I do.”
I walk away from him, head high, and go back to the table. I feel his gaze on my back the whole way, but when I reach the table and glance behind me, he’s turning away and walking down the drive.
After enduring the most excruciating social event of my life, I return to the run-down house with Esme and leave her in bed to go to sleep as I go to find Vasily.
He’s on his side, but awake, staring at the wall when I open his door and step into the room.
“Come for a goodbye fuck?” he asks bitterly.
“No, I’ve come to ask you something.” I sit on the edge of the bed. “How about you think about coming and joining me, and we see how things develop?”
“What? Here?”
“Yes.”
“You think you’ll be welcome here?” He shakes his head, sneering at me. “They fucking hate you, Zoey.”
“Well, you hate me too, don’t you?”
“No,” he admits. “I don’t quite know what this is, but it isn’t hate.”
“So we can both admit there’s something going on here. Something more than a few hate-fucks?”
“Yeah.”
“You really want me to come and live in Moscow?”
“Yes,” he says, sitting up a little. “I do.”
“With Esme?”
He smiles, and it’s a rare sight, a full-on Vasily smile. “Well, the two of you come together, so I figured she’d tag along, and she’s a cute kid.”
“You live in an apartment, yes?”
“Yes, top of the line.”
“Does it have outdoor space?”
He frowns. “A balcony, yes, with views out over Moscow.”
“Does it have a yard or a garden?”
“No, but it has a pool, in the actual apartment I mean, not just in the building.”
Wow, flash. “Yes, but Esme would need to play outside.”
He frowns again. “Not sure how safe that would be, given what I do.”
I crawl up to him and kiss him softly. “And that, Vasily, is the issue. Okay, I’m going to say something crazy now. I think I might be falling in love with you.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes widen at my words.
“I’ve only said those words to one other man in my life. T
hing is, though, I can’t put Esme at risk again. And yes, the people here might hate me. Forever. I can take that, though. They won’t hate Esme; I can tell. If you and I had a place here. Somewhere safe for her to play, and I at least had their respect and their word, we would be safe. I could cope with that.”
“I won’t give up everything I’ve worked for to come and play house in Corfu with you,” he says.
“Then, we’re at an impasse. Could we keep seeing one another? You could come over here to see K, and we could … visit.”
“I don’t want to visit with you, Zoey. I want you in my life.”
I give him a sad smile. “Me too, but we can’t always have what we want. You need to put business first, and I need to put Esme first.”
“Don’t do this thing,” he says. “It’s too damn dangerous.”
“I have to. I owe a debt, and I need to get out from under it. Also, I want to. I want to take out the fucker who paid those bastards to come for me and use Esme as collateral.”
He shakes his head. I try to lighten the mood. “Wanna fuck around?”
He shocks me when he pushes me away. “No.”
“Oh.”
This is unexpected.
“I’m not getting in any deeper with you when you’re about to go and get yourself killed. It’s best we call it quits now.”
Damn, his words hurt, but they’re not totally unexpected. If there’s one thing I will walk away from this with, it’s my dignity. “Okay,” I say with a slight shrug. “See you around.”
I walk out of the room, and I don’t look back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vasily
She closes the door softly behind her, and I want to smash something up. Preferably Andrius’ face. Fucker. How dare he get her involved in this? She’s going to die. The most vibrant, beautiful, alive woman I’ve ever met is going to get herself killed, and for what? Andrius could take this fucker out if he wanted, I’m sure of it. Sniper shot to the head from some undisclosed location. There’s no reason to put Zoey in this position.