Page 20 of Ruby Menace

Zoya gives a low hum as if she doesn’t quite believe me. We’re both silent for a moment. I resist the urge to avert my gaze.

Finally, it’s Zoya who breaks the silence. “You know, I don’t think you fully appreciate who Kirill is, little girl.” Her voice has an edge now.

Little girl?

I set my jaw. “Is that so?”

She leans forward, ice-blue eyes boring into mine. “I have seen more than you can imagine, Tiana. The world he inhabits. The things he’s capable of.” Her lips are curled into a small smile, but it seems predatory. “Tread carefully, Tiana. I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

I swallow hard but keep my face neutral. Inside, my thoughts are swirling. Is she threatening me?

Zoya smooths her skirt and sits back again, composed as ever.

“I also happen to know who your father was, child.” She arches one perfect brow. I’m getting increasingly annoyed with her condescension, but she has my attention with this new line. “The business he was involved with. You don’t want that getting back to Kirill now, do you?”

Suddenly, fear lances through me. Does she know something about my dad that I don’t? Does she know about his role with the FBI? Or is there something else? My mind races but I force myself to hold Zoya’s gaze. I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing how shaken I am. I’ve had enough shit these past few days. I don’t need her to add more layers to the pile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I simply say.

“Is that so?” Zoya smirks. “Is your mind unclear? Perhaps it is simply the hormones talking.”

“Hormones?” My brow furrows.

“But of course. A woman in your condition would be flooded with them, yes?”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “My condition?”

“Do I need to spell it out, girl?” She winks. “We are both women, after all. We know these things. A man might miss it but me? Not likely.” She flits a meaningful look at the herb tea and dry biscuits on the coffee table.

My throat has closed up at the implication. If she knows about the baby…

Shit.

I can’t think about it. If she figured it out somehow and decides to hold this over me as leverage than I’m in much bigger trouble than I thought.

“Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I set my mouth in a grim line.

After a tense moment, Zoya shrugs, then rises gracefully to her feet. “But of course.” Her eyes remain cool, but there’s a flicker of amusement in their depths. “I’ll let you get back to your planning. I’m sure we’ll be speaking again soon.”

With that, she turns and sweeps from the room, stilettoes tapping sharply on the cool marble. I stare after her, pulse racing. What game is she playing here? Does she know something I don’t?

I take a shaky breath, trying to collect myself. If Zoya wanted to rattle me, she succeeded. And if she somehow figured that I’m pregnant, then I’m in for a world of shit. I glance down at my notes, I force myself to refocus. The funeral first. Then I can deal with everything else. One thing at a time.

Picking up my pen, I smooth the pages of my book and get back to work, planning a tribute worthy of the woman who was like a mother to me, however briefly. I owe Irina that much. I’ll finish this task for her memory.

Then the real fight begins.

Chapter Eight

Kirill

It was a beautiful service.

Every small detail was flawless, and I know I have Tiana to thank for that. She went above and beyond to make sure that my mother gets the respect she deserves. And when the time comes, I will make sure to thank her for that. I will make sure that she understands how precious she is to me. But right now, I have other things to worry about.

“I am so sorry, Pakhan.” A squat, grizzled man is standing in front of me, hand outstretched. I look down at it before grasping it in mine. He reaches in and draws me into an embrace that has me stiffening, although I know it’s merely custom.

Berezovka’s dim interior feels claustrophobic somehow, even though the staff has gone through great trouble to set the place up beautifully for my mother’s wake. Tables are laden with traditional dishes, and vases of lilies and roses are placed strategically around the room. There’s a giant framed portrait of my mother in her younger days set near the entrance, her sweet features a reminder of the woman I knew from my childhood.

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