Page 23 of Brutal Secrets

“Good of you to bring us both lunch, but there’s a lot of food here.”

“I asked Dima to come along too, and maybe his brother. Not sure if Marat can make it, but we need to discuss our next steps.”

“Now?”

“Why not?” He points at the closed bedroom door. “You got something better to do?”

“Well, actually, Sasha...since you mention it...” I let my voice trail off as I stare at him. “And I’ll ask you again. Why are you so interested in who I fuck?”

He pulls out his gun and throws it down on the table as he glares at me. “Because you’re not just fucking her, are you? You’ve brought her out here where we come as a family, and you’re doing what? Playing mommies and daddies?”

And this, ladies and gentleman, is why I can’t have something good. Because there’s always a complication and something always goes wrong. I just didn’t imagine in a hundred years that the complication would be Sasha. He’s always had my back.

I run my fingers through my hair, pulling at it as I look at the shut door. “Don’t be a dick. I brought her back with me because I needed a break.” I point at the takeout boxes and try to make light of this situation. “Sometimes you want shashlik, sometimes you want Georgian food. Maybe I just wanted a taste of something different. Why are you so wound up about this? She’s going home tonight.”

I might wish she wasn’t, but if I’d been entertaining any ideas of seeing her again, Sasha’s stormy mood and petulant behavior quickly disabuse me of the notion. I don’t need to drag a nice girl into our drama, and if we’re opening up new trade routes, there’s bound to be drama.

“What is the Night Governor doing? If you’re on edge, then there’s more.” I jam a roll of eggplant into my mouth and chew on it, crunching on a pomegranate seed. The sour juice explodes on my tongue as I grind it between my teeth and watch Sasha.

“He’s a fucker.”

“Guelman? Come on. You don’t rise from being a professor to controlling the Moscow underworld unless you’re a fucker.”

Sasha scowls at me and pulls out his curved knife, spinning it in his hands. It’s a nervous tic. “He’s going to fuck us.”

“What?”

“Leave us all here. Pull the money out and leave us to face the music. We’ve got to get out. All of us. If we’re out of Russia, we’ll have a chance to build a power base that doesn’t rely on him. I don’t trust him, and I need you to focus.”

When Sasha said he wanted me in the States, I had a brief moment imagining a few more nights like this one, but let’s face it. Wherever she lives, it’ll be a long way from Little Odessa and Brighton Beach, which is where I’m going to land. We’ll be worlds apart, even when we’re in the same country.

Kesera had looked at me like I’d placed the stars in the sky above her instead of spending most of last week chasing some Georgian gangsters who’d ripped off the Night Governor around a series of sleazy strip clubs in downtown Moscow. I tracked down the bastards who’d been skimming a five percent cut off the club proceeds.

I shot the manager who skimmed the money, but I’d kept his colleagues alive to send a message. I shot the first one in the ankle, the second one in the knee, and the third one in the thigh. They’d have matching limps to show off around town so that everyone knew what happened when you crossed us.

I don’t enjoy that part of the business, but you have to send a signal. If you mess with any of us, you mess with all of us. And it will cost you. I think they got the message loud and clear.

The girl sleeping in the next room is so damn beautiful inside and out, and I wish I had longer, but she isn’t part of this world. She’s a dream. Sasha is the brother who will fight by my side through the nightmares. I owe him everything.

He pulls a stick of wood from the basket near the fire and begins whittling it with sharp strokes, the blade sending splinters across the floor.

“Come on, brother. You know I’ve got your back.” I lean over and point a finger at him. “You were the one that told me fucking would clear my head. I was just following orders,” I add with a grin.

“You weren’t. You’re not just fucking her.”

“Come on. It’s been a day. What are you talking about?”

“The only woman we’ve ever brought here is Polina.” His words fall like bullets, digging into the floorboards and ricocheting off the walls.

The death of Sasha’s sister sits between us in the silence. I release a long sigh and nod at him as he whittles the stick into the figure of a man before snapping off its head with his fingers.

“Who’s that?” I ask. “Guelman?”

His lips twist into a rueful half smile. “Don’t we both wish.”

I don’t tell him it was a dick move to bring up Polina. I’m sure he knows. We’re bound by cords of death and missed opportunities. There aren’t many certainties in this life. Sasha’s loyalty is one of them.

Another is that anything good ends up like the snow in Moscow by the end of February—a gray slush encrusted with grime that hides things you’d rather not know about. Then it melts, only to freeze again into sheets of black ice that deliver nothing but broken bones and black eyes.

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