Page 106 of Emerald Malice

“Natalia,” he bites out, “I don’t trust him.”

“He’s just a boy, Andrey.”

“I am not,” Misha insists from just behind my shoulder. “I’m fourteen!”

“Regardless, I think he can be trusted to walk around the gardens by himself. What are you afraid he’ll do?” I demand. “Pull out your begonias?”

One corner of Andrey’s mouth twitches upwards. “I wouldn’t put it past him. And since I am fond of my begonias, I’ll have Shura keep an eye on him while we head to the pool house.”

“Why bother Shura when Remi’s right here? I didn’t finish walking him anyway.” I bend down and pat Remi between the ears. “Misha, you don’t mind walking Remi for me while Andrey and I talk, do you?”

Misha stares at the dog uncertainly. “Er…”

“Don’t worry; he won’t attack you again.” I call Remi forward and have him sniff Misha’s hand. “You can pet him if you want.”

After a few tentative pats, Misha relaxes and so does Remi. I fasten Remi’s leash onto his collar and pass it to the reluctant teenager.

“Are you sure?”

I gesture towards the gardens. “Go enjoy the fresh air.”

Remi gives me a backward glance as Misha guides him nervously towards the French doors.

Without waiting to see what Andrey thinks of my plan, I charge ahead towards the pool house. It might technically be his property, but it no longer feels that way. It feels like my space now—and I intend to use that to my advantage.

Neither one of us says a word until the door to the pool house is shut tight.

“So,” I ask congenially, “you wanna tell me why you’ve kidnapped a fourteen-year-old boy?”

Andrey runs a hand through his windswept hair. “He may look like a kid, but he’s a spy, Natalia.”

I snort. “Give me a break.”

“You already know I have my enemies.”

“Are all of your enemies in middle school?”

He narrows his eyes. “Nikolai Rostov sent Misha to spy on me.”

“Nikolai uses child soldiers, so you decide to kidnap them? The high road must have been under construction.” Andrey’s eyebrows rise, but he says nothing, so I press on. “Why on earth are you keeping him here?”

“I can’t very well let him go,” Andrey sighs. “He knows too much.”

I spread my hands wide. “Andrey, do you hear yourself? We’re talking about a boy. A fourteen-year-old, whose arms and legs are covered in scars!”

“That was not my doing.”

“I didn’t say it was,” I clarify. “I’m saying that he’s been through enough without the adults in the room looking at him like the perpetrator instead of the victim!”

“He’s not some run-of-the-mill teenager, lastochka?—”

“I know that! Which is why he needs more attention, not less. He needs to be able to talk to someone.”

“I have tried to get him to talk,” he grits out. “He’s remained stubbornly silent.”

“Were you trying to talk to him?” I accuse. “Or were you trying to interrogate him? I’m not sure you’re aware of the difference, but it’s a pretty big one for us normal people.”

Again, I think I see the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. But when he speaks, there’s no trace of amusement in his tone. “This is Bratva business, Natalia. This doesn’t?—”

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