Page 114 of Emerald Malice

“Let me clear up, then. I gotta be fast, while the damn dog is still distracted.”

Remi hasn’t taken to Yelena like he has with the boys. To be fair, she hasn’t really made an effort with him. “I’m not a dog person,” she’s said more than once.

“The dog will be distracted a while longer,” I say. “Why don’t you sit with me for a bit?”

She squints out into the gloomy distance. “I really should be getting these things inside.”

“Oh, come on, Yelena. Keep me company. And look—there’s some of your favorite blueberry scones left.”

I push the basket right under her nose and, with a reluctant eye roll, she takes one. “You’re just lonely and settling for me.”

I cringe. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say?—”

“And who can blame you?” Yelena charges on like I haven’t spoken. “Trapped here by yourself more often than not. Nothing but an animal and a delinquent for company. Forced to watch while your friends live their lives and meet their matches… It must be frustrating.”

“Enough with the encouraging pep talk,” I drawl. “It’s too much, really.”

“He should be doing more for you.”

I’m surprised by her directness. And by my own instinct to defend Andrey.

“He’s doing exactly what he said he would. Andrey never promised me anything more than protection and comfort. I’m the fool who—” I stop short and stare sadly into Yelena’s knowing eyes. “—I’m the one who wanted more.”

“It’s only natural, darling.”

“It’s stupid, is what it is. Stupid and naïve. I can’t blame him for not being interested.”

“He is interested,” Yelena insists. “He’s just scared. After everything that happened with Maria…”

Maria. I always had a feeling that there was someone else. But just like that, the woman in Andrey’s past has a name.

It’s weird being jealous of a woman I’ve never met. I have a million questions, but I don’t want to lurk and sniff around on the periphery of Andrey’s life. When I learn more about him, I want it to be because he wants to tell me. Not because Yelena felt like gossiping.

“Maria was?—”

“Maria was important to Andrey,” I interject gently. “I can tell. And if she still is, I’m sure he will tell me in time.”

Yelena reaches over and pats my arm. “You’re a good girl, Natalia. You deserve more.” I wait for her to elaborate, but she falls silent and picks at her blueberry scone. “These were my husband’s favorites, too.”

There’s an ache in her voice that I recognize all too well. “When did he pass away?”

“Shortly after Andrey took over as pakhan, actually,” she admits. “It was years ago. He was young, thrown into the deep end without warning… He made a mistake,” she continues. “My husband died.”

She doesn’t make a direct connection between Andrey and her husband’s death, but I can hear it in all the words she doesn’t say.

Andrey’s inexperience cost Yelena her husband.

“I’m so sorry.”

“He knew the risks.” She says it robotically, like she’s repeated the phrase so often that it’s lost all meaning. “That’s when I came to work for Andrey full-time. He wanted to give me a stipend, of course, so that I could retire comfortably. But I don’t accept money for free. Never have, never will. I told him if he was going to give me money, then I would work for it. And I’ve been here ever since.”

I can’t even begin to wrap my head around the kind of mentality it would take to work for someone you felt was responsible—no matter how indirectly—for your husband’s death.

Then again, Yelena may be old and bent, but she’s tough. She’s got grit and strength and the kind of perseverance that has me convinced she’ll outlive us all.

“I lost my parents, you know. The pain never really goes away, does it?”

She meets my eyes for a fraction of a second. The agony there is deep and unwavering. “No. No, it does not.”

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