Page 128 of One For my Enemy

“What strings?” Marya said. “Move as you wish. We all want the same things.”

“Safety,” Dimitri said. “Sustainability.”

“Peace,” Marya suggested emphatically, and Jonathan sighed, relenting.

“Fine. Then I’ll see to it you have Brooklyn.”

“Excellent,” Marya said, sweeping up the ledger and the log in one smooth motion before tucking them back into the pocket of her coat. “We’ll reconvene when Dimitri’s won, then.”

Jonathan gave a guarded nod, and with another wave of her hand, Marya and Dimitri were back in Dimitri’s loft, facing each other in the living room.

“Did you hear him, Dima?” Marya asked, removing her coat slowly. “You have Brooklyn.”

“Oh, I heard, Masha,” Dimitri said, casually undoing his tie before discarding it. “I wonder, how should I spend the rest of my day, hm?”

She let her coat fall to the floor with a smile, letting her dress slide down after it.

“Perhaps you’d like to explore your dominion in Manhattan,” she murmured, and he took her in his arms, kissing her firmly as the vial of her heart pulsed against his chest.

“Perhaps I would,” he agreed, and tugged her down to the sofa, his hands searing-hot on her hips.

V. 12

(Loss.)

After a few weeks, Sasha had picked up a habit of taking a little time out of each day to plague Roman Fedorov to festering madness. Before long, it was as compulsory an act as brushing her teeth or washing her face; breakfast, lunch, scaring Roman half out of his wits, dinner. All regularly scheduled activities. All equally contributing to the improvement of Sasha’s health and well-being.

As with most habits, she didn’t expect to see results with any immediacy. She anticipated months of haunting, even beginning to daydream in her free time about how to traumatize him most fully. Thus, she was surprised, and perhaps a bit disappointed, to find that Roman was in the midst of full psychological disintegration well before she’d expected to see her plans bear fruit.

She’d been waiting to alarm Roman in his living room one day when Koschei entered the apartment without warning, prompting Sasha to remain concealed in the corner. It was the first time she could remember having seen Koschei in the flesh, though there was no question who else he could be.

“What is Dima doing running for the Witches’ Boroughs?” Koschei demanded of his middle son, who’d been in the midst of twitchily pacing his living room. “Has he spoken of his plans to you?”

“What? No,” Roman said, though Sasha had been watching him long enough to know that was a lie. He’d begun muttering about it to himself, even in his sleep. “I knew he was planning a campaign,” Roman amended, apparently realizing his father could sense the rigid edges of a lie, “but I don’t know why he’s doing it. He’s as angry with me as he is with you, Papa, and he tells me nothing.”

“My sources tell me nothing either,” Koschei growled, looking almost as unsettled as Roman. “Santos is all but missing; someone’s hiding him, I’m sure of it. Moronoe must know something, he’s bolder than ever—he had one of my dealers removed from his Borough just yesterday. And I swear, that bodyguard of Marya Antonova’s has been an unrelenting presence, hovering like a fly for weeks—”

“What do you want from me, then?” Roman snapped, obviously startling his father with the outburst. “You told me to stay out of your way and Iam,am I not?”

“Well, I need you now, Romik. I need you to find out what’s going on with Dima,” Koschei said, and Roman looked up, eyes wild, to face his father with the full extent of madness Sasha had been so optimistic he’d one day achieve.

“I have my own problems, Papa!” Roman shouted, voice rattling the walls as his knuckles sparked, a mix of rage and magic. “I’m not here to… tospyon your favorite son—”

“Roma, you’re hysterical,” Koschei noted, to which Sasha stifled a snort of laughter. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong withme?” Roman demanded. “This is your fault, Papa!Youkilled her, not me! You,” he muttered to himself, “and your deal with Baba Yaga—”

“Romik—”

“Just go,” Roman snarled, nails biting briefly into his jaw as he dragged a hand over his face. “If Dima’s failed you, then perhaps it’s what you deserve.”

Koschei stood dumbly, staring at his son amid a heavy, loaded silence.

“Romik,” he said eventually. “You’ve never spoken to me this way.”

“Well, then perhaps it’s been a long time coming,” Roman said, and shoved past his father for the front door, letting it slam behind him.

Koschei stood in silence, contemplating his losses, and mentally, Sasha made a note of self-congratulations. She was, after all, well ahead of schedule.

---