Page 37 of Cruel Russian Pakhan
“We'll continue to play this little charade that she's my wife. The only person to answer questions about her is me, got it?”
“Got it,” my brothers said in unison.
“Have the cook set extra places at the table,” I said. “I’ll join you soon.”
I left the office, and with brisk strides headed toward her room. One way or another, I’d get the truth out of her.
As soon as I unlocked the door and stepped inside, I found her curled up on one end of the sofa, still wearing the same dress from last night. Her arm rested on the armrest, her head against it. Her face was blotchy, eyes red and swollen, like she had been crying the whole night. She didn’t even look at me.
“Tell me why you did it. What did Artyom want?”
She closed her eyes, offering no answer.
I crossed the room, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to her feet. She gasped, startled, struggling to pull away.
“Let me go!”
“I asked you a question and I expect an answer,” I snapped. “I’ve tolerated your moods long enough. My patience is gone.”
Her eyes burned. “If you think Artyom sent me, why don’t you ask him who I am?”
I ignored her question.
“Where’s your ID?” I didn’t release her arm.
“In the closet.”
I let her go and watched her rub at the spot where my fingers had gripped her.
“Get it. Now.”
She spun on her heel and disappeared into the closet. When she returned, she handed me the plastic card.
The name read: Katya Simoens.
“My name is Katya Simoens. I’m twenty-two. I have an associate's degree in office administration. My mother left me at an orphanage when I was a baby. I spent most of my life in foster care until I was adopted at thirteen by Daisy and Arnold Simoens. A week after my sixteenth birthday, they went to the bank and were killed in a robbery. I've been on my own since then.”
Her voice trembled near the end, but she held her chin high.
“I’ve been telling you the truth since the beginning. You can verify everything I just said, I have nothing to hide. But ifyou won’t check, then let me leave. I’m tired of repeating myself. I'm tired of staying here. I'm tired of you.”
My lips pressed into a thin line. “You’ll leave when I say. Not a moment sooner.”
Katya didn’t argue. She just turned and sank back into the sofa, curling into herself again, ignoring me.
I stared at the ID for a second, then pulled my phone from my pocket and called Timur as I walked out of the room, locking the door behind me.
I made my way to my bedroom.
“Boss,” Timur answered.
“Get me everything you can on a Katya Simoens. I want a photo as well. Send the information as soon as you have it.”
“Yes, boss.”
I ended the call and got ready for the day. After breakfast with my brothers, Marten headed to the club office, and Jaroslav and I headed to the main office downtown.
Right before lunch, an email from Timur popped up. Subject: Katya Simoens.
