Page 143 of Toxic Salvation
I pull up my phone and turn the screen so Denis can see the photo. “This was taken an hour ago. After my men delivered them to their new home in Tomsk. There’s a swing set and a trampoline in the backyard. Your daughters love it.”
Denis stares at the picture, and for the first time since he walked in, his mask slips. “You… you really have them?”
“They are beautiful, Denis. I can’t imagine living with the constant knowledge that their lives depended on how well you performed for Ihor. That must have been torture.”
His nostrils flare. “This is not the time or the place to?—”
“Do you think you were the only one Ihor controlled this way?” I interrupt. “Every single man here has some secret or responsibility that he exploited for his own gain. You’re all in the same boat.”
Denis turns to regard the men, the veins in his thick neck bulging. “And now, they’re loyal to you. Because you’ve taken over for Ihor,” he says bitterly. “How is that any better for us?”
“Because I’m not taking over from anyone. This is about me being the leader I should have been from the start. I’m not going to hold your family hostage for the rest of your life. You won’t have to live with the constant fear that their safety depends on your obedience. In the coming days, I will establish them with a monthly stipend. They’ll have their freedom back. And security.”
Denis looks genuinely confused. “And all you want from me is…?”
“Loyalty. You fight for me now.”
“And if I don’t?” Denis asks. “Then you kill my family?”
I shake my head. “What did I just tell you? I have no interest in becoming Ihor. In fact, I want to stay as far from him as I possibly can be. If you choose not to join me, your children will still be supported. The monthly stipend will continue. The only life I’ll take is yours.”
Denis looks around the room again, studying the faces of men he’s known for years. It seems like he wants to say something, but in the end, he just nods once.
“I’m in.”
I suppress a smile as I survey the room. All the uncertainty, all the doubt has vanished from the men’s faces. They’re looking at Denis with something close to awe—if I can turn Denis Volkov, I can turn anyone.
There’s no stopping us now.
48
VESPER
Christmas arrives every year whether I want it to or not.
The trees and eggnog. Carol singers and gingerbread houses. Cheesy pop songs and manufactured holiday cheer that I’ve spent years avoiding.
When December rolls around and everyone else gets merry, I turn into the neighborhood Grinch. I’m the cranky woman yelling at carolers to keep it down because their joy is ruining my planned night of solitude and Chinese takeout.
It wasn’t always this way. We celebrated when I was younger; Dad made sure of it. He’d drag home a tree that was too big for our living room and insist we needed twice as many lights as any reasonable person would use. Mom would bake enough cookies to feed a small army, and Waylen and I would fight over who got to put the star on top.
Then Dad died, and Christmas became just another reminder of what we’d lost.
So I started working extra shifts. Volunteering for holiday coverage. Coming down with mysterious illnesses that required quarantine. Anything to avoid sitting around a table pretending we were still a complete family.
I thought I’d always feel that way.
But now, I have a nine-year-old who deserves better and a baby on the way who’s going to need traditions. I want Luka to have the Christmas memories I used to have before grief turned me bitter. I want our son to grow up knowing what it feels like to wake up excited on Christmas morning.
So, I’m creeping downstairs at 5:00 A.M., leaving Kovan tangled in our sheets.
It takes considerable willpower not to wake him up for a different kind of Christmas morning activity. The man looks obscene even while unconscious. Abs tangled in white sheets, tousled hair, jawline chiseled by Michelangelo himself.
But I have plans. Little gifts to stuff into the stockings Luka and I hung last night. A special breakfast to prepare. Christmas music to cue up before anyone else wakes.
This feels like my first real Christmas in years.
I’m halfway down the stairs when a sharp pain stabs through my belly. It lasts maybe three seconds, then disappears.
