Page 27 of Den of Thieves

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Karina reigned in her irritation as she walked the halls of St. Romanov’s, Moscow’s elite preparatory school, hours later. When her Cullinan pulled up to the curb and she saw glimpsed headmistress, Alba Golubova, waiting by the entrance for her arrival, she knew it was going to be a long day.

In her opinion, the woman was a complete idiota. Her views were outdated and old-fashioned. But the students that graduated from St. Romanov all became thriving and accomplished members of society. It was why she choose this school for Anastasia, Alexander, and now little Artym until the boarding school in Switzerland was ready for their arrival in the fall.

Unfortunately, Karina and Artym didn’t make it halfway through the tour before the woman began spewing nonsense.

“Artym is very gifted based on his placement exams. What concerns me are his social skills—”

“Artym is capable of holding a conversation with those he is comfortable with; he just needs a bit of time to adjust to new surroundings. I’m sure you are aware of the traumatic birth I experienced. He is my miracle baby, and very bright indeed,” Karina said, squeezing her son’s hand.

It was true. Artym didn’t speak until he was almost three years old. Even now, nine months later, he only spoke when he absolutely needed to. Their family and household staff were used to Artym’s nonverbal communication.

If Karina thought Artym needed special help, she would have sought the best therapists money could buy. Every doctor she went to said he was a perfectly normal boy, if tall for his age.

“Oh, I meant no disrespect Mrs. Kovalyova. It’s just that the counselors agreed to let him skip a grade following some one-on-one speech therapy.”

“His speech is fine,” Karina said in a hardened tone.

Artym frowned, tugging on Karina’s hand.

“Just a minute, baby,” Karina said, not looking down. “He’s three. What did you expect him to do? Read you a Stephen King novel out loud? I understand this school has standards, but I’ve seen the scores of students accepted here,” she scoffed.

“Anya!” Artym pointed down a corridor.

Headmistress Golubova gasped and her eyes flickered down briefly. It was the first word Artym spoke all day. She stuttered, finally realizing she insulted one of the schools biggest benefactors.

“O-of course, your boy is smart on paper, but parents have cheated for their children before. Not that I would accuse the Kovalyovs of doing such a heinous crime.”

Karina frowned, looking past the principal. She ignored her backpedaling and squinted at a teacher wagging her finger in a somber-looking child’s face. The girl was dressed in the same uniform as the other students, but the custom Swarovski crystal bows in her curly hair—a gift from Aksana—set her apart from her classmates.

Artym led his mother down the wide hallway, eager to see his big sister with a big smile on his face.

“You’ve been a bad girl.” Karina’s vision turned red as the teacher raised a hand to a child. Her child.

“Mrs. Zhirkova!” The headmistress said, horrified. The teacher looked up, confused, then her eyes widened in shock.

“Mama!” Anastasia ran to Karina’s legs.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Karina shifted her children behind her before advancing on the woman. Mrs. Zhirkova moved away until her back hit the wall.

“Mrs. Kovalyova I—”

“You dare put your hands on my child?” she asked calmly. Karina tilted her head back, assessing the woman. To an onlooker, it seemed like the two were having a casual conversation, but the threat of death in her eyes was hard to ignore.

“Mrs. Kovalyova please—” The headmistress wedged herself between them. Karina raised an eyebrow in her direction, and she wisely clamped her lips together.

“I pay you entirely too much money to beat my kids. Honestly, who the fuck do you think you are?!”

“We never beat the kids, Mrs. Kovalyova. I swear!”

“Then what is this? Were you showing my child a unique acrobatic skill?” Karina tsked, waving her manicured hand in the air. She took a deep breath and finally looked at the principal, unconcerned with the other teachers that have filtered into the hallway. “Where is my son?”

“He-he’s right behind you.” Headmistress Golubova pointed.

“No, not Artym. Where is Alexander? Hello? Go get him.” She snapped her fingers at the woman. Alexander arrived with his backpack less than a minute later. Karina was still staring down the teacher in question.

“S-so, you’re taking them home for the day?”

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