“This isn’t funny.”
“No shit, Nat. I’m just saying?—”
“I don’t think I have the skill level to fuck a man so good that he forgets he’s Bratva. I just witnessed him killing somebody in cold blood. I’m, like, a liability or something.”
She sighs and leans back in her couch for a few seconds, then she says, “So, I heard something recently about Anton. You know Mitsy Volkov at the nail salon?”
Of course I know her, short, bottle blonde, big-tittied gossip of our whole community. “Yeah?”
“Well, one of her cousins is aBoevikworking with the Astrakhan. She says there was a leader change recently on account of Maksim Balakin dying.”
I blink. My father mentioned something about him recently. “He… died? When?”
“I don’t know. Months ago, maybe? The point is that Anton was his number-one guy. People were calling himsovietnikeven though that wasn’t really his role. He was tight with Maksim.”
I’m trying to decipher what she’s trying to tell me and what any of this has to do with the price of tea in China. “So, what are you saying? All of that had something to do with Maksim’s death?”
“Not just something. Everything. Apparently, he was killed by a rival Bratva.”
I want to laugh. I want to tell her that she’s much too involved in nonsense conspiracy theories. But I did just see Anton chase down and kill three men tonight.
“So, you think tonight was about vengeance,” I say, and she nods.
“I’d bet money on it.”
Shit.If that’s true, then I really wasn’t supposed to see any of that. “Lee… that sounds like a war, right? I mean, killing a boss is a big fucking deal. Did I just witness a casualty of something bigger that’s happening right now?”
“Maybe? It would make sense, though, right?”
“It would.” I set my teacup down on the coffee table. A war. Bratva wars usually involve a lot of bloodshed… and sometimes, quite a few innocent bystanders. Fuck, I am in trouble.
“So, then, I’m definitely in danger.”
“Nat—”
“I actually witnessed Anton murdering somebody. He…” I stop myself. I don’t want to think about this man that I’ve beenfantasizing about coming after me to kill me. “Someone,” I say instead, “is probably going to come looking for me.”
“They’d have to know where you are for that,” she says. “And as far as anyone knows, you still live with your dad. You probably couldn’t be any safer than here.”
I scoff. “Sure. At least until I have to go to work tomorrow. And lots of people know I’ve moved. Maybe not them, but how hard would it be to find out?”
We both go silent in a collective thought about the possibilities. “Yeah,” she says finally. “You should probably call in.”
“Good idea.”
I grab my phone from the coffee table and text my boss. It’s going to suck to go without a day’s pay, but until I can figure out what the next move is, they’ll have to do without me for now.
Afterward, I finish my tea and borrow one of Ilya’s Xanax and go to bed. In the morning, it’ll be a little more clear what I should do. I have hardly anything saved up. I can’t really run. Where would I even run to?
My last thoughts before I drift off are of my father. Would he help me if I asked? I’m his blood, after all. Doesn’t he have an obligation to help me?
Well. I guess he doesn’thaveto do anything… but I’m his daughter. And if I’m in danger, surely, he would want to step in… Right?
Why don’t I know the answer? It’s fucked up that I’m so unsure of what my own father would do to save me orifhe would even bother. The more I think about it, the more I think he’ll be even more intent on shipping me off somewhere. He’ll probably bepissed that I was anywhere near whatever the hell is happening right now.
I drift off. Tomorrow, I’ll know what to do. It’ll be clear as day in the morning. I’m going to bite the bullet and go to my father and I’ll tell him what happened. He’ll protect me. He has to. He’s my father.
12
