I stare at him and it dawns on me. This psycho believes what he’s saying. He truly believes he’s doing me a favor by keeping me prisoner in this basement.
"Yes, sir," I agree. What else can I say?
Madam Belova is still watching, her hatred of me barely contained. Her cheeks flush red with anger and I guess humiliation. Or both.
“Get out,” he snaps, not looking at her. “I have business."
She rushes up the stairs and slams the door shut behind her. As always, he sits in the wooden chair like it’s a throne.
"Sit."
He says this every time, so I’m already sitting but I shift anyway, making myself smaller. Lower for him.
He pulls out the same picture from last week, slamming it down in front of me.
It’s Roman again.
I don’t know why he won’t give me something Roman actually touched.
"Tell me again what you see." The anger from moments ago cling to his words.
I force my voice to stay steady. This could be a test. "It’s better when I have something he recently touched."
"Too bad. I have nothing.” He jerks his chin at the photo. “Tell me what you see."
So, we’re back to this.
I pick it up like he wants me to, studying Roman's face. "He's focused on keeping his territory.” I begin my lie carefully. “On proving himself to you."
"Proving himself?" Grigori asks, calmer than before. This is worse than him shouting. "For what reason? That piece of shit thinks he deserves something from me?"
"He wants your approval. Your recognition.” I keep my eyes on the photo. “That’s all I can see. Nothing else."
"He wants what he'll never fucking have," he roars, shoving out of his chair, pacing. "Too many years I've tolerated him. Gave him opportunities. Let him run his own crew. For what? So he can sit in my council room judging me. Second-guessing my methods.”
I stay silent, listening to another rant.
"The Albanians," he continues. "Roman questioned me about the Albanians. In my own home. Can you believe that? Like he has the right to question my decisions."
"He's concerned about losing money," I reply, hoping to calm him down with the most obvious answer.
"It’s all my money.” He’s shouting again. “The men do what I tell them. Roman does what I tell him. Everyone does what I fucking tell them. I’m the Pakhan, not Roman."
He stops pacing, his eyes cold and sharp, targeting me. "I’m going to ask you one last time, is my son plotting against me?”
He brings his face near mine. "Tell me the truth, Nala. Is Roman planning to betray me?”
This is it. The question again. My chance to say I made a mistake, start telling the truth again. I look at the picture, at Roman's cold eyes staring back at me. In this moment one thing becomes clear. I will never tell Grigori the truth. I’m tired of being his tool. I don’t care if he threatens my sister. I don’t care if he kills me. I will never help him prevent his own death.
"He's not going to betray you."
Grigori studies my face for a long time. He lets out a low hiss. “You better be right.”
He stands there a moment longer, then reaches into his pocket, pulling out a stylish silver pen.
"This one,” he barks. “Tell me everything about him."
He drops the pen in my lap. I close my fingers around it and the vision comes.
