Lev lets out a loud sigh. “It’s that bad?”
“It’s not going to stop with him. What my father’s doing is just the beginning.” I gesture around us. “Look around, Lev. How many of those Albanian fucks were here ten years ago?”
“Not many," he admits.
“Exactly. Now think about the Pakhan rolling out the red carpet for them. Giving up territory. Cutting deals behind our backs.” My jaw tightens. “What’s the point of Bratva if we’ve handed everything over to them?”
"You said all this to Dimitri?”
I shake my head. “He’s pissed, sure—but he’ll fall in line. He always does. Dimitri will take whatever the Pakhan handsout to him. He’s not ready to accept what actually needs to happen.”
Lev goes quiet, piecing it together. That’s fine. If there’s one man in Volchya I trust, it’s him.
We’ve known each other since we were teenagers, him being only two years younger than me. Lev was recruited for his talent at forgery. If it existed on paper, Lev could replicate it so precisely, not even the Kremlin could tell the difference. That takes patience. Precision. Not the kind of skill some loudmouth, trigger-happy idiot could ever master.
Skills aside, I trust him.
That’s why he’s my right hand. If I fall, Lev takes over. But I don’t plan on falling.
CHAPTER 7
NALA
I’m alone inside Roman’s apartment.
Or, inside the apartment he’s keeping me hidden inside. I don’t believe for a second this is his actual apartment. It’s too bare, like no one ever really lived here. I bet he has a much nicer place somewhere else.
I stand slowly and cross the room, careful with my injured foot. I stop in front of the window, my hand hovering near the blinds before I remember Roman’s warning. They stay down. Always.
I’m tempted to lift them, take a peek outside but I don’t know if he’d find out and I don’t want to risk it. I don’t know what would happen if I upset him for real. He didn’t react when I implied he wasn’t a real businessman, but I don’t want to push my luck and find out what really sets him off.
Weirdly enough, without Roman here, I don’t know what to do with myself. In the basement my routine was easy. I’d wake up, eat when I got food and spend the rest of the time staring at the ceiling and fantasizing. And of course, sleep and wait for Grigori.
I didn’t have to do anything down because there wasn’t much to do. There’s not much to do here either, but at least I don’t have to waste away on a mattress with no space to move. Here I can walk and not feel completely caged in.
Still, I need something to focus on. I need a task. I need… I need to see myself.
I’ve been putting it off since last night when I noticed the mirror in the bathroom. I got scared and turned my head, pretending it wasn’t there. Even after I showered this morning, I kept my head down, too embarrassed and nervous to see what I look like after so many years. Afraid I’ll be disappointed in the person staring back at me.
There was no mirror in the basement bathroom. It didn’t bother me, I didn’t care. Why should I when how I looked was the least of my concern then. But now… I’m starting to care.
I don’t know what changed. Maybe it’s because I’m not underground anymore. Maybe it’s because I want to know what Roman sees when he looks at me.
Doesn’t matter.
I want to know what I look like for myself. I want to know who I am, who I’ve become in the last seven years. I also want to make sure I don’t look funny or weird. I know I shouldn’t think like that, but I can’t help it. My parents always said looks don’t matter. I’m sure they’re probably right, but I don’t think it’s wrong to want to look nice, especially in my case of not being very smart or having any useful skill apart from reading people.
For example, I don’t even know how tall I am. I only know that when I stood next to Roman, the top of my head only made it to his chest, telling me I never got as tall as I thought I would.
I take a deep breath.Okay Nala. You can do this. It’s just a mirror.
I enter the bathroom, edging closer to the mirror. Time to see who I am. I lift my gaze slowly, nervously. I see myself. It’s me, but I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me. I remember what I looked like when I was eleven. I lift a hand and touch my cheek where I used to have a scar from falling off my bike. It’s gone, faded as if it never happened. My cheeks are thinner now, no longer round and soft. Puberty happened without me noticing, except for my period.
I have two tiny black dots on the left side of my nose, freckles maybe. I don’t remember them being there before. I trace my lips. The little beauty mark is still there. At least that stayed the same.
I lift my shirt, noticing how my collarbones jut out. My skin is lighter than I remember, still dark, but dulled from years without sunshine.
I pick up a section of my hair, examining the strands. It’s healthier than I expected and not as tangled as before. An improvement. I let the curls fall and keep looking. My gaze drops lower to my breasts.
