“Boss,” he replied, turning around again.
“Make sure she has food and water. Or whichever essentials she needs.”
“Okay, boss.”
I paced the distance between the numerous bookshelves as Sergei left my study.
The anger she unleashed a few moments ago made me understand why she looked at me with such hatred back at the clinic. It wasn’t about Vitya at all; it was the sad history I’d created.
Could she be lying about not knowing about Vitya’s actions?
I thought back to the times I’d seen her with Liza. She was always tending to her with genuine concern, never seeking favor from anyone. She didn’t suck up to either Roman or Liza herself; I remembered her calmly insistence on what should be done even when the couple didn’t want it.
As much as I tried to tamp down the memory, it surfaced. I recalled the same warm brown eyes dilating as she screamed at me not to kill him. I could still remember the image of her younger self, her pale skin, her copper brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. I remembered how she ran like she’d seen the devil himself when I turned to face her after shooting Siroc. I had no idea who he was to her, but I knew she wouldn’t have wanted him dead. But it was just work and the guy had brought it upon himself.
Nevertheless, in retrospect, I found myself wishing, for a second, that I hadn’t done it just so the hatred and anger in her eyes wouldn’t be there. I internally shoved down the feeling of guilt.
It’s just work; it’s not about Alina.
If she really didn’t know anything, what the hell would I do? What she thought of me shouldn’t matter, but I found myself thinking of the best possible outcome that wouldn’t further prove I was the monster she already saw me as.
My phone vibrated.
Sergei.
I went to the chair behind the desk and sat as I took the call.
“Put him on,” I instructed as I flipped my MacBook open.
I sat back and, in a minute, Yousef’s face, highlighted by his red hair, filled the screen. I didn’t bother with earphones.
“Konstantin Lobanov!” he greeted, grinning. “I would have said you’ve been a hard man to track down lately, but when have you been anything but?”
A low chuckle left my lips.
Yousef was one of my longest-standing clients; I also partnered with him on really large deals sometimes. He was primarily based in Russia, but we didn’t see each other often, especially when I was traveling from place to place.
“I’ve been busy, Yousef,” I told him. “Out and about, as always.”
“Right,” he commented, nodding. “It’s confidential, can I speak freely?”
“Of course. We wouldn’t be having this call otherwise.”
“I had to ask, man. I was on the phone with Juan the other day when this chick suddenly jumped into the conversation. Turned it into a social event.”
“Interesting.”
“Needless to say, she found her way to my warehouse. I fucked her.”
“Like you said, you didn’t need to say it.”
He laughed. “It was good to remember. I’ll probably call her later in the morning.”
Despite how astute he was, Yousef’s tendency to digress made communicating with him quite burdensome.
“Yousef, what did you want to discuss?”
“You must have heard about the human traffickers who now use the Mexican route,” he uttered.
