“In a sense, we became friends. I picked up that she had lecturers come to her house for private lessons?—”
“What?! How do you do lab work and the practical side of the course at home?”
“I thought it was weird too. The server we used allowed for voice calls. We didn’t often speak that way, not unless we were busy and struggling on a study unit, but this particular time, someone stormed into her room. She didn’t know that I speak Russian?—”
“You do?!”
His lips twitched. “I do.”
“How many languages do you speak?”
“A handful.”
Gaping at that but realizing I was digressing, I wafted a hand at him. “Go on.”
“She called the man Fyodor. And then, when he’d gone, she muttered, ‘I’d curse the Turgenev family if I didn’t love your son.’”
“Is she a witch?”
“Unlikely. She’s very… clinical.” He grunted. “Anyway, I knew that name. Fyodor Turgenev.”
“Who is it?” Before he could answer, I asked, “You eating that? If you’re not, I will.”
He passed it over. “Have at it. Your ma made me sandwiches earlier.” Despite his absentminded state of mind, I saw the gleam in his eyes as I devoured his leftovers. “What do you know about the Bratva?”
“Not a lot.” My fork hovered in the air. “They’re called The Forgotten Boys now, aren’t they?”
“No. Well, yes. In the city. They seceded from the Bratva.
“So, the Bratva is an international body in one sense, but that’s what they call themselves on a local footing too. Fyodor Turgenev was the second-in-command of theinternationalBratva. A very powerful and very deadly asshole.”
“Was?”
“Yeah, he died last year. But that she was in close contact with him, that he’d spoken to her with deference as he’d barged into her apartment… it made me think about her circumstances.
“I did some hunting. Mostly because I wanted to make sure she wasn’t catfishing me.”
“What do you mean?”
“They could have used that account to get friendly with me, maybe thinking they could trawl me for information.”
“Okay, yeah, makes sense.”
“Her username was SofiaTh3Gr8. When she’d told me she was working to find a cure for her mom’s illness, she told me her name—Dushenka. Another time, she let slip that her mom was a model before she married her dad.
“So, I did some rooting around in the Bratva leadership and I learned she was the daughter of the Krestniy Otets. He’s the head of the entire brotherhood. Basically, their version of Aidan Jr. Except, think international.”
“Wow! What a small world.”
“Right? Again, it felt like a setup. The coincidence seemed surreal, but I thought about everything she’d ever told me and I realized she hated her father.
“The Forgotten Boys were born from a… cataclysm in Moscow. They’re Russian but not allied to the Bratva, aside from being ex-members of the brotherhood.
“You with me so far?”
“Yeah, I’m keeping up,” I said wryly, but I turned toward him, eager to learn more. “What was this ‘cataclysm’ out of Moscow?”
“A bomb. It made the news over here so you know it was bad.” When I whistled, he nodded. “So I did something dumb. Something I’ve told no one about?—”
