Page 42 of Claimed By the Pakhan

He sits on the edge of my bed, searching my face in the darkness. “Alexander Kuzmin has been on our back for quite a few years.”

“Who is that?”

“Another Bratva leader based in Vancouver. He owns a dockyard over there, basically a Canadian version of Emil.”

“Right,” I groan. “They’re playing battleships. So what?”

“Someone in Emil’s Bratva is feeding information to Alexander Kuzmin,” says Luka, continuing to search my face. “Do you have any idea who it could be?”

“Why would I?”

Luka takes a beat, staring intently at my face. Concern lines his features, all of them rendered hard. “When you were attacked at the dockyard before, did you see who the person was?”

“I was out like the count. All I remember is waking up and drinking that hot cocoa, which made me feel worlds better, so thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome,” says Luka, his voice remaining steady. “You have no idea who this person could be?”

“None,” I say, shrugging. “I’m sorry, I wish I could be of more help. My brain is cloudier than this weather we’re having at the moment.”

“I know,” consolidates Luka, placing his hand on my shoulder. “You’re going through a lot of shit at the moment.”

I note his hand, remembering where it has been. A few days ago, he was vigorously scrubbing my hotel room carpet, disposing a dead body and questioning nothing. By default, it’s hard to see Luka and not smell the antiseptic.

But his features, although rendered hard, still offer more reassurance than Emil ever could.

Luka offers me a small smile. “Relax. Your memories will return in their own time. Stressing yourself out reflects badly on the twins, and it will also make the memories harder to recover.” He continues searching my face. “But I have to admit, you seem more settled than you did before. What changed?”

I’ll spare Luka the details about all the riveting sex I’m having with his best friend.

“It sounded like you were in quite a state before I walked in here, though. Are you okay? What were you dreaming about?”

I shrug it off, always desperate to sweep my childhood under the rug and pretend it never happened. But Luka actually appears worried, as opposed to his reckless best friend who allows the smallest things to crawl under his skin.

“It’s a reoccurring dream from when I was hiding in my room as a kid, hearing my father beat up my mother.”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

I’m stalled by the question, completely speechless. Nobody has ever questioned why, myself included.

I shrug. “He was a misogynistic asshole hiding in plain sight.”

“There’s more out there than you think,” says Luka, shuffling further back into the bed, making himself comfortable. “People who grew up around weak mothers subconsciously learn to resent women around them.”

“My mother remained strong throughout it all.”

“I’m sure,” says Luka, pondering something. He stares into space, a sentence forming on his lips, but he closes his mouth and thinks better of it.

“What? You were about to say something?”

“I’m not sure if I’m overstepping here, Fia.”

“Telling the truth isn’t overstepping.”

“Emil lost his sister when he was sixteen years old. That was the first time he committed murder, in an attempt to save her.”

“I never knew he had family.”

“Technically, you’re his family, but yeah, there was a time he cared about something bigger than himself, and you, of course.” Luka continues looking into space. “His mother and sister were both weak, defenseless. I think part of him has always resented them for being unable to protect themselves. When you carry resentment close to your chest, it tends to become more widespread, affecting your perception of other women.”