Page 68 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

Things consistently got worse. I'd been working in a bookstore at the time while building clients for my freelancing business. Zach decided that job was beneath him, and therefore me, and tried to get me to quit. When that didn't work, he got even more demanding. He even started threatening me, but thankfully I left before any physical abuse could happen. The emotional was bad enough.

Voices from the kitchen break into my thoughts. Tossing the covers aside, I lower my feet to the ground. The hardwood floor is cold beneath my bare feet as I pad toward the bedroom door. I leave it open just a crack and press my ear against the gap.

"I want to know everything about this asshole," Russ is saying, his voice sharper than usual, edged with barely contained fury. "Where he lives, where he works, who he talks to. Everything."

There's a pause, then Nick's voice cuts through the tension, calm and matter-of-fact.

"The mayor has been on the Bratva payroll for years."

28

ALEX

I catch the movement in my peripheral vision before either Russ or Nick notices. Marla stands in the hallway just beyond the kitchen doorway, her body pressed against the wall like she's trying to make herself invisible. Her red hair is messy from sleep, falling around her shoulders. She's wearing an oversized t-shirt that hangs to mid-thigh, her bare legs pale in the dim morning light.

But it's her face that tells me everything I need to know.

Her blue eyes are wide, her expression shifting from sleepy confusion to something far more dangerous: understanding. She's connecting pieces in her head. She's smart. Too fucking smart for her own good sometimes.

"Take this outside," I say quietly, cutting off whatever Russ was about to say next.

Nick's green eyes flick toward the hallway, and I see the moment he spots her too. His expression doesn't change, but his posture shifts slightly. Russ follows Nick's gaze and freezes when he sees Marla standing there.

"Now," I add, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Russ opens his mouth like he's going to protest, but Nick is already moving toward the back door. He understands what I'm doing without needing explanation. Russ hesitates another second before he follows Nick outside. The door closes behind them with a soft click that sounds too loud in the sudden silence.

Marla doesn't move from the hallway. She's still pressed against the wall, her hands flat against the faded floral wallpaper like she needs the support to stay upright. Her breathing is shallow and controlled, the kind of breathing people do when they're trying not to panic.

I lean back against the kitchen counter and cross my arms over my chest, giving her space. Three mugs are scattered across the small table in the center of the room, evidence of the conversation she interrupted.

"How much did you hear?" I ask, keeping my voice calm and even.

She pushes away from the wall slowly, her movements careful like she's testing whether her legs will hold her weight. "Enough."

"Come sit down."

"I don't want to sit down." Her voice is steady despite the fear I can see in her eyes. "I want you to tell me what 'on the payroll' means."

I study her for a long moment, taking in the defensive set of her shoulders, the way her hands have curled into fists at her sides, and the slight tremor in her jaw. Marla stands her ground and demands answers. It's one of the things that drew me to her in the first place.

"It means exactly what you think it means," I say finally. "The mayor takes money from us in exchange for favors."

"What kind of favors?"

"Permits approved without questions. Investigations that disappear. Port access that shouldn't be granted. Police cooperation when we need it." I pause, watching her process each item on the list. "The Bratva has spent years building relationships with city officials. The mayor isn't special. He's just one of many."

Her face goes even paler, and I see her swallow hard. "How long?"

"About eight years. Since before he was mayor, actually. We helped fund his first campaign."

"Jesus Christ." She moves into the kitchen finally, her bare feet silent on the worn linoleum floor. She leans against the counter opposite me, putting the small room between us. Her arms wrap around her middle like she's trying to hold herself together. "And Zach?"

"What about him?"

"Does he know? About his father taking money from the Russian mafia?"

I consider the question carefully. "I don't know. The mayor keeps his business dealings separate from his family as much as possible. It's safer that way."