Page 3
He's worked for Papa for years, although worked for doesn't seem quite right when applied to a man like Garick.
Men work for other men because they're paid.
Garick looks like he does things because he's decided they're going to happen.
He's standing a little apart from the others in a black suit that fits across shoulders too broad to belong to someone who spends his days sitting behind a desk.
His dark hair is damp from the rain. No umbrella. His gaze lifts straight to mine and my stomach does something irritating.
I look away.
Absolutely not.
“Why is Garick Lazovski staring at you?” Evaria murmurs.
The coffin begins to lower, and suddenly, none of it is funny anymore.
Milana reaches for my hand. I take hers. Then Zhenya takes mine from the other side.
Galana links herself to Zhenya. Evaria catches Milana.
Five women standing in a row while the first handful of dirt hits the lid of our father's coffin.
My chest caves in. I'm not sure who I'm supposed to be now that Yaroslav Maximov is gone.
The service ends slowly. People begin approaching us with condolences. Hands are shaken. Cheeks are kissed. Men tell us what a great man our father was.
I wonder how many of them he threatened.
Quite a few, probably.
It takes almost an hour before we're finally shepherded toward the cars. I'm reaching for the door when someone says my name.
“Arina.”
I know who it is before I turn.
Garick.
Up close, he's even bigger. He stops a few feet away.
“I'm sorry about your father.”
“Thank you.”
His eyes move over my face. It's not inappropriate which is almost more annoying.
There's no obvious appraisal. No smirk. No attempt to flirt with a grieving woman at her father's funeral.
He simply looks at me like he's checking something.
“Take care of yourself, Arina.”
“You too.”
He looks like he wants to say something else. Instead, he steps back and closes the car door once I'm inside.
I watch him through the tinted window as we pull away. He doesn't move. He's still standing there when we turn out of the cemetery.
