The Beauty Who Loved Him by Bethany-Kris

21.

The last time Verawoke up to the sound of men’s murmurings, she’d wished more than anything that she had simply gone back to sleep. That was her first thought when she sleepily eyed the stairwell leading down from the master suites into the rear of Vaslav’s dark den.

Yet, she didn’t turn around.

Vera stepped into the stairwell, her fingers ghosting along the smooth railing that had been attached to the wood paneled wall on her way down. Maybe it was the familiar voices both, not just Vaslav that she recognized, and didn’t think the conversation was something she shouldn't hear. It wasn't usual for Igor to join Vas in his den for something or other.

Just not so late.

What time is it?

Vera hadn’t really checked the clock on the bedside table before slipping out of bed and padding into the bathroom. On her way to the bathroom, she’d first heard the murmurings coming from downstairs. She could count on one hand the number of times she woke up in Valsav’s bed without him beside her. Even if he woke up sick, she was there.

She quickly realized, once she was halfway down the stairs, why she could hear the murmurings in the suites upstairs. The two men talked so loudly, yelled, really, that they couldn’t even be trying to keep it private.

In her opinion, anyhow.

“You know how this goes, he talks, it’s over.”

“Vas—”

“If he fucking talks, Igor, it is over. There’s nothing to discuss about it. There’s nothing else to say.”

“There’s far more to say and you know it!” the man shouted back at Vaslav.

Vera had no intentions of eavesdropping. She learned her lesson the first time with Vaslav and his Italian business partner. As she came to stand in the small alcove leading from the rear hallway into the den, she didn’t hide her presence. Clearing her throat, she leaned against the trim of the wall’s corner, and folded her arms over her chest.

“It’s late,” Vera said.

One man sat behind the large desk, Vas. The other, Igor, stood just beyond the large carpet where Vaslav’s desk was positioned in the middle. Neither seemed all that interested in her, but that didn’t bother Vera.

“And you’re yelling,” she added after a moment.

She didn’t point out that both had been doing the shouting.

Did she need to?

Vaslav, with his fingers clasped together in front of his face, elbows resting on the desk, was careful not to meet Igor’s gaze before turning to glance at Vera. “Go back to bed, kisska.”

“Are you coming, too?”

He didn’t reply.

Vera arched an eyebrow, but Vaslav’s stare dropped from hers. Even the man across from the front of the desk wouldn’t meet her eyes at that moment.

What had she missed?

“What time is it?” she asked.

“A little after three,” Igor replied.

“In the morning?”

“Da.”

The darkness outside the windows of the den proved Igor’s statement to be true, but that didn’t mean Vera was able to process the late time or the reasons for the two men’s current argument, either.

“What’s happening?” Vera asked. “Something happened, right?”

Neither man spoke.

They didn’t even move a muscle.

Their lack of communication didn’t exactly sit right with Vera, considering it left her with a heaviness in her stomach that had little to nothing to do with the throbbing ache she still felt in her backside.

Why else would Igor be at Vaslav’s home at three in the goddamn morning? The man made the trip from the city to Dubna almost daily, usually every morning and evening, but she couldn’t remember a time when he showed up at an ungodly hour like this.

Or hell ...

Maybe he did, but it never woke her up before.

“Could you at least tell me if something is wrong?” she asked.

Vaslav continued staring across his desk at Igor, blankly. “Nothing is wrong. Go to bed, I said.”

“Why don’t you tell her, Vas?”

Igor’s question only served to make Vaslav glower at the man.

“Go on,” Igor urged, almost tauntingly, “tell her what’s happening. What would it hurt?”

“Shut up,” Vaslav deadpanned.

It was strange how he could talk without anger or any other emotional inflection, and yet, still make it sound like a threat. Vera, even standing several feet away, shifted uncomfortably on her feet at the heated staring contest between the two men.

“Why won’t you tell her what you did?” Igor asked, the only man in the room who seemed willing to let his emotions bleed into his words and tone. Even his stance, tense and ready to spring across the desk, if pushed, vibrated with his anger. “It’s not like you’re ashamed of it, it was for her!”

“What was?” Vera asked, looking at Vas.

Behind the desk, Vaslav’s jaw grinded loud enough for her to hear. He didn’t look away from Igor, though.

“You’re pushing your luck, comrade,” Vaslav told the other man. “I indulged your late-night phone call about a problem you know I can’t fix at this point, then I was kind enough to invite you into my house at an unacceptable hour just to appease your guilty conscience, and now you want to make demands?”

Igor laughed bitterly. “He’s just a kid, Vas. Come on.”

“What difference does that make?”

“It makes every difference to me! Kiril is just a fucking kid!”

“I can’t help that you feel responsible for the boy,” Vaslav responded dully. “I didn’t tell you to get him personally involved in your affairs, or mine, for that matter. Those were things you did, and you can’t blame me for putting him to good use while I had the chance.”

“Is that really what you want to call it?” Igor asked, his tone pitched high.

Vaslav dragged in a lungful of air, and turned to Vera once more. “Please, go up to bed. I’ll be there shortly to join you.”

Not yet.

Things were just getting interesting.

Or ... informative.

“What happened to Kiril? Didn’t he have to run something to the city for you?” she asked Vaslav.

His shoulders tensed at the question.

Igor barked a laugh. “Oh, he sure did. Nobody needs a fucking locksmith with that kid on hand, he can pick any lock put in front of his face, right, Vas?”

“Go to bed,” Vaslav repeated to Vera, ignoring Igor.

She still didn’t move. “Can’t you just—”

“Vera. That is enough.”

Unlike her, Igor wasn’t quieted by Vaslav’s sharp words.

“He broke into an office in the city to replace some papers that Vaslav had previously taken for reasons he is not willing to divulge, except because someone was too impatient to wait, and didn’t give him a proper heads up about an important incident from the night before, he wasn’t careful,” Igor hissed while his pointed stare locked on Vaslav explained exactly who he meant by someone.

“I don’t understand,” Vera admitted.

What did missing papers and someone breaking into an office have anything to do with her?

“Tell her,” Igor said, tipping his chin up subtly to appear like he was looking down on Vaslav, “or I will.”

“It won’t change anything, Igor.”

The bald man clenched his teeth, but it wasn’t enough to hide the emotion causing his jaw and chin to vibrate with tremors.

“It won’t change a thing,” Vaslav repeated, shrugging his broad shoulders under the simple grey t-shirt he had pulled on for bed. “Telling her isn’t going to make me pick up the phone, and make a call for him because I can’t. Kiril knows how this works; if he gets caught, he does the time. Like anybody else in this life.”

Vera rubbed away what sleepiness remained in her tired face with the pads of her fingers, all the while, desperately trying to piece together yet another one of Vaslav’s many puzzles. Even if he wasn’t talking directly to her, he gave away tidbits of information that she couldn’t ignore because clearly, every little bit was important.

“You’re blatantly disregarding—”

“What?” Vaslav interjected heatedly, standing from his desk with two fists slamming down to the top. “What am I disregarding, Igor? That you’ve toted the fucking kid around like a puppy for the last several months? Or how about that he’s had a very intimate and lengthy look at my personal and private life because of it? The very second he was arrested inside that fucking building—”

Squaring his shoulder and jaws, Vaslav calmed his delivery only slightly for what he told Igor next. “He could talk to the musor—pigs about anything and everything, and you wouldn’t even know it because it was too late the instant he was arrested. He had a choice to make, and you don’t know which one it was,” Vaslav said, gesturing his arms wide as if he was trying to make Igor understand it was out of his hands. “He’s been seen with you just enough to make him a target to anyone that has a problem with you, or me. There is nothing I can do. If he talks, he’s dead, and that’s the only thing you can offer him now. It has practically nothing to do with me. Otherwise, no vory, unless he wants it to be known he had dealings with police, is going to touch Kiril until he’s out of lock-up.”

“Kiril was arrested?”

Neither man acknowledged Vera’s question. Separated by only a desk, Vaslav and Igor were too busy staring one another down with heaving chests and clenched fists to pay any attention to her.

Or so she thought.

“Please,” Vaslav said, although he didn’t turn to her with the request, “go to bed, kisska.”

“They caught him leaving the private office of Feliks Abramov at The Swan House,” Igor said, his gaze cutting to Vera in the dimly lit den. “While I can guess what he was there to return, Vaslav wouldn’t admit it, because that would mean accepting some responsibility for the fact that the cops might very well connect Kiril to an incident he had nothing to do with, and all it would take is a phone call and a bribe to get him out of it.”

Vera’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Guilty by association is enough to convict Kiril,” Igor muttered, although that didn’t help with Vera’s understanding. “They know who he works for—it’s not really a choice, like Vaslav says. If he doesn’t talk, they put on the pressure. If he does, he’ll have to die.” Igor glanced at Vaslav again, the anger gone from his pleading expression. “He’s seventeen, Vas. He’s barely fucking seventeen, and you’re expecting a lot out of a boy who isn’t even yet a man.”

“You’re looking at the wrong man for pity.”

“How about empathy?”

Vaslav scoffed. “Really, what’s that?”

“Vas,” Vera said, “don’t be purposefully mean.”

He didn’t even glance sideways at her.

“Igor,” Vaslav said, “it might only take a call, and more money paid than he’s worth to me, but there isn’t a soul in Russia today that would do the same for me. They didn’t when it was me. Don’t talk to me about empathy. He made the choice; the expectation is always clear. Unless you’re willing for it to be your neck and respect on the line for the kid, do not come and ask the same from me. At most, they’ll get him on the break and enter with minor theft, if they came up on him with anything. God, it’ll barely be a handful of months.”

“You don’t know that,” Igor replied swiftly.

“Why was Kiril at Feliks’ office at——”

“Vera, go to fucking bed,” Vaslav snapped at her.

Her gaze narrowed right back. “No.”

“Why he was there barely even matters,” Igor muttered, defeat and sadness coating his every action as he waved and turned around like he was meaning to leave. “What does is that Feliks will never be going back to his office, or that fucking place, and the musor already practically know it. If you had just told him when he was here to be careful, that investigators had already been at the bridge in Dubna and identified Feliks’ car—”

“The one that burned?” Vera asked.

“Go to bed!”

The roar shook the room and rattled her bones.

At that point, Vera didn’t really have a choice but to swallow the reply that soured on the back of her tongue with her own bitter anger. Igor exited the den from the main doors, and Vaslav instantly fell back into his seat.

Vaslav didn’t tell her to leave again, but too many questions remained for Vera to move. One screamed louder than the rest.

“What if,” Vera started to say.

Vaslav lifted his head a fraction of an inch. “What if, what?”

“What if Kiril was me?” she asked quietly.

“In custody?”

“Whatever,” she replied. “What if it was me?”

“It’s not even the same.” Vaslav sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his mouth and jaw, mumbling, “It’s not the same because I love you. Cement and bars; heaven or hell—nothing will change that, kisska.”

What did that change?

Nothing.

“You don’t have to love Kiril to care, Vas.”

“Who said I didn’t care? Vera, it rarely ever comes down to that.”

“So, what does?” she asked, not tempering the sarcasm she was sure he’d take as disrespect. “What does it come down to for you to justify a kid getting locked up and taking fault for you, according to Igor, and doing nothing about it?”

Vaslav stood up from the chair, then, his hands flattening to the desk and drawing her gaze in. He’d taken off all his gold rings, leaving his tattooed fingers bare and the upturned spider visible where it took up a good size of space on the back of his hand and wrist. He’d not even bothered to change out of the sweatpants he went to bed in before coming down to see Igor.

“I didn’t make Kiril choose this life,” Vaslav said, “and I don’t determine the price he has to pay for it, either. What that means, no matter the man or his age, is the same; a thief is a thief, and if he talks, he’s dead. I won’t incentivize his silence or release. Not even fear can teach true loyalty. And if I made a call, paid a goddamn bribe, what good would it even do?”

“I would think, to get him out, Vas.”

Vaslav’s knuckles slammed into the desk with a sickening crack that made Vera flinch. “So, single the young thief out. Make him look special. Shit, maybe I even give him his stars, and make him untouchable. What does that do? Because if he’s protected once, the rest of the brotherhood will never let him forget it.”

He offered Vera nothing else, and the rough brush of his body against hers as he passed her by ended the conversation altogether for them both.

She didn’t follow behind, expecting the crash of Vaslav’s emotions to echo overhead as he entered the upstairs suites. Instead, she was greeted by the stomp of his footsteps coming right back down, but far faster than he had initially gone up.

He met her in the stairwell corridor, pinning her against the wall with his expansive, muscled chest and a hand that ghosted over her jaw. The touch wasn’t forceful, but his silent demand for her to look up was clear.

Vaslav tilted his head back a bit when their eyes met. “Let me explain, it’s the only time I will, why I can’t and won’t do anything for Kiril “

Vera whispered, “Please do.”

She didn’t expect him to be frank, detailed, or even truly honest. From the moment she walked into his life, Vaslav had made his affliction to lie or hide things abundantly clear. If it served him, he didn’t even blink about it.

Why would this be different?

She forgot, in that moment, that he’d already told exactly why; he loved her.

“Feliks Abramov died by burning to death in the entrance of a bridge that later collapsed. More importantly, he was in possession of a hundred million American dollars that will be traced back to various worldwide bank accounts in the name of Vera Giana Avdonin Pashkov. In three to six months,” he said, never once dropping her wildly darting stare, “when Feliks is officially pronounced dead, because they’ll never drag him up from where he is, and his estate is handled, paperwork and legal filings will be discovered. Recent documentation that proves the sale and transaction of a certain church, or would you like me to call it your ... little school?”

Her next inhale stung. “That’s why Kiril was in Feliks’ office? You’re not saying ...”

“What exactly does a man gift to the woman who reminds him of heaven?”

Vera’s chin trembled in her attempt to hold back the warring emotions threatening to drag her under a current she would not be able to swim. Oh, she wanted to be mad; he deserved that and more. “I never asked you for that.”

Vaslav only shrugged. “You didn’t have to. Think of it like an early wedding present, no? Welcome to forever.”

His palm slid around her neck, and he dropped a bruising kiss against her lips, and helpless to the man she’d allowed to take her heart, she let him. He crushed her to him, even when she didn’t kiss him back, but her body melted into his.

As much as a part of her wanted to pull away, she didn’t.

“If Kiril doesn’t talk,” Vera breathed out.

Her lips quivered. She tried so hard to stop.

She couldn’t finish the sentence, either. Inside her mind, what she left unspoken still screamed: I never asked for that.

“The Swan House,” Vaslav replied, kissing her between each word, “is all yours.”