Chapter 4
My phone rings while I’m buttoning my shirt, showing my uncle’s name on the screen. The old boar normally likes to sleep till noon on Sundays. I know only one reason why he would be calling this early.
“What is it, Leonid?” I bark into the phone.
“I heard you brought a woman. Is she still in the house?”
“This is my house, so it doesn’t concern you.”
“It means she is. You never bring your sluts home,” he says, and my body goes rigid.
“If I hear you called her that again, in front of me or anyone else, I’m going to slit your throat. Is that clear?”
“What the hell has gotten into you, Roman?”
“Have I been clear, Leonid?”
There is silence on the other side of the line before he answers, “Yes.”
“Good.” I cut the line.
I hate that man, but I can’t risk throwing him out, no matter how much I want to. Leonid knows too much, and I need him here, where I can keep my eye on him the whole time.
I reach for the crutches leaning on the nightstand, place them on either side of me, and hoist myself up. Putting the crutches under my armpits, I take a deep breath and make the first few painfully-slow steps. My knee is usually stiff in the mornings, but it’s much better than a month ago. All those hours of physical therapy are finally paying off, but I’m still a long way away from getting rid of the damn wheelchair. I hate the bloody thing, but I still have days when the pain is too strong, and I can’t bear to even move my right leg.
When I find the bastards who planted that bomb, I’m going to enjoy killing them. I might have been sedated, but I remember two people talking in my hospital room. I couldn’t recognize the voices or grasp the whole meaning of what was said, but I understood enough to know that they were involved.
One of them is probably my flesh and blood, living under my roof. I don’t have proof, but I’m almost certain that Leonid played a part. Who is the other one? I still have to find out.
When I leave my room, I hear a sound of slightly off-key singing coming from the kitchen and turn to see Nina rummaging through the fridge. I knew she was short, but from my sitting position last night, I wasn’t able to pinpoint her exact height. She’s even shorter than I thought, barely five feet. The hem of my T-shirt reaches down to her knees, and she looks comical in it. Barefoot, the top of her head wouldn’t even come to my breastbone.
She’s standing with her back to me, so she doesn’t see me when I approach to stand by the dining table a few paces behind her.
“Anything interesting in that fridge?” I ask.
Nina jumps with a startled yelp and closes the fridge with a bang. “Shit, you almost gave me a heart att—”
She stops mid-sentence and just stands there staring at me, her eyes huge. I expected her to be surprised seeing me out of the wheelchair, but the emotion showing on her face is not a surprise. It’s fear.
“Nina?” I take a step toward her.
She flinches and takes a step back, bumping into the fridge. Her breathing quickens, becoming shallow like she can’t take enough air in, and her hands are slightly trembling. She is having a panic attack. I have no idea what triggered it, but she’s terrified of something and I’m pretty certain that thesomethingis me. It makes no sense. Just a couple of hours earlier I was holding her in my lap, and she didn’t look scared at all.
“Roman,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper, “I need you to sit down. Please.”
I don’t see the sense in her request, but I take two steps toward the dining table, pull out the chair, and sit down. Nina stays rooted to the spot in front of the fridge, but at least her breathing seems to be coming under control.
A stray thought crosses my mind, something she said when we arrived. I remember it clearly now and I don’t like what it implies. “You said something last night. I need you to explain what you meant by that.”
She blinks and shakes her head. “What exactly?”
Her voice is stronger now, almost normal, but still, she doesn’t move. Her back is plastered to the fridge like she wants to melt into it.
I focus my eyes on her face, making sure I catch her reaction. “What did you mean by ‘I’m not a fan of large things’?”
She blinks and, instead of answering, turns on her heel and runs into her room. The door closes with a bang at the same time my realization settles in and anger starts boiling in my stomach. Someone hurt her, and for her to react this way, it must have been really bad.
The clock on the nightstand shows two p.m. I can’t stay locked in the room the whole day, I know that. But still, I can’t make myself go there and face Roman after the episode from this morning. He probably thinks I’m crazy. God, even after two years, I’m still fucked up in the head.