Misha knew the dangers of being lax. He would ensure all men are ready and truly prepared to leave if shit hits the fan. He went off to take care of that while Sergei, Nikolai, and I discussed options and locations.
“When should we leave?” Nikolai asked. “Tonight? Or tomorrow?”
I raised my head, my eyes traveling over the horizon. The afternoon was getting late, the sun slowly lowering on the horizon. I wanted to leave right now but we needed to ensure we have everything ready. We couldn’t leave in a rush and make Anastasia even more of a target.
Nikolai and Sergei pulled out our locations we’d established all over Russia over the years debating back and forth where we would be best positioned. My thoughts went back to the moment Anastasia’s gasp had me turning to realize she witnessed me executing our captive.
There wasn’t much more she could have witnessed in terms of my brutality. It was unapologetically me, but part of me wished she wouldn’t have learned it in quite that manner. But then, there wasn’t really a good way to ease a person into the fact that I was a ruthless killer.
“She’ll see it was for protection,” Nikolai spoke up.
Sometimes I debated whether Nikolai’s optimistic approach was good or bad.
“How did Anastasia’s family get mixed up with Boris?” Sergei asked. It was the question that has been bothering me all along. Those two should have never crossed paths; their worlds so vastly different and unrelated. Although, now that I knew the history I understood why Manciatti relentlessly went after Boris until he was put away. The newspapers called him razor focused on Boris Jovanov’s capture and described it as a prosecutor’s obsession.
“I don’t know,” I answered my brother. “But there is something more here. Something neither Anastasia nor her father are willing to reveal. Or maybe it is only her father.”
“We’ll find out,” Nikolai chimed in. “We always do.”
He was right about that. Whether it took us a day or a month, we would find out this connection between Boris and Anastasia’s family.
Dusk had fallen by the time we were done for the day and headed back inside.
“Where is Anastasia?” I asked one of the guards as soon as we entered Sergei’s house.
“She’s in the kitchen with Sonia.”
All three of us headed for the kitchen and stopped dead in our tracks.
“Spa-si-ba,” Anastasia murmured in her soft voice, frowning. “Isn’t there a shorter version of thank you in Russian?”
“No,” Sonia told her, smiling. “Do you speak only English?”
Anastasia was concentrating on a piece of paper and her phone, her eyebrows furrowed as if she was trying to process it. “I’m good with Italian, German, and French.”
“Russian won’t be a problem then,” Sonia assured her.
“I don’t know,” she muttered. “This damn alphabet looks horrible.”
She gave Sonia a small smile, exhaustion clear in her face as she pronounced the word in Russian again.
“Do they teach Italian in American schools?” Sonia asked her curiously.
I was starting to see more and more that Anastasia Manciatti for all her privileged upbringing wasn’t much hung up on the status. The way she sat with Sonia, as if they both grew up together and have known each other forever. No social status or upbringing setting them apart.
“No,” she chuckled in a soft voice. “There was this boy I liked in high school and he was Italian.”
“You learned the language for a boy?” Sonia sounded a bit shocked.
“Stupid, right?” Anastasia shook her head. “It started that way. He was older than me and I was adamant to prove I was mature. But a month into it, I realized he was a douche.” Sonia wrinkled her forehead trying to understand her slang. “Douche means… well, that he was an idiot and he wasn’t worth it. But I was so invested in Italian by that point, I figured I might as well go all the way.” She pressed a button on her phone and tried repeating the wordpleasein Russian. “Poz-hal-uysta.” Anastasia looked up and Sonia nodded her head to confirm she said it right. “Anyhow, I wouldn’t advise you to even look at Italian men. They age horribly. We met him for drinks over the summer. Yeah… totally not hot.”
Sonia laughed. “Are you learning Russian because you like a man?”
Even standing from over here, I could see Anastasia blushing. “Hell no. I have had enough of Russians to last me a lifetime.”
“What do you mean?” Sonia asked her in earnest surprise. “You think we are not good enough?”
Anastasia raised her eyes to Sonia and her eyes softened. “No, that was not what I meant,” she answered on an exhale. “I just… I don’t know. Every Russian man I have met so far is rather-” she paused searching for the right word, “... I guess violent is the word.”