“Marrying Zoya would have had its own uses,” I say.
He raises his eyebrows.
“Kiril could have been your fiercest supporter. The rest of the Bratva would have seen a Pakhan who seeks to build strong relations with his brigadiers. Had you married Zoya, he would have fought to the death for you no matter what you did,” I explain. “But now he’s your worst enemy.”
He hums. Though he doesn’t say anything, I can see the gears turning in his brain. He’s really listening to me.
“Go on,” he says. “Don’t look so shocked now, Liya. You were doing so well. Keep going.”
“Look, it’s like if…” I can’t stop, even if I wanted to. “If Dmitri says I get paid more for the same hours, but all I have to do is wear skimpier clothing. Then yeah, I’ll do it. And as long as he’s fair with this treatment, others will do the same. Pretty soon, he’s gotten what he wants: more slutty-looking bartenders, and we get more money in our pockets.”
“Has he done that?” Pavel asks, his voice hard.
I don’t answer immediately. The truth is, that’s how it always starts with Dmitri. First it’s more pay for skimpier dresses. Then it’s goodbye hugs that last just a little too long. Then the kisses.
Then the touching.
I shudder.
“But you get what I mean,” I say softly.
“I do, from a certain point of view.”
I wrap my arms around myself even though the sun is rising higher and press on, preferring to let myself speak and think than to dwell on the thoughts of Dmitri. “I know Kiril stepped out of line at our wedding, but he was probably acting out of concern for his daughter. You would do the same thing for your child, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would!”
“She must have been excited at the idea of marrying you. I mean, room and board with full-time protection? I would have beenpissedif that got snatched away from me.”
He smirks. “Perhaps I married the wrong person.”
“No!” I blurt out. My face blushes when I realize what I just said. “I just…” I rub my arm nervously. “I’m putting it in terms you’ll understand.”
He looks at me, a lopsided grin on his handsome face. Those frosted green pools drill into me. And all of a sudden we’re back in Blaczak’s Horseman a couple of nights ago. He’s looking at me in a way that excites me. That encourages me to keep going. To take control.
“They might be thinking that your promises are empty,” I say. “That you’ll go back on your word at any given moment.”
He breaks eye contact. “A man without honor.”
“Exactly! Your promises aren’t worth a damn if you can’t even hold up a simple marriage contract. And because of that, you have to do something else to earn their trust.”
“Like what?”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. I might be flopping around a bit, but I’ve got him absorbed.
And that’s enough to keep my brain firing off ideas.
“Spoils of war,” I say. “Let your men keep what they take from Cardona. Just this one time.”
“And what happens on the next hit?”
“You take the regular cut, and…” My voice trails off after the words come out. This is what Dmitri does to me: he lets me keep my tips one night, and then he takes a cut on others. The inconsistency is maddening.
Pavel seems to have read my mind. A playful smile dances on his lips. “Not as simple, is it?”
“No,” I admitted.
“But there is the seed of a good idea there,” Pavel says.