I can’t let Pavel drag me down. I can’t watch him destroy himself.
And in that instant, I know my answer—my future: I’m walking away.
Whether I’m ready or not.
Chapter Eighteen
Pavel
I toss my phone aside. The screen lights up with another call, each one sending another jolt of irritation through my body. Blocked numbers, private numbers, foreign numbers—it’s been a fine medley of everything. Bosses from Russia have called. Bosses from Lithuania have left messages. Families inside the Bratva who have caught wind of the article have been feeling free to get in touch too.
Every so often, I get a picture of a ball and chain.
Some people are so original.
My wife has publicly proved she has me by the balls. If she can sway me, then so can everyone else. I’m hung up to dry. I’m weak.
And it’s all her fault.
Another call flashes across the screen. I clench my jaw and ignore my phone, walking purposefully toward the foyer. Stepan sits in his usual spot near the door. Kostya has the kitchen. Gennadiy has the den. The whole place is locked down.
I feel trapped.
Without looking up, Stepan asks, “Can I get you something, Pavel Sergeyevich?”
“A new number would be a good start.”
He nods and rustles the newspaper in his hands. This one doesn’t host a headline about Liya—but that does mean there aren’t some clever stories hiding inside.
He flips to a new page. “I can screen your calls if you’d like.”
“I need to be alone. Call if you—” I huff angrily while turning away. I shed my blazer and drape it over my arm. “You know where to find me.”
“Yes, Pavel Sergeyevich.”
A patch of skin under my right earlobe fidgets. Annoyance settles in as I hold the banister. I hear Gennadiy cough and Kostya adjust in his squeaky chair. They’ve heard everything I’ve said this morning.
Repeatedly.
It’s made me sick. While Liya rests, I’m doing damage control. She has no idea the scope of what she’s done. She’s never had to nurse a reputation like mine. All she’s ever done is snatch what’s been handed to her.
I climb the steps.This is ridiculous. I’ve been handling calls nonstop. And what has she done?I glare at the bedroom door as I pass it.She hasn’t even left the fucking room.
The attic door squeaks when I walk through it. I shut and lock it behind me, taking a breath of the stale air. Stress trickles out of my system. I shrug my shoulders, loosening the tight muscles there.
I don’t care. I just want to work in peace. I set my blazer over the banister and roll up my sleeves.
Half of a crib sits in the center of the attic floor. Stepan has done well to obey my orders. Liya has no idea what I’m building up here—and she doesn’t need to know until it’s ready. Even then, what good will it do for her to know I’ve been building this crib the entire time?
Dust drifts through the air, spiraling through rays of light shining through the circular attic window. A metal string hangs to my left. I pluck it, listening to the familiarclinkof the bulb switching on. Yellow light chases away some of the shadows.
I glance at the corners of the attic, still awash with darkness. Liya’s voice floats through my head.Do you see it, Pavel? Or do I need to spell it out for you?
My fists clench at my sides.
Sheneedsme to survive. She can’t live unless she’s working on a project. Jonas was a shining example of her savior complex. That blubbering idiot was racing toward his grave without a care in the world.
Did Liya know that? Absolutely.