All he says is, “I’m sorry.”
We lie in silence for a few moments, and then I say, “So can I stay here with you? While I deal with my sister’s funeral arrangements and make inquiries about Mika?”
He hesitates then nods. “You may stay with me.”
“Do you need your pakhan’s permission?”
He rubs a hand across his mouth. “Perhaps not. If you’re staying with me, and it’s temporary.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
He turns out the light.
I speak again. “Should I speak with him?” I still have to get myself into the leader’s penthouse. “I mean, may I? To ask about my nephew?”
“Da. I will bring you tomorrow.”
The tightness in my chest eases by one notch. A small victory.
I can plant the bugs, and the FBI will get what they need to bring the bratva down. Then they will help me locate Mika.
Things might work out for me after all.
Chapter Four
Maykl
Kira’s groggy in the morning–no doubt because her sleep schedule is off–but she rolls out of bed when I do.
After her surrender to me last night–the emotional one, not the sexual–I want to help her. I understand exactly the kind of life she’s probably led. I grew up in the bratva, too. Lured from unsavory home conditions into a life of violence and crime. I remember girls like Kira’s sister. Brought in to work off debts. Or passed around and given a wad of rubles before being sent home with a slap on her ass.
I understand perfectly why she might show up here thinking she’d find her nephew. Boys like him were often scooped up and incorporated into the brotherhood, just as I was.
All they had to do was rip their very soul from their bodies and pledge the rest of their lives to serve their leader.
I am thankful every day that I don’t live in that level of barbarity anymore. That Ravil is a different sort of leader. Here in the Kremlin, I feel like a human being.
Yes, I still use my fists. I still carry a gun. I still see death on occasion. But it all has a reason.
I don’t see random cruelty. I don’t see sexual slavery or rape, except those women my cell has rescued. Like Nadia, my friend Adrian’s sister.
I take a quick shower, and when I emerge, Kira’s dressed and sitting on the bed.
She’s more subdued today. Less of a Valkyrie. More of a grieving sister. I suppose now that she knows her nephew isn’t here, she doesn’t have to be prepared for battle.
Seeing her this way makes me want to be the one who goes to battle for her. I pull on my clothes. I need to go and open the building up for business in twenty minutes.
“I ordered us in some breakfast.” She holds up her phone. “Uber Eats.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell her. “I have food. But thank you.”
She seems surprised by my thanks.
“Where is your sister’s body?” I ask. We might as well start with the difficult things. Knock them off her list.
More surprise. Those startled ice-blue eyes find mine. “At the morgue.” She swallows. “I was too focused on finding Mika yesterday to make any arrangements.”
I nod. “We’ll take care of it today.”
“We?”
I nod. “Wasn’t that why you were intent on winning my…friendship last night?” I flick my brows, reminding her of her bold act, and she blushes, confirming my suspicion that her clumsy seduction of me was far from her normal behavior.
Now that I understand her background, I can see why she thought it would work. If her sister served as a bratva whore, she probably thought it was the only currency that works here.
I spread my hands. “You have me now. I want to help.”
Her lips part, and she draws in a staggered breath. “Thank you.”
“I have to go and open the building for your Uber Eats guy. Do you want to come down with me and wait?”
She stands from the bed. “Yes.” She pulls on her boots, and I take her hand to walk her to the elevator.
It’s a strange sensation to hold her hand. It feels both familiar and foreign at the same time. Like her hand belongs in mine even though I’ve never held a woman’s hand before in my life.
We ride down in the elevator in comfortable silence. When we get to the door, I see the delivery guy standing there waiting.
I enter the code to disable the alarm then swipe my keycard to open the lock.
I don’t like the looks of the delivery guy. He feels wrong. Most delivery guys are slouchy young men, in a hurry to make their drop-off and get to the next one. This guy seems too old. Too solid.
I give him a dark look that doesn’t induce him to shrink.
“Uber Eats for Kira?” he grunts, glancing at the receipt. “It didn’t have a room number.”