Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
He pauses to kiss me lightly. I’m taken aback by how normal that feels, but I try not to let him see it. “You’re in a good mood. Did someone get laid last night?”
“Don’t be crass.” My cheeks turn pink and I have to turn my back on him or else he’ll tease me for it. “I have a mission. That always focuses me.”
He goes still. “Alina…”
“No, don’t start. I’m not going to do anything stupid, but clearly this whole Molchanie thing is about me.”
“I can handle this. You don’t have to stress. Worry about Sistine.”
“That’s just some stupid store. This is your family we’re talking about.” I wave him away when he glares at me. “We’re a team now, right?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
I step forward and jab a finger into his chest, staring hard. “We’re a team now, right?”
He sighs and holds up his hands. “Yes, dear. We’re a team.”
“Good. That means equal partners.”
“In most things—”
“In all things. Conversation over.” I stride past him toward the stairs. “Enjoy your coffee!”
“That woman’s going to get me killed,” he mumbles as I leave.
But that’s the thing. I plan on making sure that exact scenario doesn’t happen.
Whoever this Molchanie is, she never imagined she’d get tangled up with a woman like me.
“I’m sorry, Alina, but your father is very busy.” Katya seems genuinely sorry as she gazes at me over her date book. “He has meetings all morning—”
“I swear, if you try to pretend like his meetings are anything other than him watching the news and doing push-ups, I’ll punch you in the neck.”
Katya sighs. I hate being firm with her, but there’s no way I’m letting her send me away. I don’t have time for that.
Three days. That’s all.
And if I don’t figure out who Molchanie is and what she wants, someone’s going to die because of me.
“I’ll see what I can do, but only because it’s you, Alinochka.” She snaps her book shut and marches off, leaving me in the sitting room of the Morozov house.
It’s funny, coming back here. I grew up in these rooms and hallways, but they don’t feel like my own anymore. The second I was old enough to move out, I ran off to college like my ass was on fire, and I never looked back. Not even during the summers. When I was gone, I was done with this place.
Now I’m here again and I can feel a little nostalgic.
Dad gave me a decent childhood. There was a lot of weirdness, obviously. He kept long hours, had secret meetings all the time, and there were constantly creepy armed men lurking around. But everyone was always kind to me since I was the Pakhan’s spoiled baby daughter, and I liked that role.
I leaned into it for a while.
Now I look back and wonder what I was thinking. Why did I buy into the Bratva lifestyle so much? The nice clothes, the expensive jewelry, the privilege and comfort. I like all that, but it’s all just stuff. It’s precarious. It can be taken away at any moment.
Maybe this crisis is making me a little existential.
“Would you please refrain from scaring Katya?” Dad appears in the doorway, scratching at his belly. “She loves you dearly, but the woman is like a skittish baby deer sometimes.”
“I think you underestimate her. She has to be pretty strong to stomach you all day long.”
He grunts, smiling slightly, and comes to sit on the couch across from mine. “To what do I owe the pleasure of my baby girl’s visit?”
Papa’s unshaken, his eyes slightly red, probably from not sleeping very well. He’s in slacks and a polo shirt, but he looks slightly unkempt and rumpled. It’s not like him at all.
Ruslan Morozov is normally a powerful man. He knows how appearances can be important. The way he looks reflects on the way people treat him. And right now, he looks like shit.
“I need to ask you some questions, Papa, and I need you to be honest with me.”
“When am I ever dishonest with you, Alina?”
“Always. Every second of every day.”
He waves dismissively. “You are being dramatic.”
That pisses me off. He always calls me dramatic when he wants to pretend I’m not worth listening to. I decide to dive straight into the reason I’m here, hoping I can catch him off guard.
“Who is Molchanie? Who is she, really?”
Papa’s mouth twitches. He stares at me, not moving, and that simple reaction tells me everything.
He knows something more than he admitted before.
“Nobody can answer that,” he finally says. “Why are you asking me?”
“She’s from Moscow. You have a lot of contacts back in Russia.”
“Molchanie isn’t like that.”
“What do you know about her?”
“Nothing. Nothing important. She’s a hired killer, that is all.” His expression darkens the more he talks. “Why are you asking me this?”