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“Because Arsen killed Yevgeniy’s son. Pyotr.”
“Hm.” Her eyes narrow ever so slightly. Not enough for me to figure out what she thinks, but enough to tell me that I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear.
“Is it true, then?”
“This is about more than the answer to that question, isn’t it?”
“No,” I say too quickly.
But Ulyana doesn’t argue. Instead, she links her fingers over her lips and just looks at me. I can’t tell if she’s smiling or frowning. Neither would be good. Of course it’s about more than Pyotr. I need to know if Arsen is capable of killing a child!
I need to know if he’s capable of killing another one. I force my breathing to slow down. “You’re right,” I lie carefully. “There’s more. Yevgeniy said that my position in this war isn’t different than my mother’s in regard to him. Do you think that’s right? Am I blind to the fact I’m trapped with an abusive monster?”
“There is a world of difference,” her hand falls to the table with a thud, and her eyes flash with anger, “between Arsen and that monster.” She chews each word, spitting out the next. “Arsen has a moral code. Yevgeniy never did.”
The steam of her coffee swirls around her like a righteous cloud of anger. Yet in spite of how worked up she’s getting, it doesn’t convince me. This is it. There’s no more point in delaying.
“If he has a moral code,” I say. “Then you should be able to tell me he didn’t kill Pyotr.”
She holds my stare evenly. Like a puddle in the rain, her doubt grows steadily. The pride she wore a moment ago is all gone. Settling back in her chair, she pulls her cup closer but doesn’t drink from it.
“You know nothing, Galina Yevgeniyevna!”
“Then tell me,” I argue.
Ulyana sizes me up. My conviction wins out, and she hangs her head in defeat. “Yes. Arsen killed Pyotr.”
Her words hit me harder than I could ever expect. It’s as if someone has shoved me face-first into a pond of ice and is now holding me there. My throat closes and I find it hard to breathe. No. My God, it can’t be true. But Ulyana wouldn’t lie about this. There’s no reason.
Shivering, I grab my coffee cup, seeking warmth, but the hot drink isn’t enough. Either it’s gone lukewarm, or I’m too beyond what it can offer me.
He did it.
He killed a child.
And that means ...
He can do it again.
Recalling Ruslan’s smile, so similar to my mother’s, I fight down a ripple of nausea. I loathe Yevgeniy, but I have no wish for an innocent child—even if that child is his son—to suffer the actions of his father.
Why did I ask?
Because you wanted to know, stupid girl!
Now I do, and I can’t forget it.
“Why?” I croak hoarsely. “Why would Arsen do that?”
Ulyana turns away from me to look out the window. There’s nothing to see. The sky is flat gray without any defined clouds, but she studies it like it’s a painting in a museum. “That’s not for me to tell you.”
“But you know!” I argue. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because this is not for me to tell!” she says flatly. “If you want to know, then you must ask Arsen yourself. But know this: there will be consequences, Galina.”
“There always are,” I mutter.
“Not like this,” she snaps, and I sit up in response.
