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“Galina Stepanovna,” her voice turns light and teasing. “Are you jealous?”
“I didn’t say that!” But my argument is weak. I look away in shame. “But yes. I am. I mean … You’re the perfect woman for him. And you’ve been working for him since his previous wife died, so I just thought that …”
I can’t bear to finish the sentence.
Mila points the light directly in my face and I gasp at the brightness, shielding myself.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she says. “I never thought about him like that. Besides, Arsen is too much of a professional. He doesn’t shit where he eats.” Moving the light from my eyes, she shrugs. “Nobody with brains would date an assassin anyway. Don’t you dare tell him I implied he has brains, by the way. I have ways of making you hurt without him ever seeing. Ponimayete?”
I know it’s not a real threat. Mila has a prickly outer shell, but inside, it’s obvious her heart is massive. Why else would she be helping me when she gets nothing from the risk? Relieved to learn that there was never anything between her and Arsen, I find myself wondering about something else.
“How did you become an assassin, anyway? I don’t imagine there’s an assassin school or anything like that.”
Even in the shadows, I can spot how her toothy grin fades. She moves her phone up and down, indicating the box at my feet. “Hurry up and grab what you need so we can get out of here.”
She doesn’t want to talk about it. Taking the hint, I crouch down, shuffling papers. I’ve collected a stack of promising documents when Mila lets out an aggravated sigh.
I notice she’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, phone still aimed perfectly at my box. Her attention is fixed on the ceiling.
“Mila?”
“Do you really want to know?” Her voice is soft, and she continues staring at the ceiling.
My heart tells me that I shouldn’t pry, but my curiosity wins out.
“I do.”
Mila looks at me for a moment before turning her gaze back toward the ceiling away, chewing her lip as if she’s searching for the right words. My attention is now focused entirely on her, the stack of documents temporarily forgotten.
“The Grachev Bratva under Yevgeniy,” she begins slowly, “used to deal in prostitution. And more than once, one of the women got pregnant.” Her voice grows smaller, and when she resumes talking, it shivers. “Yevgeniy saw the kids born from those women as assets. The boys would go on to become his boeviki, and the girls … Well, we had other uses.”
We? Did she just say we? My eyes widen as I hold my breath.
She straightens up, advancing on me with purpose. I start to stand, but she’s faster. She kneels in front of me, ripping open her jacket and shirt to expose the skin on her right shoulder. Pressed into it is a tattoo of a fox sitting on its haunches. Its black body is surrounded by thick, detailed chains. One look, and I can tell that the tattoo has been there for a long time.
My heart is pounding now. “Ulyana told me about how the Bratva marks its members. But she said the women only get tattoos if they’re the last living heirs.”
“Heirs!” That gets a bitter laugh out of her. It’s loud enough that I glance around nervously, worrying someone might hear. “Ulyana wants to protect your tender heart, Galina Stepanova.” She covers the fox up, standing over me again. “Do you know what that tattoo actually means?”
I shake my head.
“The chains are proof that I’m property. The fox means I have one purpose, and one alone. To make a living for the Bratva on my back until the day I die.”
Property? My heart leaps to my throat. Did she just say property?
“That’s terrible!”
Her lips form a smile. In the dark, it looks more like a snarl.
“Not everyone agrees,” she replies. “Luckily, Arsen did. That’s what started this whole feud between him and Yevgeniy in the first place.” She’s speaking in a hush that barely passes her gritted teeth. “Do you have any idea the kind of hell that is?”
“No,” I admit. “Didn’t your mother try and stop it?”
“She had the same tattoo.” Mila spins around, and the hurt in her voice is unmistakable. “She must have. But I wouldn’t know. She left this earth long before I ever realized that I even had a mother.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. Shards of agony poke holes in my heart.
Rising, I reach for her.
