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You don’t know what’s going to happen, I remind myself sadly. Linking my fingers with Arsen’s, I study his face, looking for a sign he’ll stir. He’s oblivious to my touch. Arsen ... you said we’re partners ... but did you mean it? I wish I knew for sure. If I did, the lead balls in my chest would melt away.
I haven’t breathed easy in months.
He wishes to end this war; that’s all I should be focusing on. The violence will end. It has to.
Not knowing how it’s possible to create peace for us without more killing, I shut my eyes and snuggle against the father of my child. He’s not a liar ... We’re on the same side. We are.
I fall asleep without believing it.
31
GALINA
I’ve developed a slight obsession with baby forums. My mother is out of reach, Ulyana has never had kids, Olesya is too naive, and Audrey … I should be able to talk to Audrey, but ever since her husband was roped in to help with the cops, our relationship has been awkward. Each chat has a heavy air around it, like discussing the baby is inappropriate.
I’ve wondered more than once if she’s not actually excited about the pregnancy. Her opinion of Arsen isn’t a glowing one, after all.
Sitting downstairs in a patch of sun on the long green couch by the massive windows, I scroll through my phone idly. There are all kinds of messages on the forum. People post about how far along they are—they love comparing their babies to the size of vegetables and fruit—and talk about if they’re having a boy or a girl; they even complain about their in-laws. That’s a very popular topic to vent about.
I’d take that problem over the ones I have, I muse cynically. I’m reading the live chat, and half the posters are going on about planning baby showers—something I feel a pang of regret about, because I doubt I’ll get one. Suddenly someone drops a link to a video. I sit up, squinting while reading the barrage of all-caps messages.
What is everyone freaking out about? Curious, I click over. The link pops up, revealing a video screen with a big red live button. There’s a blonde woman speaking into a microphone as she stands in front of a large building downtown.
“Breaking news. We’re coming to you live from downtown in front of one of the most popular nightclubs in the area, the Winter Palace.”
I’m assaulted by a jolt of adrenaline. The Winter Palace? What’s going on? The woman keeps speaking. I push my nose to my phone, listening with rising unease.
“This was the place to see and be seen, but just last night, police performed a raid on it. What they found will shock you. A dozen or so bodies, all women, were found in the bottom level of the high-end club.”
Clapping my hand over my mouth, I muffle a loud groan. No! Bodies!? What the hell happened!
The reporter fades away as the camera zooms in on the building. There are police cars parked all around, blocking much of the view. “The location, which police revealed doubled as a brothel, was shut down immediately. According to our insider, the brutally murdered women had various messages carved right onto their bodies. This is what the police commissioner has to say.”
Oh my God. Did she say carved ... onto their ... I tighten my hand over my mouth in case I vomit.
A portly man with a white mustache and the tell-tale black uniform of a police officer appears on my screen. His voice is a reverberating, gritty baritone. “Late last night, we raided the Winter Palace on a tip. The scene was horrific. In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like it. We’re still investigating, but our current evidence points the blame in one direction—the Grachev Bratva.”
“Arsen!” I shout, not lifting my eyes from the screen. “Arsen, come here quick!”
Footsteps pound through the home. It takes him all of ten seconds before he cuts around the corner, searching for me with wide, worried eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Just look!” I yell, thrusting my phone in his direction. He hurries over, crouching over the back of the couch to watch my screen. His eyes widen, darting from side to side before narrowing to tight slits.
His hands clutch the couch as he lets out a hot breath. “Yevgeniy is behind this.”
“What?” I ask, lowering my phone. “Why would he ruin his own club?”
“To pin it on me. That bastard would raze his business to the ground if it meant he could take me down in the process.” Straightening up, he walks back and forth with his hand running over his hair. He stares into the air, his brain on overdrive. “He’s going to send the cops straight to me.”
A mild ringing rises in my ears. I hear the reporter’s words again. Dead women. Bodies carved with messages. A secret brothel. The Grachev Bratva.
“He’s going to get away without a single scratch,” I whisper. My eyes dart to Arsen.
My phone buzzes, startling me so much that I almost drop it. Navigating away from the news video, I answer the call when I recognize the caller is Audrey. “Hello?”
“Galina! Did you see?—”
“Yeah, the Winter Palace? It’s awful. Those poor girls.”
