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“He cornered me with a group of men who had guns. They stuck me in a car, though I tried to fight back. It happened right outside Tsar’s a few weeks ago.”
“Weeks,” she whispers in disbelief. “You mean this whole time you’ve been here? Galina! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We’ve been texting and everything!”
“I know, I know.” Pushing my hair behind my ears, I let out a tired sigh. “I thought I had everything under control.” Audrey looks pointedly at my stomach. I cringe at what she’s reminding me of. “Okay, I was wrong. Really wrong. Arsen is in charge of the Grachev Bratva,” I explain, seeing her confusion growing by the second. Her distress isn’t far behind. “He made me believe I had to stay here with him. And Mom too, so we’d be safe.”
“Your mother is here too?” She stares up at the ceiling in disbelief. “Wait. Safe from what?”
“There’s another man out there looking for me. His name is Yevgeniy Grachev. Arsen has been warring with him for years since he forced Yevgeniy out of the Bratva, and my family is mixed up in it.”
Audrey taps her fingers on her cheeks thoughtfully. Her forehead is a mess of wrinkles. “You’re really in the middle of something huge. Arsen … he wants this baby?”
I press my belly and shiver. The anguish at hearing that question is impossible to quantify. “Yes,” I breathe out. That’s why this is so hard. I don’t tell her the last bit; she doesn’t need to know my internal struggle about loving a murderer.
“You’re screwed,” she states bluntly. My heart sticks in my throat. Audrey suddenly smiles in that sly way of hers. “That’s what I would say if you weren’t best friends with someone married to a lawyer who specializes in witness protection.”
A relieved laugh explodes out of me. “Do you think Josh can help?”
“Of course he can!” Jumping up, Audrey grabs my hands, squeezing our knuckles together. That’s when she notices the wedding ring. “Galina, holy shit, you didn’t?—”
“It’s fake,” I cut her off. Pulling my hands away, I clutch my ring like it weighs a ton. “The marriage, I mean. The ring is definitely real. Arsen is too loaded and too proud to buy anything but legit diamonds.”
She rolls her eyes and makes a jerking-off motion. “Cool. Love that for him. When we get away, you can sell it and buy yourself a brand-new life away from his criminal ass.”
I force on a plastic smile because I don’t want her to drill me for more details. It never crossed my mind to sell the ring. It’s an obvious option, so why does it curdle my blood? Stop thinking about Arsen and anything that connects you to him. None of it matters. None. But as Audrey babbles on about the ways she’ll spirit me out of Arsen’s reach, I touch my stomach again.
Some things will always matter.
43
ARSEN
“Arsen Kirilovich!”
My eyes shoot up to see Nikolai rushing in my direction. I was about to get into my car because I’d heard rumblings about strange men being spotted near Galina’s dance studio. My plan was to check it out, if only to distract myself.
“What is it?” I ask as Nikolai draws near.
He keeps his voice low as he pulls out his phone. “I was reviewing security camera footage. This is from yesterday, around ten in the morning.”
Curious, I watch the video. In it, I spot a white van rolling through the gates. It parks close to the side of my mansion by the door that leads to the storage rooms in the kitchen. Two people climb out, open the back of the van, and start unloading boxes, including a large one that seems unusually heavy.
“What am I looking at?” I ask. “Danil always gets deliveries like this.”
“He gets them on Tuesdays,” Nikolai says flatly.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Yesterday was Thursday. Gripping the phone, I put it closer to my face, squinting with fresh interest. The van remains where it is long after the boxes are gone. I fast forward. About forty minutes later … two people return to the van.
Carrying the same large box.
“Why would they bring anything back to the van?” I ask skeptically.
“I think they were transporting something from inside the house.”
My eyes narrow at this suggestion. “Like what?”
“Here, there’s more.” He takes the phone, clicks some icons, then shows me a new video. This one is the camera that covers my home’s entryway. The time syncs up fifteen minutes before the van first arrives.
When I spot Galina creeping down the stairs, glancing around, then hurrying out of view toward the kitchen, my pulse goes haywire.
