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“Do you think it could happen again?”
“It might,” I say honestly, taking her in my arms again.
She locks up in my grip, and I feel that need to keep her safe again.
“I have a suggestion,” I say.
“Go on,” she encourages me.
“I can bring your mother here.”
Galina leaps from my arms, standing back a full foot. Her mouth is back to hanging open. “What?”
“You make it sound like being here is torture.”
“Sorry.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I know my mom wouldn’t want to be here. She’ll be away from her daily routine. And I’m only here because you won’t let me leave.” She pauses to gather her thoughts. “But her? She’s too prideful for it.”
At the mention of me not letting her leave, I’m surprised by the wave of guilt that washes over me.
“Galina,” I whisper as I stroke her hair. “You aren’t a prisoner here. Today should’ve proven beyond doubt that the danger is real. This is the only place where I have ultimate control over your safety. If your mother can understand that, I think she’ll accept coming here.”
She bites her lip, thinking over my words. Finally, she nods. “Mom would be safer here than anywhere else. But you have to promise me your men won’t be rude to her. They can’t try to boss her around like they do with me.”
“They shouldn’t be rude to you either,” I say darkly. “You’re my wife, remember?”
“Oh …” Her cheeks tinge pink. She begins to smile, then falters. “She doesn’t know about our marriage.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
Covering her face with her hands, Galina laughs without a hint of humor. “I don’t know why I was worried about her being safe. Mom is going to kill me when she finds out about this.”
Gently, I pull her into my arms to try and assuage her fears. “I think she’ll be grateful. I’ll pamper her with fine food, a lovely bedroom, and all the finest things I can provide. I’ll have the studio fixed up ASAP too.” Kissing the backs of her hands, I smile fondly at her. “But I need you to do your part as well. Think you can convince her that this is the best option?”
“No,” she chuckles as a bemused smile takes shape on her lips. “But I’ll try my best.”
Her stress is plain as day. I sympathize with her situation, because it’s one I am very familiar with. I’m not a hero. I know that. And that makes it hard for people—especially good people like Galina—to take me at my word.
It’s something I’ve lived with for a long time.
Something I always will.
26
GALINA
I’m a pile of needles. Each time I move, I feel my thoughts prickling me—not hard enough to draw blood, but still enough to remind me of my discomfort. I can’t believe Mom is coming here. Settling on the cushion of my vanity, I run my brush through my hair. There are no tangles; I’m brushing it just to stay busy.
Will she like it here? What should I say to her?
What can I even say to her?
Hi, Mom, you remember Arsen? Turns out he’s a Bratva pakhan who killed a man the night before he showed up to buy our studio.
Oh, and he’s my husband now. But don’t worry, it’s just a temporary thing.
God, she’ll never forgive me if she hears any of that.
My phone on the vanity begins to buzz, and I snatch it up, answering without looking. “Hello?”
