I drop the cigarette, smashing the butt with the heel of my boot and wishing I could squash my annoyance the same way. “It was nothing personal. I’ll never bepakhan. Victoria shouldn’t have even considered me.”
“Women are complex. We want more than power.”
I glance at her. “You didn’t.”
It’s not an accusation, simply an observation. Unlike others in her position, my mother has always seemed content with her circumstances. She fulfills all her public duties, like showing up today, and is discreet with her private choices.
Elena nods in agreement. “All I wanted from Igor were his money and his protection. The rest I could—and did—provide for myself. Women like Victoria hope for more. They expect marriage will change a man.”
“Hope is foolish.”
My mother reaches out to straighten my perfectly placed tie. “She will adapt, like we all do. They haven’t been married for long.”
I study her, noting the dark circles her makeup doesn’t entirely hide. “Where have you been this week?”
“Providing for myself.” She smiles. “He’s funny. A painter.”
I sigh. I don’t begrudge her any happiness, but that doesn’t mean I want details.
Elena shakes her head, patting my tie a final time before stepping back. “Do not give me that disappointed look, Lev. How many blondes has Igor hosted in my absence?”
“Can we discuss anything else?”
It’s either healthy or supremely messed up that my parents are so open with their affairs.
“Fine. I will be back in a few days.”
“I leave for Chicago tomorrow.”
My hand itches for another cigarette at the reminder. I’m dreading this trip, and I wish it weren’t so easy to pinpoint the reason.
“You just returned.”
“Something came up.”
She tsks her disapproval. “Dealing with O’Brien is beneath you. You are needed here.”
“Igor doesn’t think so.”
“Igor is greedy. If he sends you, it will be handled better. You let him take advantage.”
I don’t disagree. I should have handed Chicago off to a replacement years ago, as soon as our authority there was established.
“He ispakhan,” I state unnecessarily. “I listen to orders.”
“Igor listens to you.”
“Not always.”
“Is there a woman in Chicago?”
I slide my hands into my pockets before my gaze cuts to my mother. “There are lots of women in Chicago.”
She waits.
“No,” I add, letting annoyance flow freely into my tone.
I’m an excellent liar. Igor and Aleksandr have tells. Maksim hardly bothers to make excuses. But no one—not even Elena—has ever been able to tell when I’m sharing the truth. A skill I’m especially grateful for right now. No one can ever know about Carina’s existence.
