Page 5 of Conceal

She rests a little more of her weight onto my chest, and I take it gladly. Our relationship isn’t like other best friends’. We’re overly touchy with each other. When she found me, I’d been on the run, scared, hurting, deaf, in a city I didn’t really know because I was eight. Ever since that night, we’ve fallen asleep in each other’s arms. We take naps together, spooning. We hold hands and cuddle, and I’ve never thought to talk to her about it - that maybe it’s inappropriate? But I’d never want it to stop. So I keep my mouth shut.

“He blamed you, you know?” Her voice is quiet, but I wince all the same. My stomach sours with guilt. A lot of the boys she’s tried to date have an issue with our relationship. They either try to befriend me to get into her good graces, or they can’t stand our closeness. I should leave her be, or put some distance between us so she has a real shot at finding ‘the one’ that she wants so badly.

But I can’t. Because I’m a coward. If I don’t have her, I have nothing. She’s my family, my home, my only friend. She’s safety, peace, and comfort. I’m nothing without her. I never finished school. Never had a job. Where the hell would I go? What the hell could I do? Work for her family as a drug runner or enforcer of some kind? I’m not cut out for that kind of life. Bodyguard? I’m strong, but I have no idea how to fight or shoot a weapon. She’s my everything.

“Do you want...” I can’t even finish the sentence. Thankfully, she interrupts me before I can finish.

“My future husband will have to be okay with you, because I’m not losing you. Ever. Not even for love. If he can’t accept our friendship, then he’s not ‘the one’.”

She dips her brush into her palette and begins to outline a scene.

I know she truly means that. I think she needed a friend as badly as I did the night she found me. We were both alone and lonely, and we clung to each other. It’s probably not healthy at all, but fuck if I care.

But I imagine living in a house with her and her husband. Maybe in the next room. Listening to them have sex. It makes me nauseous even thinking about it - thinking about someone else having her the way I never can.

Because I may already be in love with my best friend, but she can never know.

Chapter four

Lev

My alarm on my phone goes off, and I groan, rolling over in bed and smacking the nightstand until it turns off. I rub the sleep from my eyes and see a text from Roman. It must not have been that important if he didn’t call and wake me. I haven’t been sleeping for shit lately and didn’t manage to fall asleep until around three this morning. It’s now six. Awesome.

Roman: Just an FYI, Tati walked in on her boyfriend with another woman. She seems fine, but maybe go easy on her today?

That fucker. I knew he was a piece of shit. He was too perfect - too performative. No one parts their hair like that.

I take a quick shower, grab a protein smoothie, and head upstairs to her apartment. We rented one on the floor below hers, but really just use it to sleep in. We alternate twelve-hour shifts, but following a spoiled Bratva princess around doesn’t actually make me tired enough to sleep well. Roman may still wear a suit, but he’s old school. Instead, I have a wardrobe of black cargo pants, black boots, and black t-shirts. I still look official but not like a prick.

I open the door to the stairwell and take them two at a time to Tatiana’s floor.

When I walk in, Roman’s yawning and stretching, Mik’s in the kitchen cooking breakfast, and Tatiana’s still in those short and cute as fuck sleep shorts she always wears, putting on the hundreds of creams, lotions, or serums she uses. She’s ridiculous with it all, but if it makes her happy...

I don’t know how Mik does it. Spooning her every night when she’s been wearing next to nothing for years. The man has the control of a monk. Or a saint. Which is why I call him “Joey” for Saint Joseph, who preached self-control and abstinence. Because I could never. I’d have her gagging on my cock in seconds.

Which would get me killed. But ah, what a way to go. My family has worked for the Chernovs for decades, ever since Tati’s grandfather, the Pakhan, came over from the old world. They never lived long enough to climb the ranks, but the Chernov absolutely grew and benefited from our deaths. My grandfather died at thirty-eight, when a shootout with the cops went bad. My father, at thirty-two, was stabbed in the back in an alley and left to die. My uncle? Car bomb. My cousin? Captured by the Italians, tortured, and then his body was dumped in the Potomac like garbage.

Even before we emigrated, my great-grandfather died in a Siberian labor camp for his ties to the Chernovs. I’m thirty. Which means if I’m lucky, I’ve got another ten years left.

I get a debrief from Roman and send him off before following Mik and Tati down their building, onto the street, and to campus, a quick walk away. We could drive, of course, but this is the first time she’s gotten a taste of freedom, so she’s living it up. Her parents didn’t want her to go to college at all. Why would she need a degree when her duty is to be a wife?

She applied behind their back, bribed the head office to accept her, and then promised her mother that she would prioritize dating and finding a “nice boy” over her schooling. Look where that’s gotten her. One disappointment after the other. Fuck, I hate my gender sometimes. Men can be awful.

First, it was Carter Whitlock, a politician’s son, who, after three dates, expected her to put out and threw a temper tantrum when she didn’t. Then it was Nikolai Skolov, the son of the Bratva-connected family from New Jersey, who, after two dates, was planning their wedding and when she could start having babies. Then it was Julian Vale, a wealthy tech-bro from DC, who wanted to compare their ancestries to see if she was of the correct bloodline to be with him, since he was related to George Washington’s third cousin. I kid you not.

Every man afterwards has somehow gotten worse. I never trusted Leo, but for her sake, I wanted it to work out. He was the son of a shady real estate mogul. He said all the right things, did all the right things, and things were looking promising. Until last night, I guess. I need to get her alone to get all the details so I know how badly I need to hurt him.

The late morning air has a chill in it. It’s September in Baltimore, and while the ocean usually keeps us temperate, there’s no telling from day to day what the weather will do. When Tati shivers, Mik wraps an arm around her shoulders.

I follow behind them, scanning the street ahead and behind us. Through all of our intelligence, the threat to her is minimal. Not many people even know who she is, and they’d never expect a Bratva princess to be walking around in civilian clothing, going to a civilian college to get a fine arts degree.

It’s not until we cross the busy street and get to campus that the hair on the back of my neck pricks up. First, it’s one kid - walking to class and holding a coffee - who watches her a little too long for comfort. But she’s a pretty girl, and he doesn’t exactly seem like a threat.

But as we walk to the fine arts building, more people stare, a few whisper, and I know shit is going to hit the fan.

And then I spot the fucker. With his arm across the shoulder of a bleach-blonde with big tits. That’s who he cheated with? Tatiana’s leagues above that girl.

I must growl or snort or something, because Tati spins on me and presses a hand to my chest.