Page 30 of The Beast of Moscow

Those quiet words hurt her.

Vera didn’t say so. “And that’s okay, too. As long as you’re happy, Ivan.”

“Thanks, Miss Vera.”

She remained kneeling on the floor as Ivan headed out of the studio, the squeak of his sneakers on the hardwood floor echoing long after the kid was gone. The kids couldn’t possibly know it, but she needed them as much as they sometimes needed her. Or even more, really. She invested so much time, energy and love to them and their classes; in a way, it was the only thing she had left of what used to be her life.

That change had come so abruptly back then; it altogether knocked her off her feet, and instantly destroyed what was supposed to be her future. Having the chance to teach the kids ballet had felt like a saving grace at the time.

She’d never considered this might end someday, too.

What happened then?

What would she do then?

Vera couldn’t say how many minutes passed with her frozen on the studio floor, lost to the grief caused by her constant state of limbo, but it had to be more time than Feliks considered acceptable. His personal assistant’s voice echoed over the large, dark space, yanking Vera from her private disgrace.

“Can you hear me, or what?”

The assistant was a constant fixture in Feliks’ orbit although the woman didn’t know a damn thing about the world of ballet. Actually, Vera wasn’t even sure if Nadya could dance considering the stick of ice that must have been stuck up her ass.

She was that type.

It always rubbed Vera wrong.

“Yes, I hear you,” Vera snapped back, not bothering to turn and face Nadya while her face was still wet with tears. “Tell Feliks I’m going.”

“I said, he wants to see you in his office, actually. So, you didn’t hear me.”

Vera couldn’t even laugh or refuse the rude woman—by the time she’d wiped her face and stood from the floor, Nadya had vanished from the studio. Left alone, too angry for her own good, and more annoyed than ever with Feliks, she could only ask, “What now?”

10.

“What is your damn problem?”

Feliks probably hadn’t expected Vera to storm into his office without even knocking first, but he barely showed a hint of surprise.

“Take your pick,” the man replied, sounding bored. “I have an entire list, actually.”

“That would concern me?”

At that, Feliks didn’t respond.

She was more shocked to see the space empty of people except for him, standing in his staple black suit where he leaned against the corner of the ornate black desk.

There was always someone in here with him. He used the space to entertain more often than work. Every piece of furniture, art, or otherwise was placed as a conversation piece to brag about or show of some sort of wealth or skill.

It wasn’t normal, and she instantly went on guard.

“You’ve been incredibly—graciously—beneficial to The Swan House, and that’s where my respect for you came from, Vera. You understand that, yes?”

Her loose stance stiffened a bit at his remarks. Of course, she knew her presence even after her accident here had been important for the company’s image and reputation. He said it was beneficial like that meant more than Vera was aware.

“I only wanted to be here,” she replied. “The details never really mattered to me, Feliks.”

He nodded, a hint of a smile curving the edge of his mouth, but he didn’t quite let it bloom before raising his head and meeting her gaze. She didn’t find contempt staring back in his dark eyes—just a resignation.

A heaviness.