Page 32 of The Beast of Moscow

It didn’t.

*

Vera was just around the corner from her villa when she realized how far she’d walked while still lost in her thoughts. Almost mechanically, or robotically, without even thinking about it. She hadn’t even taken the time to consider her surroundings, and as her street came into view, her tears had long since dried.

She could have called a cab and made it home in mere minutes, but the walk helped to clear her mind. At least enough to think about ... well, about what was next. Or what she should do next. Even the tiniest shred of her dignity in Feliks’ hand could be a dangerous thing. If she went back to The Swan House on Monday, and it wasn’t to explain to the kids she was quitting ... then Feliks’ was already winning. He would use this in some way whether to manipulate her in some way in the future, or even if it was just to hurt her pride. Either way, his sick sense of satisfaction would be the same.

But the kids, she told herself.

And yourself, Vera could almost hear her father telling her. All her life, he demanded she think of herself. She almost hadn’t existed, after all, nearly killed alongside her biological mother while Gia was in her final few weeks of pregnancy. He’d wanted her to live, told her she could do anything, and he’d make it happen as long as she wanted it.

If only things were simple.

She could quit, like she wanted and knew she should, but what good did that do for anyone? The kids would lose a valuable program, and Vera would be back to square one. Like the day she woke up after her surgery, staring straight at her elevated, heavily bandaged ankle and foot, and not knowing anything about what would happen next.

Maybe that was what held Vera back the most. Or rather, it was her greatest fear. Nothing else scared her quite the same. She’d already been a failure, after all. Even if it was by the mistake of others; it didn’t matter. She’d failed entirely at the height of her career and survived that shame.

It was always the what now that left her terrified. The unknown future ahead of her, days she saw filled with nothingness because she had nothing else except ballet.

Who cared if she had money? What did it matter if she never needed to find a job, have another career, or even lift a finger for the rest of her life?

None of that meant anything to Vera when all she could see was nothing waiting in front of her. No goal to achieve. No dreams to chase. Was that even a real life to live?

Was this what it meant to be lost?

“Miss Avdonin—Vera Avdonin, yes?”

Still distracted by her inner turmoil, Vera had managed to walk almost to her drive without noticing. She couldn’t miss the towering bull of a man standing in the middle of the sidewalk right in front of her villa as soon as her head popped up, though. Or the black SUV parked directly in front of her villa.

“Sorry, did you not hear me?” the stranger asked.

“I didn’t. Who are you?”

He smiled, and it was the easiness of it that gave his face a friendly quality. At the sight of it, she could almost forget that she couldn’t pass him because he took up most of the sidewalk with his feet planted shoulder-width apart and arms folded over his broad chest.

“Friends call me Igor,” he told her. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d prefer the ballet house or yours for this, so I hope you don’t mind.”

She wasn’t entirely concerned about the man considering the sun hadn’t even set, and a family who lived in a villa further down were walking their Huskies.

“What is this, exactly?” Vera asked back, waving a hand between them.

He chuckled and removed the aviator sunglasses that had been hiding a good portion of his upper face. His brown gaze landed on her, and she recognized him in an instant.

“You’re the guy that helped Feliks that day in the gallery,” Vera said. “The man who fell, is he okay?”

Weeks and weeks had passed since that event, but not one day went by that she didn’t wonder about the man. For the obvious reasons, but also because after the way Feliks had behaved during lunch, she wondered who the mysterious man was.

Igor waved his hand, still holding the sunglasses. “That’s me. As for your other question ...” His laugh came out a little dry. “That just depends.”

On what? Because she thought her question and the incident in question were straightforward.

Vera chose not to point that out because his sunglasses had reminded her of something else. Or rather, something that someone else had said to her. Mr. Anatoly, her neighbor. His description of the man and vehicle possibly matched Igor and his SUV, except one person was missing.

“Did he leave me a shrub as a thank you?” she asked.

Igor shrugged as he put his sunglasses back on. “His name is Vaslav, and he’d like to invite you for tea.”

Vaslav.