Page 62 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

Her hand found Hannah’s knee over her black skirt, squeezing tight. It helped to settle the sudden sniffles echoing from under her friend’s veil. Hannah’s constant terror and fear about what Viktor might be planning had disappeared the second a date was posted for his funeral, but being here made it real. His need to torment his ex-wife vanished along with his life. Hannah didn’t think she needed to keep hiding behind the paid protection offered by her mother which in itself was like stepping into a new life for her friend.

“And I’m worried about you,” Hannah said softer. “I used to keep secrets for a dangerous man, too. Once upon a time.”

Vera slumped a bit in the pew, chewing on her bottom lip as she considered Hannah’s pointed remark. Private and dangerous were the only two words Vera had finally offered Hannah to describe Vaslav the night before as the two women pulled back the blankets on Vera’s bed to ready for sleep. All the while Kiril used the spare bedroom with the only other available bed in the villa.

The couch had also been open downstairs. Except she was tired of seeing him sleep on fucking couches.

Vera’s conversation with Hannah about Vaslav had gone on late into the night, whispered into the dark because she honestly didn’t think there was a safer time to talk about a man like him than when one couldn’t even see a person doing it. Despite the prodding, and Hannah did try, Vera was still careful about the details she gave regarding the man she intended to marry.

Instead, she told it like a story.

A broken ballerina who fell in love with a beautiful and sad stranger. She didn’t talk about the fact she believed Vaslav was the head of a very large criminal group or that his declining health found him looking for a wife in Vera.

The story had holes.

A lot of them.

Hannah didn’t miss even one. Never mind that it only took a simple internet search of Vaslav Pashkov’s name for unpleasant information to come up in the droves. Searches that Hannah had not so politely shown Vera in the wee hours of the morning.

The thing was, everybody needed a Hannah in their life. Someone who noticed the holes in their friend’s story and asked the questions that might be uncomfortable. Perhaps if someone had done that very thing with Hannah when her abuse had started with Viktor, things could have been a lot different.

“He’s not like Viktor,” Vera settled on saying.

“I didn’t say—”

“You don’t have to, Hannah, but all the same, for what it’s worth. He’s not.”

Hannah folded her arms over her chest, flicking the ends of her shawl in the process and tucking her crystal studded clutch in the crook of her arm. “But is he worse?”

That was a damn good question.

Vera opted not to answer, but not because Hannah didn’t deserve one. A group of three men slid one after another out of a pew just a few rows ahead, and one aisle over, from theirs. It was the black suits they wore that Vera noticed first. All tailored, smart and expensive. Like the silk underneath each well-fitting blazer. However, when each man left the pew, his hand touched the ball at the back end, carved in wood and stained like the rest.

Tattooed hands.

Rings on the fingers.

A spider on the back.

The group didn’t draw attention as they quickly strode down the aisle and out the doors as a commotion from the front drew the rest of the parishioners to their feet. Vera, Hannah, and Kiril stood along with everybody else even though she didn’t know why. They certainly hadn’t been paying attention to the service, but soon, the low hymn from the congregation buzzed in the air.

The men in black had already passed by their pew. Not one glanced Vera or Hannah’s way, but she hadn’t missed how her friend noticed the men just like she did.

There was another rule.

One that remained unspoken, but was clear to anyone who had an intimate look at the life of made men. Those who knew of the life didn’t speak about it. Things were easier when a person didn’t see, hear, or know a thing about the mafiya.

“You wanna go?” Vera asked Hannah, then, after she was sure the coast was clear, and they could make a clean exit from the rest of the crowd.

Hannah nodded fast. “Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Fine by her.

While the rest of the church continued singing the dead man to the grave, or rather, the crypt, Vera and Hannah slipped out of the pew practically unnoticed. Kiril wasn’t too far behind the two, but he didn’t offering commentary as he followed along.

“You’re still going to go wedding dress shopping with me next week, right?” Vera asked as the two women exited the doors into the main lobby.

Dress shopping was the only thing she could convince Hannah to agree to where the upcoming wedding was concerned. Convinced that Vera was moving too fast, and proclaiming that she hadn’t even met Vaslav except for that night under the Eiffel tower, she wouldn’t agree to being her friend’s official witness.