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NATASHA
“We haven’t been properly introduced,” a grief-stricken voice says. “Natasha.”
I look up with a start. My breath hitches at the sight of Irina Malikov, Luka’s mother, standing over me where I sit in the Emergency Room.
For a heart-wrenching second, I feel the gaping loss of my own mother’s presence.
Is she as tormented as Irina is over the loss of her daughter?
Does my mother even know what kind of man she married, one who valued the life of his child so little that he was perfectly comfortable handing her over in exchange for a big fat wad of cash?
And does Irina, for that matter?
I know this is the part where I should tell Irina I’m so sorry for the loss of her husband, but the bullshit sentiment wedges itself in the back of my throat, choking me as if it plunged down the wrong pipe.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp, forcing out the words and damn, do they taste vile on my tongue. I slowly rise out of the chair. “Is there anything I can get for you?”
Her blue eyes narrow and she leans toward me. “I don’t see how that is possible.”
My brow furrows. “Excuse me?”
“It’s clear to me that your father had something to do with the attack at The Surf Club,” she hisses. “So you’ve actually done quite enough already.”
Okay, what in the hell?
The insanity that ensued earlier prevented me from getting close enough to Irina to exchange a single word. And since she’s been surrounded by her children since we got to the hospital, I decided to steer clear and give them all space.
But now she’s decided it’s time to finally speak.
And while I’d thought she was intimidating before — a tall, blonde goddess with crystal blue eyes, angular features, and a figure that would make any man’s jaw drop — I don’t let that stop me from telling her exactly what she can do with her accusations.
Fuck her if she thinks I’m going to fold like a bad poker hand because she’s using her piercing gaze to smoke me out like I’m a bug under a microscope.
“I think I’ve already paid the steep price of my father’s bad judgment with my own life,” I say, clenching my fists. “Your husband must have realized that there would be consequences when he ordered me to be taken from my house.”
“Do you realize what Dima will do to your entire family if we find out the hits were ordered by your father?”
“And do you realize that when you negotiate the lives of children to fund your sordid crime rings, you open yourself up to retaliation?” I lift an eyebrow. “Just like you can probably expect from Dmitri’s family since Valentina ran away.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know anything about my daughter,” she seethes. “Why would she run away?”
“I know she was looking for a way out of her arranged marriage. I know she told me that if I was patient, I’d find a way out, too.”
The remaining color drains from Irina’s cheeks. “She said that?”
“She did.”
“Oh my God,” Irina moans, scrubbing a hand down the front of her face, smudging her already-runny makeup.
“You didn’t know she was unhappy?”
Irina raises her red-rimmed eyes toward mine. “I didn’t know it was an arrangement,” she chokes, a sob erupting from her chest. She claps a hand over her mouth.
She didn’t know?
My mind trips back to the photos Valentina took with her mother at the venue. Irina glowed. Did she really not see how miserable her daughter was in stark contrast?
I still can’t swallow the reality that these power bosses think of their children as a form of currency to fund their business dealings. Chess pieces to be used as a way of gaining competitive advantage in the brutal mafia underworld.
