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I frown as I think back to the other day when Liya said she spoke to Jonas. It was a mistake to allow her to keep her phone, but I didn’t want her to be completely cut off from the world.
So much for being considerate. It came back to bite me.
Then again, the things I said to her the other day were…cruel.
Cardona’s threat buzzes in my brain like a neon sign.
I sigh as I scratch my chin. “Fine—don’t let him in if he shows up. Make sure no one invites him. And if he tries anything stupid, there will be hell to pay.”
“Of course, Pasha.”
“Do you think that’s sufficient?”
Stepan considers my inquiry and then nods. “More than sufficient.”
It’s all the affirmation I need. My cruelness will be absolved by letting her brother live another day.
Even if I do think that’s a mistake.
While I’m pissed at Liya for withholding information, I’m also disturbed by our argument. The way she looked at me, the way she reacted to me lifting her from the couch, sends fear shuddering through my system.
She hasn’t looked at me like that since I killed Vorobyov. Like I’m a monster. I swivel away from Stepan to stare out the window.
“That’s all,” I blurt. “Dismissed.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. Go on. Make sure everyone knows the plan.”
“Of course, Pasha.”
I angle my ear toward him without turning around. “Thank you, Styopa.”
The door hisses shut. Silence reigns.
And my thoughts churn.
Only one thing can quell the anxiety festering in my body. She’s right upstairs. All I have to do is go to her.
But I can’t do it. I can’t face Liya. I can’t evenconsiderit.
I scrub my head, bending toward the window as if it’ll offer refuge from my problems. Nothing is going to help right now. I might as well handle my tasks for the day and go back upstairs.
And somewhere in between, I have to figure out a way to avoid my wife.
***
I don’t go back upstairs.
I don’t bother telling Viktoria or Liya where I am.
I stay in my office with a bottle of vodka and a Steuben, refilling the glass whenever it’s empty. Which seems to be often enough to make my vision swim.
Like a dead weight, my head plops into my hand.
What the hell am I doing?
Images float through my mind like silt in a river. Liya smirking flirtatiously behind the bar. Liya numbly staring at the ceiling on her kitchen table. Liya chatting ecstatically on the terrace. Liya timid. Liya horrified.
Liyafrightened.
