AllFreeNovel
Share Us
20
Kira spent the morning in the garden with her father, helping him prepare the roses for winter while Peter mowed the lawn one last time. If her father wouldn’t listen to reason, Kira could at least help.
They spoke little during their work, and she sank easily into their routines and unspoken language. Their ability to work in companionable silence was one of the things she always loved best about being with him. He didn’t feel the need to fill the silence between them.
Lyonya was like him in that way. Or he had been so far anyway.
She replayed the events of the previous night as she tied the stems of the rose bushes together with twine, her father moving behind her to spray them with the oil that kept them from decaying in winter. She was grateful her head was bowed to the bushes, that her father couldn’t see the blush in her cheeks as she remembered Lyonya’s fingers stroking her, bringing her to the edge of release before withdrawing.
When they were finished in the garden, they walked slowly to the house. Her father’s gait seemed more labored than usual, and Kira took his hand, hoping he would take the gesture as one of affection instead of worry. She didn’t realize how cold it was outside until they stepped into the warmth of the house.
Galina was at the stove, preparing soup for lunch, and the kitchen was filled with the scent of garlic, chicken, and vegetables.
“How long until lunch?” Kira asked.
“Another hour,” Galina said.
Kira looked at her father, struggling to take off his gloves. She helped him without commenting, glad he didn’t try to stop her, then took off her jacket. “Why don’t you go into the study? I’ll make us some tea.”
He nodded and headed for the hall.
Kira filled the kettle and got two cups down from the cupboard. “Is he okay, Lina?” she asked softly. “Really?”
Galina looked at her with surprise. “Why do you ask this?”
“He seems tired. He’s moving slow,” Kira said.
“He is old, that is all,” Galina said.
Why hadn’t Kira noticed it when she’d been living in the house? Maybe she’d been too self-involved. Or maybe the changes in her father had been too gradual for her to notice on a day-to-day basis.
Either way, she understood now why Lyonya had made his move when he had, understood why the other men had already been talking about overthrowing her father. His time as pakhan had been more tenuous than she’d realized, and she was suddenly grateful Lyonya had come onto the scene when he had. It wasn’t altruistic, but the timing was good for her father, and better to be in Lyonya’s hands than someone like Musa.
She shivered at the thought, remembering the way Musa’s eyes had combed her body the night of her wedding to Lyonya.
The tea kettle whistled and she poured hot water over the tea bags, then carried the two cups down the hall to her father’s office.
It was time for the main reason for her visit.
She was unaccountably nervous. She didn’t think her father would deny her request, but making it at all meant revealing a vulnerability she didn’t want her father to think she had. She rehearsed her argument — designed to be businesslike — in her mind, then stepped through the open doors to her father’s study.
He was sitting at his desk, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he studied a piece of paper, a fire crackling in the hearth. He’d taken off his garden coat and had donned one of the thick cardigans he wore around the house in winter. The wood-paneled room was one of her favorite places in the house, cocooned and cozy, and she was transported to the many times they’d sat in this office under these exact circumstances, discussing the intricacies of the bratva’s business.
“Here you go,Pápochka.” She set the tea on his desk and sat in one of the chairs opposite it.
He took off his reading glasses to smile at her. “Thank you,moya zolotaya. And for your help — and company — in the garden too.”
“I’m happy to do it,” she said. “I miss seeing you every day.”
“I miss you too, and I miss our business discussions, although there is less to discuss now.”
His voice was laced with sorrow. Now that he was a lame duck pakhan, most of the big decisions were being made by the Spies. She was suddenly glad for the business she needed to discuss with him.
“There is a piece of business I’d like to discuss actually.”
His eyes lit with interest. “Go on.”
They’d already talked about the fire at Samara, about the ramifications to Lyonya’s bid for leadership, but she’d saved this particular request for a more formal setting. She was his daughter, but this was business, and she wanted him to see it as such.
