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I hope for this man’s sake it’s not a trap. I will take all my hurt and all my rage out on him. Was that what happened when I saw Igor? I finally lost control? And now I must live with the consequence of my actions? Have I truly become Vasily’s son?
I close my eyes and rub them with my fingers as I try to listen to some stupid pop song and not my thoughts.
Dmitri passes a marina and then pulls off the main road onto a one-lane road that’s more dirt than gravel. A man stands silhouetted near a portable camp light and then walks toward the Rover as Dmitri lowers the window.
“I live here,” the man points to the bay.
“In the water?” Dmitri scoffs. “You take me for a fool, Harper?”
“On the water, you Russian prick,” he corrects him. “I have a boat anchored in Half Moon Bay. I have a rowboat to take us to it. We can talk there without being disturbed.”
I’m not in the habit of accepting invitations like this from strangers. But Kelsey Harper doesn’t arouse any particular trust or dislike in me. I study his shadowed face in the artificial light. His features are strong, but tormented by both anxiety and guilt. His sullen mouth is weighed down by permanent sadness. His gaze is hard, but something in his eyes betrays a hint of desperation.
Desperation is dangerous in a broken man. Regardless, I take the risk and get out of the car. Dmitri watches me and must wonder if I’ve become careless—willing to tempt a stranger in the hopes of being killed.
True, it’s reckless, but I follow him down a grassy path nonetheless. Dmitri locks the Rover and hurries to catch up. Soon, we are sitting in the rowboat while he rows us toward the center of the bay.
The boat isn’t a luxurious yacht. It gives the impression of having been a fishing boat before being cleaned up, renovated, and painted white. It’s like a stray dog whose owner can never prove it’s from purebred stock, not unlike its owner. But the boat exudes a still calm as the water laps against its sides.
Kelsey invites us to step into the cabin, but I prefer to stay on deck. I’ve taken enough risks. I sit down on a closed hatch, feeling a cool breeze on my back.
“Well, I’m here,” I tell him. “I’m listening.”
Kelsey sits facing us on a lopsided coil of rope. A scar on his cheek is visible when he frowns, and he speaks with restrained anger, but his bitterness isn’t hidden.
“First, I want you to tell me everything. Maybe others are satisfied with lame explanations, but I’m not. I heard from Igor Karamazov that you planned it. That you staged the massacre to get rid of your father, Vasily. But then I also heard you were running for your life.”
I didn’t expect to be interrogated, and my voice hardens. “I had nothing to do with the wedding massacre. My mother and Igor plotted to kill my father.”
“Is that why you shot her?” asks Kelsey.
My jaw stiffens, and my words sound like a scalding hiss. “I’m not here to talk about what I’ve done.”
Kelsey looks away to hide his emotions. He’s slightly nervous but very hostile. Maybe it gives him a boldness that he rarely possesses. But there’s something else. Anguish. I recognize it because now, I know it intimately.
“But you were there with your guards,” he pushes unwisely. “At the wedding. You saved the girl.”
“Are you referring to my wife?” I ask mockingly, and he nods. “I only met Paige Reyes that day. The Novikovs swore allegiance to my father, so we supplied guards at their wedding. I never expected we would need them. Weddings and funerals are sacred …weresacred.” I look at my watch as a warning to him. “What information do you have for me?”
“I have to be sure,” Kelsey continues recklessly. “Had you ever met her before?”
“I said I didn’t,” I reply with a trace of annoyance. “It was someone else’s plan. I had nothing to do with it. Don’t make me repeat myself. Now, what do you know?”
My annoyance doesn’t intimidate him. Kelsey stands up, kicks the coil of rope, and paces toward me like an angry squirrel that has lost its nuts.
“It doesn’t matter to you that Varya is dead. I paid to bury her, but you don’t care about that. Varya Frolov wasmygirl. We were supposed to marry. We had an agreement. But her father didn’t approve. He wanted a Russian son-in-law. One with connections and money. And I’m far from that.”
Dmitri stands up and is unsteady on his feet as the boat rocks on the gentle waves. “You forget yourself, Harper. You forget why we are here. You better not be a liar. You better know something, or else.”
Kelsey laughs as if we’re in on his joke. “What does it matter to you if you shoot one more person?”
I place my hand on Dmitri’s arm and guide him back down into his seat. Varya’s untimely death deeply wounded Kelsey, and I have a better understanding of the man. I keep calm and try to stop his anger from infecting me.
I watch him as if I’m watching myself. And in many ways, I am.
My voice is calm when I speak. “I swear on my Bratva, I had nothing to do with it.”
Kelsey scoffs, tossing something small off the boat and into the water. There’s a pile of stones by his feet. He must spend hours sitting and staring at the horizon, thinking about how it all could’ve been different. “It’s hard for me to put myself in the place of someone who kills daily and then shrugs it off with indifference.”
