AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Did your informant have any useful info about the family?" Trusov asks.
"Only basic stuff. Vlad Kislev got married today, and his father Sergey died within hours of the ceremony."
"His wife knew Hektor, maybe?"
I laugh. "Unless Kislev married a whore, I doubt it. Apparently, he arranged it pretty hastily, but I didn't look into that. It didn't seem relevant."
Trusov knocks back his whiskey and grimaces. "This is where your inexperience tells, Cassius. If I'd known who we were dealing with, I'd never have given you this job, but you may as well see it through now." He leans forward, pointing at me. "But don't ignore the details. They can be the difference between life and death."
34
Two weeks later…
Morgana
The house is full of flowers.
Rivals and associates of the Kislevs sent bouquets of all shapes and sizes. Was the goal to send the most enormous and ostentatious arrangement possible to curry favor with Vlad? If so, he's not fooled.
The last two weeks have been a strange mix of blissful and tense. Yet, in some ways, things have never been better for me.
My parents are at the villa in Tuscany, soaking up the sunshine. My mom's health is much improved, and she's enjoying the outdoors, reading her romance novels under the shade of the lemon trees. I wish I were there, too, but Vlad doesn't want me anywhere he isn't. There's an ominous feeling of impending trouble weighing everyone down.
Josie is working as an admin at Kislev Enterprises. She refused to be chased out of the city by an unknown threat, even when I reminded her that Italy is full of Italians. Specifically, hot Italian men. I couldn't persuade her, though, and I suspect it's because she wants to stay close to Sasha. He's been helping her learn the ropes in her new job, which everyone finds hilarious because Sasha knows precisely bupkis about investments and acquisitions. Vlad is just grateful to have his brother out of his hair.
Arman and David have divided their efforts between the dual goals of locating Cassius and resolving the issue with Hektor's boss, whoever he is. No one sees much of Avel, but when he shows his face, he asks Vlad what he can do to help. I guess the kid just wants to feel useful.
The one who's doing best is Lilyana. She'll return from her walk soon, and I love hearing how it went.
I'm ready to go, but we aren't due to leave for another hour. I took ages getting ready, so I could keep out of the way, but I couldn't hide in the suite any longer.
I vaguely recognize some of the people here from our wedding reception. Vlad told me they were members of thekomissiya, sometimes called 'the top table' in English. They are the most respected elders of bratva society, tasked with imposing a code of honor and order on their chaotic, criminal kingdom. I don't envy them.
I use my new camera to take pictures of the flowers. There's something doleful about the juxtaposition of their fragile beauty and the somber figures standing amongst them. One of thekomissiyamen sees me and frowns.
"Don't take my photo, girl," he says, reaching for the camera. A hand lands on my shoulder from behind, and I realize it's Vlad.
"Put your hands on my wife, Igor, and I'll bury two men today. I may not even do you the courtesy of killing you beforehand."
Igor scowls. "Your father was a great man, Vladimir. He would never have threatened a superior, especially not in defense of a woman."
"Thiswoman ismywife, and she takes orders from no one except me." Vlad's voice is low and even. “Morgana Georgevna Kisleva is her name. Use it. Or don't fucking speak to her at all. She has no business with you. If you have a problem, come to me."
"You're having a tough time, Vlad. So I'll let it go. But you need to remember what's expected of you."
Igor backs out of the lounge. Vlad wraps me in his arms and kisses my forehead.
"Sorry about that,lisichka. You look beautiful in black." He nods at the flowers crammed into vases and piled on the table. "Were you taking pictures of these? There's a story behind them."
Vlad encourages me to take my camera everywhere we go, and for every moment I capture, he insists I write something, too. He bought me a stunning Montblanc notebook, and now I scribble down my thoughts and a photo description.
Vlad picks up a bunch of lilies. "Look here, Morgana." he counts them quickly, "thirty flowers are in the bouquet. Every arrangement here has an even number of stems. Do you know why?" I shake my head, and he smiles. "It's a Slavic tradition from way back. Even numbers represent the end of the life cycle. Russians love flowers, but unless they are for a funeral, you must give an odd number in a bouquet." His face darkens. "After my parents were married, Papa took my mother's wedding bouquet and extracted a single rose, crushing it beneath his heel. He said it was only fitting since her life was effectively over."
Vlad and I have talked a great deal about his mother. Sergey's death is the psychological equivalent of opening the windows and letting fresh air blow through. In those optimistic moments, I see the person Vlad is inside—the passionate, sensitive, deep man his Mama knew he could be. At other times, he's distant, hard to engage, brooding. I know he's going through something, and I'm putting it down to the lack of closure. He'll put his father in the ground today, and then, maybe, he'll stop trying to bury himself.
"I don't have my notebook with me," I say, placing my palm on his cheek, "but something tells me I'll remember that." My heart aches at the sorrow in his eyes. "Just get through today. It'll be alright."
"The issue with Hektor's boss will come to a head soon," he says suddenly, letting go of me and dropping the flowers on the armchair. "His man will find me, or I'll find him, but that shit will be dealt with. I'm not worried about that. But I have to find your prick of an ex." He throws me a look. "I can't relax until I know he's dead."
