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The house always fucking wins.
Thoughts of Tolya darken my mood. I excuse myself into my office for a quick break to clear my head. I left my laptop at home on purpose—minimize temptations, if possible—so there’s not much I can do in there other than spin on my chair a full turn and look around the room.
My eyes land on a photo album I haven’t pulled out inyears.
It’s something Tolya and I made together back when we were kids. Back when we only had each other, facing down a bleak family life with a beast of a father and a ghost of a mother.
We collected the weirdest shit to stick between the pages next to our grinning faces—napkins from our favorite restaurants, tickets from movies, smooth stones we found on the pavement and thought were cool. If we found joy in something we could stick tape to, we added it to the album. Tolya probably did it more for me; I don’t remember seeing him collect anything for his own interests, while I practically had a museum in my room.
He was always like that. Always putting people before himself. Always puttingmebefore himself.
And look where it got him.
As I flip through the pages, I feel my resolve build and my focus sharpen. It’s been years since Tolya and I have been able to spend time together without the all-seeing eyes of a prison ward.
It’s time to put his freedom before my own selfish wants and needs.
I’m lost in my trip down Memory Lane when my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text from Raizo, telling me he’s almost ready for the auction scheduled for the end of next week. He’s been soliciting buyers and has found a few promising options for my “artifact.”
I have to think about it for a long moment before I can remember what the hell he’s talking about.
Artifact. Clara.
I literally almost forgot: I’m selling Clara.
The thought churns my stomach. But I glance at the scrapbook lying open on my desk and remind myself that this is all for him. For Tolya.
The money, the vengeance… it’s all meant to make things right for him.
I text Raizo back confirming that everything sounds good.We’ll be ready.The ballroom is already reserved for his “event” and several rooms have been blocked for VIP guests, personal use, whatever the fuck Raizo typically needs them for when he’s peddling flesh to a greedy—and anonymous—clientele.
This is for Tolya.
I have to put his freedom, his justice, first.
I have to focus on him.
I have to ignore the voice screaming inside me that this is all so fucking wrong.
46
DEMYEN
I don’t return back to the compound until late afternoon—and not until after making the briefest appearance possible outside the senator’s daughter’s reception to “check on things.” A single head nod, a perfect smile, and a quick signal to Grigori to start manning the doors as well as the bar to make sure no one gets in or out without us knowing.
With any luck, Cartwright will get inebriated enough to start spilling his guts.
Even better, since it’s a political wedding, there’s a whole guest list of public officials we’ll be able to harvest juicy blackmail fodder from.
It’s not extortion if no one reports it.
“Demmy!”
I’m greeted by Willow the moment I walk through the front door of the main house, her little arms extended up for a hug. Without even blinking, I swing her up into a big bear hug and kiss her cheek. “How’s my girl doing?”
Because yes, at some point, she became “my girl.” She’s living in my home and eating my food and, whether she knows it or not, she’s helping me figure out things with her mother.
So yes, she’s my girl.
