by Raven Scott
Of course, Sascha had a point as he always did. He never opened his mouth without something perfect to say. This was why I loved him, even in a situation like this, he stabilized me with the questions that needed asking, not being hung up on trivialities. “You’re only saying that to make me feel better about the fact that I watched them shit themselves one by one.” Sascha’s beard bristled against my forehead at my bitterness. “My parents and brother did something stupid, and they suffered the consequences. There’s no reason to feel upset that they’re dead, but watching it changed something. I just—I don’t know what that is, yet.”
“Feelings don’t need reason. It’s okay to be disturbed by what you saw.”
I blubbered a breath as this, the helplessness of it all sucking the air from my chest. Against my cheek, Sascha’s heart beat strong and steady, and I clung to it like I never had before.
“If they wanted a plan that worked,” he replied. “They didn’t have to go to Avernisk. I know how much you look down on them. You could’ve come up with a better plan.”
“If I knew—even suspected what they were going to try, I would’ve told Makovich. I probably would’ve been interrogated or something as to why I blabbed— why would I knowingly bring information to him that would most definitely kill my family off? Because I don’t want to be associated with it— that’s why.” Tilting my head to gaze at the soft lines of his face, I reached to stroke Sascha’s beard gingerly. “I love you, Sascha.”
“I love you, too, Oppie.”
His kiss scrubbed my brain of the images haunting me— even if just for a fraction of a second.
Tightening his arm around me, Sascha cupped the back of my head. “What do you want to eat?”
My mouth wasn’t dry anymore, the taste of him blossoming on my tongue as it touched his tentatively. “Pizza?” Being with Sascha was bittersweet, a window into a life I wanted but couldn’t have.
Sliding out from underneath me, he smiled so sweetly that it made my heart ache. I reached to thread my fingers through the longest part of his beard; it didn’t even reach his Adam’s apple, but it couldn’t be any longer. “You think I should have a new nickname now? ‘Oppie’ was just to piss off my parents.”
“It’s grown on me like a nasty fungus, Oppie.” He winked at me. “Peppers and sausage?”
Flames licked my cheeks as that wonderful heat flooded my veins. “You know me so well.” Sitting up myself, I hugged my knees. There was nothing more pure, better, than this moment. Even so, worry throbbed against the backs of my eyes. “So… my family is gone. My sisters are in Saint Petersburg. Maybe you and me have a shot…?”
“We’ve been together for four years, Ophelia. We shot our shot when we hit year 2, and your parents didn’t manage to break us up. Your parents hated me because I’m almost twice as old as you and just a university professor. Things are going this way, and it’s a good way, Ophelia. It’s not perfect, but you need to replace the lack of relationship tension with relationship tension to balance the universe.”
“You’re an atomic scientist, you cracked the universe, Sascha.” Crawling onto my knees towards him, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders to kiss his neck. “What kind of equipment do you need to crack my nuclei?”
“I’m not going to fall for your science talk, you vixen. I bet you don’t know the first thing about gastronomy. Come on.” Long arms curled under my ass, and Sascha hoisted me up with a grunt. “Pizza’s not going to cook itself.”
“This would be more fun if I didn’t have a nightgown on.” That inappropriate sense of normalcy hung like a veil in front of my eyes.
Sascha hummed softly but didn’t answer immediately as he reached to turn on a lamp. “You don’t have underwear on, that’s good enough.”
Light spilled to banish the consuming darkness that threatened to overwhelm me, and I nuzzled his neck and shoulder greedily. Snorting a laugh, I hugged Sascha with my knees as spittle stained my lips.
He smiled, rounding the bed with strong strides that rippled through me. “I have an early class, so I’m not sure how long that’ll last. Especially considering you’re numb right now, and pretty soon… you’ll be mad. Real mad. That’s when it’ll get fun, Oppie.”
“So, you think I’m… boring…?” Kissing his bare shoulder, I hummed at the beauty of that word. “I like it.”
5
Sascha
“Who are you?” Frowning as I sat my briefcase on my desk, I cast a curious glance at the woman sitting on the sofa.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder before standing up. The long, lean pants, the vest, the glasses… a professional of some sort.
Definitively not one of my students. Too confident to be one of my students. “You’re not one of my students.”
“I’m Malda. I’ve been assigned to you by Vyachaslav Makovich. You’re dating the Cherinivsky girl.”
My cheek twitched, and I gazed at her from under furrowed brows. “Vyachaslav Makovich… not Aleksander?” Curiosity colored my tone.
Malda nodded firmly.
“Wonderful. I have the both of them on me, now?”
“Better the father than the son, if you ask me. Aleksander’s a monster of a man. I promise not to interfere with your life, but it’s my job to find out how much you know.”
Rounding my desk, I sat down to take a deep, steadying breath.
Malda didn’t hesitate to walk over and drop across from me. “I do not want to be here, Sascha. I don’t like Moscow. I don’t like school.” Malda physically shivered in disgust, her eyes bouncing around warily between lines of dark charcoal. She crossed her knees, somehow managing to look sophisticated and impudent at the same time.
The silence stretched, and I opened my mouth when it became apparent that she wouldn’t, “So… considering you’re not going to understand most of what I teach, and you’re not going to just go away, what are you really doing here in my office, specifically? Why did Vyachaslav Makovich send you, not his darling boy?” Maybe there was more going on than just wanting to keep an eye on Ophelia. That ‘maybe’ was only worried by the fact the old man sent Malda. Unless she was lying. “I doubt it has anything to do with the fact that, theoretically, I could build an atomic bomb.”
“Please! Makovich doesn’t care about that. Anyone with the internet can make a bomb. He assigned me to you because he thinks it’s interesting that you know everything about Cherinivsky, but you don’t do anything with it. Everyone has an ulterior motive, it can’t be just because you fell in love with a teenager.”
Covering my mouth to stifle my scoff, I flopped my head back to inhale a stabilizing breath.
Malda eyed me critically, but nowhere in those shrewd eyes was the disgust she felt for my profession. “When did you two really meet? And before you try the same thing on Aleksander on me…don’t. Aleksander allows it because it amuses him. Vyachaslav is a crotchety, old bastard whose sense of humor shriveled smaller than his balls.”
“… At the Summer Festival in Vladivostok. She was 17. Ophelia was alone, trying to win a fish… a blue one. That festival is 12 days long. On the last day, I asked for her number, and she gave it to me.” The memory was so strong, even after 5 years. Ophelia wore this cute dress with spots on it ‒ a black dress with matching black shoes. She’d gathered her hair, but not all of it. Her face was long but soft… like an angel. “Ophelia wanted to wait until she was 18, when she could move out of her parent’s house. They hated me from the second they found our texts. Someone from up high kept them from exercising their parental right to step on her neck.”
“That’s not all of it, is it? You just found this gorgeous, rich girl so intriguing that you kept up a relationship with her entirely through text for months?” Incredulousness thickened Malda’s tone, her eyes widening with skepticism. “You’re obviously not a dumbass, at the very least, Sascha Matheson. Explain to me how you managed.”
“I didn’t fall in love with her through a cell phone screen, if that�
�s what you want to know. When she moved out, I went to her place a few times. She went to my place a few times. Then, she stayed the night, and that turned into a few nights a week. We didn’t have sex until Ophelia’s 19th birthday. 20th birthday, we went to an aquarium. 21st birthday, she got black out drunk for the first time. I was sober. 22nd birthday, I bought her a ring. She keeps it in my left nightstand, second drawer ‒ are you going to check if it’s there?” My tangent came to an end. “Do you want to know what I’m going to do for Ophelia’s 23rd birthday?”
Malda’s brows rose in surprise. “What are you going to do?”
I shouldn’t have offered. My eyelid twitched in irritation,
Malda shook her head. “I don’t really care. To be honest, I don’t care about any of it. I’m just here to figure out why a 39 year old uni professor… is in a serious relationship with a 22 year old daughter of a crime boss, and then to figure out if that reason is true.”
“I don’t care who she’s the daughter of, Malda. She’s Ophelia, no one else. Her parents hated me. They’re gone. Her brother threatened to kick my ass but never had the guts to do so…he’s dead. Her annoying little sisters are in Saint Petersburg and out of the way. For now, at least, I have her all to myself. It doesn’t matter how long until it ends… only as long as it lasts.”
Malda rolled her eyes with a huff, the indignation on her face intensifying.
My own irritation with this setup was starting to boil over. “I don’t have an ulterior motive, if I did, I’d get with Vyachaslav’s slut daughters.”
“I’ll make sure to recount that verbatim.” She stood up, turning her nose at me as she sauntered out of my office.
Watching her sashay away, I stroked my beard thoughtfully.
Pausing at the door, she cast me a dull look over her shoulder. “You’re not hot enough to have someone half your age in love with you.” Malda disappeared, leaving me in contemplative quiet that made my office seem small.
Ophelia’s parents weren’t even buried, yet people were making moves on Ophelia’s life ‒ as if they had that right. Grinding my teeth, I sat back to cross my knees and cup my chin. Why Vyachaslav? Why not Aleksander or one of the dozen other kids he had running around Russia in positions of power?
“It’s not like I can just ask him…” Fishing my cell phone out of my pocket, I shook my head slightly. Last night had been long and dreary. Ophelia didn’t sleep soundly, which meant I didn’t sleep at all. She mumbled all night, probably recounting her conversations with Aleksander Makovich. I didn’t understand any of it, but she’d wake up after a while before settling back down.
Thank God, it’s not a busy time for me, then I’d really feel bad. Shooting Ophelia a quick text, I grimaced as my words bounced off the walls. Class didn’t start for another 15 minutes, but they’d be the longest minutes of my life. Thankfully, Malda showed up to remind me that my life with Ophelia was subject to the scrutiny of people we’d never meet. Just what I need.
I loved Ophelia. I loved her brightness and her cool-headedness. I loved the way she puckered her lips when she was frustrated. I loved the way she shivered dramatically when I touched her unexpectedly. Her little, tiny hums when she ate something she found particularly delicious…
The only part of her I didn’t love was her last name. Ophelia refused to marry me, and even though I was 38 at the time, I hadn’t understood why. Did she care about her parents hating me or did she just say she didn’t to ease my worry? Was she just using me for that sense of normalcy that she always said she wanted?
But, now… the picture was becoming startlingly, disturbing clear. The reasons she’d given for not marrying me suddenly made sense. Ophelia would always be a Cherinivsky. She couldn’t just walk away from that title because of a vow that didn’t mean anything to anyone but the two making it. Marrying her meant getting sucked deeper into the shadows of her life, not bringing her closer to the light.
Behind my lids, Ophelia’s 22nd birthday only 5 months ago flashed vividly. I knew it was fruitless, but even then, I wanted her to have that symbol. She deserved to look at that ring and feel like a woman in love. For a few moments, maybe she’d try it on and fantasize about life with me… just a professor and his wife.
It was cruel.
My cheek twitched as my phone gave off an insistent buzz, and I shook my head viciously. Ophelia wasn’t awake; she was probably the worst morning person I’d ever met. Especially, considering last night, chances were good she wouldn’t wake up until noon.
Unknown Number: ‘Meet me in Red Square at 1pm.’
Tapping my phone against my thigh, I grimaced down at the screen. I wasn’t good with games…mysteries, yes, but not games. And I had no doubt at all that this was a game in which I staked my life.
For Ophelia, I would do it.
6
Ophelia
“So, you got a creepy text after getting ambushed by Makovich in your office… and you still went? Why?” Standing over the stove, I cast Sascha a curious glance over my shoulder.
He shrugged, not tearing his eyes off whatever he was reading.
Scanning him through narrowed eyes, I pursed my lips thinly to hide my frown. “What happened?”
“For what it’s worth, it wasn’t that creepy a meeting. I was approached by someone named Kiri, but she was obviously expecting someone more handsome.” I snorted at the drawl, turning back to the stove to stir my noodles with an ugly smile. “Why does everyone think I have to be really hot for you to want me? I’m going to be 40 in a few months. I think I look pretty good.”
“You are really hot to me, Sascha and don’t change the subject. What’d she want? That’s one of Vyachaslav’s daughters…the youngest one.” My brows furrowed in thought as I stared down at the boiling water. Kiri Makovich was a proper slacker; she never did anything requiring too much energy. The few times I’d met her, it was obvious she didn’t put much into her appearance. Whatever she could reach, she threw on, even if it didn’t match.
“I’m honestly not sur,” he replied. “All she did was complain about how her brother was sending her around like a chicken with its head cut off. Said she hated Saint Petersburg, how she wanted to come back to Moscow and fade into obscurity. Basically… you, if you were a whiny brat who never takes responsibility for anything.” He slapped the paper he was reading on the table to groan in foreboding. “I barely got a word in. I don’t know how that old man managed to raise all those kids and got such a mixed bag.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard her speak… and yet, she complained like that to you?” To say the clash of experience was odd was an understatement, and I turned to face Sascha fully. He looked tired, and guilt clawed at my throat as I raked my hand through my hair. “After dinner, I was going to go back to my apartment for the night. My handler is supposed to show up at some point in the next few days, and I have to go to my parent’s house in the morning to figure out what the hell is going on.”
“Do you think you’ll find anything you don’t want Makovich to know about?” Sasha asked.
I gnawed on my inner cheek as I nodded.
Sascha scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Whatever your parents were into, you’re going to clean it up before it becomes a scandal.”
“They tried to kill Vyachaslav and not Aleksander. I need to find out why. I have a few theories— the most likely one being that the Avernisk’s tried to pin everything on us. Erik was good at that… making people think his ideas were their ideas. It didn’t matter in the end, but I know he’s alive. Aleksander would’ve kept him alive for the same reason he kept me alive.” My brain churned endlessly, trying to eliminate possibilities. I didn’t know enough about the whole picture yet, to pinpoint the Avernisk’s motives. Of course, Aleksander wouldn’t need to interrogate them, but that put me in a bad way. “What happened to the others— do you know?” Clenching my jaw, I inhaled deeply.
Sascha turned his quizzical gaze to me. “If he kept one of all of the f
amilies alive, maybe if you found out who, you’d get closer to an answer.”
“I know he kept the kids alive, he shipped them all to Saint Petersburg so he could control them better. They’re options to him. If I mess up, he goes on to Cori, and so on. The Avernisk’s didn’t have any underage kids, but Erik is the youngest, so it stands to reason he’d be the one Aleksander kept.” The more I talked myself through it, the more confusing everything was. Getting a handle on Aleksander’s motives, let alone the families, was a tangled web of steel cables. Each time I tried to grab a strand, I got cut from how tightly they wound together. “I’m assuming Roknevi and Suvensk are the same. The four families have barely any interaction with Aleksander, and I seriously doubt he cares about us at all. Knowing how he reacts, we’re all replaceable, and he’s more than willing to do so. So… why bother keeping us around?”
Sasha nodded. “Aleksander’s the most powerful man in Russia because of his socialist bullshit agenda. He’s a proper mass politician, and everything he does is under scrutiny. Maybe, he doesn’t want to make too big a mess that he’ll have to clean up. You know, Ophelia, it does make a little sense. If he didn’t want to do a full overhaul, he’d pick who would serve him best from the choices already available.” Sascha frowned at his own words.
I nodded again, as those beautiful, brown eyes met mine.
“If you could predict who would live,” Sasha went on. “You could theoretically manipulate Aleksander into eliminating your competition. If Erik Avernisk is so damn smart, who’s to say he’s not the cause of all of this?”
“It’d make sense if that was the case. If Erik counted on Aleksander reacting the way he did, it wouldn’t be much of a leap to figure out who would be left behind. It’s not a secret that I’m more competent. Suvensk would be… Aleksi, maybe. Roknevi might be Rucca.” Turning back to the stove, I pursed my lips thinly as the picture in my head became a little clearer. I’m stupid. “Aleksander has little experience with each of us. I’ve never even personally met him until a few days ago. What if that’s the whole point of this? It was destined to fail and is going according to plan?”
