They knew, she thought, tasting bile. They all knew what had happened to her, what she might have done. They probably even knew she didn’t have any underwear beneath the scrubs the hospital had given her to wear home.
She didn’t want sympathy. Nothing would comfort her. Nothing made any sense, least of all the crowd that had gathered to see her home.
“Go home,” she told them all. “I’m fine. I just want to be alone.” She wasn’t fine. She might never be fine. But her misery didn’t need any company.
Ribbons of anxiety, tautly strung from wrist to wrist, cinched tighter, bunching the muscles in her shoulders and neck. All she wanted was her next dose of anti-anxiety medication and a good long sleep.
She went into her bathroom and pulled the amber bottle from her medicine cabinet. Funny, there was only one pill left. She thought there had been more. Had someone stolen her pills? She shook off the silly thought. She was merely jittery, enervated by last night’s terrible events, her usual anxiety skittering on the edge of paranoia. Fifteen minutes, she told herself. In fifteen minutes, the medicine would work its magic and she would feel fine, able to cope.
Inna filled the cup of water at the sink and swallowed the pill. It stuck in her throat. The tablet seemed somehow larger than she remembered, and she struggled to choke it down. She resented her dependence on the pills.
She splashed water on her face and studied her reflection in the mirror. The stress of the day had left its mark; dark smudges under her eyes and a wrinkle across her forehead, no color in her cheeks, no sparkle in her eyes. She had left her apartment feeling beautiful and confident in her bold red dress. Now, she felt old. She braced her hands against the white basin of the sink and bowed her head. Her hair formed a thick curtain around her face, and she wanted to pull it closed, hide, shut everything out.
When she had finally had her interview with the police, they had been frustrated by her lack of memory, and they had repeated and repeated questions as if in the hopes of tripping her up or getting a different story. They had pounded on her nerves until the small glue holding her together broke and crumbled, and she had started to cry. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if I killed him. I don’t remember anything.”
The doctor had intervened, had pulled the detectives aside, likely had explained to them what he had to her about the drug he had found in her blood. When they returned, their tone was different, softer and more careful, as if they had decided she was also a victim or that she was too fragile and might crack under more strain.
Then the questions had shifted. Did she have any enemies? Was there anyone who might want to hurt her—a jilted boyfriend, for example? How often did she go to Troika? How well did she and her brother get along? Did she know Jack, the other owner of the club? Were they involved in dealing drugs?
The questions sat uneasily with her, especially now with her family, her brother included, camped out in her living room. The direction of the questions was clear: How could this have happened to her at her own brother’s nightclub?
Her thoughts circled and spun around that question. There was an implication hidden there; that Jack or Aleksei might have targeted her or caused this to happen, but neither had even been there. Jack had been at home with his wife and children, and Aleksei had been changing a flat tire somewhere on the Belt Parkway. Inna and Aleksei might not get along as well as Inna wished, but she couldn’t imagine that her brother would ever hurt her. Not like this.
Inna felt like a rubber band pulled so tight it might snap. She could hear her father’s voice rising in the living room, his frustration directed at Aleksei, demanding to know how he could let such a thing happen at his club.
“You can’t blame Aleksei. He wasn’t even there,” Maya said, but Aleksei, Inna noticed, did not participate in his own defense. “Inna brought this on herself. If you have to blame someone, blame her.”
The recrimination was no less than what Inna had told herself, but her mother’s biting tone gave it more force. She wanted the earth to open up and swallow her.
“It’s not Inna’s fault,” Katya said.
“She went to the club looking like a prostitute, and she got treated like one,” Maya said.
“She was raped!” Katya said.
“We don’t know that,” Maya said. “We don’t know what happened. She claims she doesn’t remember. Isn’t that convenient?”
“She can’t remember because she was drugged,” Katya answered. Katya, usually the family diplomat, wasn’t the type to pick a fight, but she also didn’t back away from the ones she thought needed to be fought. Inna wondered now at her sister-in-law’s defense of her. Could she be right? Was Inna’s anger focused in the wrong place?
Inna forced herself to return to the living room and face her family, but they were so intent on arguing about her that no one seemed to notice her return, save Mikhail, who edged around the room, coming toward her. She wished he would stay away. He made her nervous, although she couldn’t say why.
“She asked for it,” Maya said viciously.
Inna knew her mother’s vitriol wasn’t really aimed at Katya. The two might fight tonight, but they would be friends again tomorrow, despite the snip in Maya’s tone. Katya didn’t hold grudges, and Maya adored Katya, as if she were a special gift that Maya had never expected to receive, the daughter she had always wanted.
Katya looked more her mother’s daughter than Inna did. They had the same coloring—light eyes, although Katya’s were green rather than blue, creamy complexions, and thick blond hair. Maya was more delicate, Katya more curvaceous, but they both had classic hourglass figures. They could easily pass for mother and daughter, while Inna hardly resembled her mother. Dark-haired and dark-eyed with a slight olive tinge to her skin, she had none of her mother’s porcelain qualities. Her eyes weren’t round. They were almond-shaped. Aleksei used to tell her she was adopted, and she might have believed him had she not had the same high cheekbones and sharp nose as her brother and father.
Inna rubbed at the ache in her chest. She wasn’t jealous of Katya. She just wished she could at least have a small portion of her own mother’s love.
“You go too far!” Papa bellowed at Mama. His voice seemed to come from far away. The scene took on a hazy quality. Inna blinked her eyes, but couldn’t quite bring everyone into focus. She swayed and bumped against the wall behind her.
Mikhail put his arm around her. His breath tickled her ear. “How are you holding up?”
Normally, she would have shied away from him, gone to lengths to avoid him. Now she melted toward him. The muscles that had been so tight before now felt loose, almost slack. A glowing sense of well-being washed over her, warm and soft. “I’m sleepy,” she said. Her voice sounded thick to her own ears.
“Inna’s tired. We should all go so she can rest,” Mikhail said, surprisingly solicitous. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, she thought foggily, as he ushered everyone to the door.
Katya caught her by the shoulders, and Inna felt wobbly in her grasp. “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” she said, “and I keep thinking if only we’d arrived earlier, we would have stopped it.”
“It’s not your fault,” Inna said, and the words floated out of her. She could almost see the bubble around them. She touched Katya’s cheek.
Katya embraced Inna in a tight hold. “Let me know if you need anything. I can imagine how terrible this has all been.”
Inna had never confided to anyone, except Dr. Shiffman, about what had happened that terrible night in college. She had hidden her shame to avoid her parents’ disappointment, the disapproval that now telegraphed off of Maya in thick waves. Katya couldn’t possibly imagine what it was like to carry this burden, to worry that her family might discover yet another reason to find her wanting, to crave their love while knowing deep down that she didn’t truly deserve it.
None of that was important right now. Any anger or ugly thoughts bounced in her brain with little effect. The magic pill was ma
king that all not matter so much. It was as though there were a shield around her and nothing bad could touch her. She even felt herself smiling. “I’m going to be fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”
It was the last thing she remembered that night.
ALEKSEI
AS ALEKSEI KISSED his baby sister on the cheek, he couldn’t hide from the truth any longer. In hospital scrubs, face pale, hair matted, Inna looked ravaged, a shell of her already quiet self, despite her fragile smile and easy assurances that she was fine.
Aleksei steered Katya into the hallway. He didn’t have time to stick around and do the extended hug-hug kiss-kiss thing. There was too much damage to control. What the hell had happened last night? Mikhail had some explaining to do.
Mikhail waited in the hallway by the elevator. Aleksei tried to catch his eye.
“Mikhail, what did you do at Troika last night?” Katya asked, as if reading his mind.
A practiced liar, Mikhail answered smoothly. “I wasn’t at Troika last night.”
As Aleksei’s parents joined them to wait for the elevator, Aleksei silently willed Katya to be satisfied with Mikhail’s answer and drop the matter.
The elevator arrived. Aleksei pulled open the outer door and held it as everyone filed in. Inna lived in a pre-war building, and the old-fashioned elevator was roughly the size of a coat closet.
They all squeezed into the tight space. When the inner door slid closed, Katya picked up her interrogation again.
“Aleksei said you were supposed to handle something at Troika last night,” she persisted.
Mikhail darted a sharp look at Aleksei as if to say, Control your woman. What he actually said was, “I don’t know what you mean.”
Katya appealed to Aleksei. “When we arrived, you said, ‘Mikhail said he had everything under control.’” She quoted his own words back to him. “What was he supposed to have under control?”
Artur turned to him with an expectant look. Aleksei shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. He couldn’t afford to look the least bit guilty. The elevator cab was lined with mirrored tiles, and Aleksei felt slightly claustrophobic in the small space with multiple reflections of his father’s scrutinizing gaze assessing him. The bell dinged at each floor, and the cab moved slowly to the next.
“When we arrived last night.” Aleksei drew out the words as his mind reached for a plausible excuse. “The cops were everywhere. At first, I thought there had been another fight. The crowd’s been rowdy lately.” Yes, good. He picked up speed as the lie came more easily. “Mikhail said he would hook us up with a new bouncer to keep things calm. The guy was supposed to start last night. Keep everything under control.”
“That’s right,” Mikhail agreed. “I asked a guy I know to take the job.”
“Did he?” Katya asked. “I didn’t notice a new bouncer when the detectives were questioning people. Where was he? Was he there?”
Katya asked too many damned questions.
“His name’s Vitaliy. He’s starting work tonight,” Mikhail said, naming one of their friends.
“Oh.” Katya didn’t seem satisfied with the explanation.
The elevator stopped on the ground floor. Artur ducked his head out, blocking the others from leaving until he scanned the lobby. Beside the doorman, a man in a leather jacket nodded at him as the group spilled into the brightly lit lobby.
“You arranged extra security,” Aleksei said.
“The cops said they’d keep an eye on the building, but I don’t trust them to do enough.”
“Who would want to hurt Inna?” Katya asked.
“The man who was killed…” Artur began.
“You mean the man Inna killed?” Maya interrupted, voice soft. Aleksei recognized the edge underneath his mother’s sweet tone, the deliberateness to her words.
“She didn’t kill him,” Artur said. Maya took a step back as if his defense of Inna cut her. “Someone wanted it to look that way.”
Blyad! Less than twenty-four hours and his father already knew the whole thing was a setup. Doubts and worries crowded him, while Mikhail stood with the assured ease of a man whose schemes were all going according to plan. A secret smile played on his lips. Trust me. I’ll handle the Georgians.
Aleksei wanted to wipe the smile off of his friend’s face.
“Who would do that? Why?” Katya asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Artur said.
They didn’t know yet.
“I have Vlad chasing down a few leads. I want to get to the bottom of this.”
“What leads?” Aleksei asked.
“I sent him to Troika to talk to the staff, see if anyone noticed anything suspicious. Take a look at the surveillance video.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I should be there with him.” Aleksei had viewed the video early this morning. He had satisfied himself that nothing incriminating had been caught on camera. But Vlad had been in the FBI. He might see something Aleksei had missed.
“Jack’s there,” Artur said. “I thought it was more important for you to be with your sister.”
Aleksei saw the explanation for what it was—a lie. His father blamed him, whether or not he suspected Aleksei’s involvement in the larger plot. Where the hell were you? You were supposed to be with her.
If anyone learned of his role in this mess, the cops would be the least of his worries. He needed to get to Troika and find out what his exposure was. Then he needed to deal with it.
Katya put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s right. It was important to be with Inna tonight. She needs her family.”
Her touch was reassuring. She didn’t know or suspect, and he would keep it that way. He wrapped his arm around her, pulled her closer, and inhaled the light, clean scent of her perfume.
He scanned the street before exiting the apartment building. He knew the Brighton Beach folklore of the mobsters who had been gunned down in the street. Nothing so blatant had happened in years. Most people didn’t walk around Brighton Beach thinking they might get sprayed with bullets.
Aleksei wasn’t most people. Not anymore.
As they walked together through the small parking lot behind Inna’s building, he shielded Katya as best he could. He tried not to be too obvious as he hustled her through the open space to his Ferrari. He didn’t want to scare her.
He opened the door for her, and she slid into her seat.
“Mikhail’s lying,” she said.
“About what?”
“About being at Troika the other night. One of the waitresses saw him.”
Aleksei slammed the door. He cursed silently as he rounded the car to the driver’s seat. Katya had helped the detectives interview the staff last night, serving as translator. Who knew what she had heard?
“He’s at Troika all the time,” Aleksei said. “Maybe she was confused.” He started the ignition.
“What if she wasn’t? Do you think he could be involved?” she asked hesitantly.
For the first time, Aleksei saw his wife as truly dangerous. Would she turn him in if she knew his role? Would he need to silence her?
“Goddamn it, Katya. How could you even think that?” Aleksei exploded. He pounded his hands on the wheel in an exaggerated show. “Mikhail’s my friend. My best friend. Do you actually think my best friend would do something like this to my own sister? Come on!” His friend. His own sister. The ugliness of it sank in. He clutched the steering wheel.
Katya opened her mouth as if to argue.
“We’re talking about rape!” He bullied her into silence. She turned her head away from him and looked out the window. She didn’t speak to him again for the rest of the ride to their home. In a mere five minutes, they had exited Brighton Beach and entered the tonier Manhattan Beach neighborhood with its pricey single-family homes on postage-stamp lots.
He pulled his Ferrari into the short driveway of their home, a recently constructed white stucco mini-mansion that boasted a waterfront view of Sheepshead Bay
and a price tag that the average, honest, hardworking person could never afford.
So much could go wrong. If the scheme didn’t work, he would lose everything. The nightclub, the car, the house … and Katya.
There were no cars on the street. No suspicious activity. He idled feet from the front door with its leaded glass and wrought iron ornaments.
Wordlessly, Katya slid out of her seat. She started up the marble steps. When he didn’t follow, she doubled back. She knocked lightly on the glass, and he lowered the window. “Aleksei, come inside. It’s cold out.”
“I’ve got to stop by the club.” It was time to plan his next move. He needed to stay a step ahead.
“Everyone will understand if you don’t make a showing tonight.”
Make a showing. She had such an innocent way of belittling his activities, as if he merely pranced around the nightclub and pretended to be important.
She didn’t know about the rest. The other business that he ran from his office at the club. The one that had brought them all this trouble.
He hoped his father nuked the Georgians. Damn them.
“Please, Aleksei. Please stay with me,” she pleaded.
The moonlight cast a halo around her golden hair. His Katya, his angel. She anchored him. She was the only part of his life that made any sense. For a brief moment, he wished he could lay the whole set of problems at her feet and have her help him solve them.
That wasn’t what men did. Real men faced their problems and didn’t involve their women. “I have to go.”
Katya looked stricken. For a moment he feared she would tell him not to come back.
“I love you,” he said. He reached through the car window and touched her cheek. Her eyes didn’t soften for him the way they usually did. He offered her a concession. “I won’t be late. I promise.”
She didn’t say anything. She turned away and headed toward the house. He waited while she unlocked the door and let herself inside, the whole time wishing she would look back at him. That he would see the loving look in her eyes.
Kings of Brighton Beach Bundle Page 9
