Page 12 of Pageant

Besides, I dislike attaching her to her husband.

“Aran,” she tells me.

“Lilia Aranova,” I say softly. A pretty name that draws over the tongue like silk. Much prettier than her married name.

She turns to me in surprise, her chin tilting up to look me in the eyes. She might be tall, but at six-foot-three, I’m taller. “It sounds different when you say it. Americans rarely know to call me that and they give it so many hard edges.”

That’s because I’m saying it like it should be said.

“Ivan will be down in a minute. Coffee?” she asks.

I sit at the kitchen counter while she pours me a cup and hands it to me. I gaze at it with a smile. This time two weeks ago, I was standing in my cell while a buzzer sounded long and loud, wondering if this might be the day I’m shanked in the showers and left to bleed out on the wet tiles.

“What trouble did you get into in Russia that meant you had to come here?”

The smile dies on my lips.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me. Forget I asked.”

Lilia turns to sort through the refrigerator, but I can feel her cringing away from me. Her thoughts are as loud as if she were shouting them at the top of her lungs. Is there a murderer in her kitchen? A rapist? She saw the blood on my arm so she already knows I’m a murderer, and now she’s wondering how safe she is, all alone in this kitchen with a strange man.

“I robbed banks.”

Lilia turns to me, her eyebrows raised.

“And I stole from rival syndicate.” I almost didn’t survive in prison with so many inmates after me for revenge. The moment I was released, I skipped out of Russia with the help of a friend who knew Ivan Kalashnik, and then I came here. A fresh start where no one is baying for my blood.

“Did you hurt people?”

For the first time in a long time, I hesitate. “Sometimes. But not for fun. And only if they tried to hurt me first.”

Her brow wrinkles in confusion. “Why would I think you hurt people for fun?”

I recall the glee on the faces of the men last night as I beat Ivan’s prisoner to death, her husband included. Oh,solnyshko. You sweet, innocent child.

“What did you do before you were married?” I ask.

She gives me a faint smile. “I once stole a candy bar from the corner shop. I was seven.”

I click my tongue and wag a finger at her. “You are very bad girl.”

“Avery bad girl,” she corrects me. “You’re dropping articles.”

“Russian habit.”

“I was getting into modeling,” she says with a shrug of her shoulder. “I wanted to be a runway model. I liked the idea of travel and fashion shows, and the money is good.” Her gaze drops to the ground and her cheeks burn. “Anyway, it’s stupid to talk about that. Dad introduced me to Ivan, and now I don’t need to work.”

I watch her with my head tilted to one side. Someone has said bad words to her about that career. I wonder if her father slapped her face and told her she was cheap for wanting men to look at her. That’s what my father would have done to my sisters if they said they wanted to be models.

Ivan clatters downstairs, and I force my gaze down to the counter as he gripes about something in the newspaper, gulping the coffee Lilia pours for him. A moment later, Ivan pats me on the back and tells me it’s time to go. He gives his wife a peremptory kiss on the mouth and heads for the front door.

Lilia gives me a small smile as I stand up to go. It’s faint, but it’s there. “Have a lovely day, Elyah.”

I follow Ivan to the front door, wishing I could reach back to my darkest moments in prison and share this morning with my former self.

Elyah, you are miserable and filthy, a piece of scum in a concrete cell, but one day soon, an angel in a faraway country will smile at you and wish that your day is lovely, and for a few minutes, it fucking will be.

Being Ivan’s “driver” is simple and familiar work. Taxi him around in his sleek black car to his various businesses, legal and otherwise. Stand by the door and act like his bodyguard. Stand over people who don’t want to do what he wants. Take people out back and soften them up when theyreallydon’t want to do what he wants. Eat with him. Talk to him. Visit strip clubs with him. It’s just like home in many ways, only the pay is better and so is the weather, but it’s harder to bribe the cops. Not impossible, though.

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