Page 46 of Vitaly

“Come on, let’s get a drink.” Leo slaps an arm around Vitaly’s shoulder and ushers him to the bar, one stool away from Olive.

When I look at my father, he has an evil smile on his face, telling me he planned this. He’s setting Vitaly up for something.

I almost open my mouth. Almost ruin whatever it is they have planned.

Then I remember Vitaly is my enemy. I keep my mouth shut, but the strangest thing happens... My stomach turns. My heart quickens.

And I don’t feel the least bit happy.

13

VITALY

Mila’s brother smells like garlic. Every time his mouth opens, only inches from my nose, the stench puffs out with his excited words, slicing past neglected teeth.

He doesn’t look like he could be her brother. Well, I suppose in some ways he does. His hair is the soft brown I remember hers being, but it’s difficult to see much else past the garlic smell.

“Babygirl.” Leo, the brother, snaps his fingers at the bartender who’s already staring at him. She looks less than thrilled by the nickname. Or maybe it’s the snapping. “Get our boy Vitaly here a shot of our finest.” He squeezes my shoulders, making me tense. I fight the instinct to react, remind myself it isn’t threatening. That nonthreatening touchexists.

“Thanks.” I clear my throat and move his hands off my shoulders. When the shot comes, I give a polite lift of it before knocking it back.

“That’s our boy,” Leo laughs and claps my back as if he has any idea who I am.

What is he doing?

“Another one, babygirl, let’s go.” He snaps his fingers in rapid succession, and even I have to glare this time. We catchthe attention of a woman sitting a couple of stools away, straight, cinnamon hair swaying as she turns her head.

Leo eyes the woman, his lips curved in a smile that makes me think they know each other, or maybe he just thinks she’s beautiful. Which makes his next move questionable.

“Gotta go to the pisser.” He claps my shoulderagain, my jaw clenching. I wonder if I would’ve behaved differently had he not been Mila’s brother. The answer occurs automatically.

Of course.

Leo walks off toward the bathroom, and I let out a breath as the bartender—a woman I can only think to describe ascurvaceous—slams the shot glass in front of me. I nod my head in thanks, but she only stares with contempt before addressing the woman next to me.

“Doing okay, Olive?”

“Mm-hm.”

The bartender turns back to me, looks me up and down, then slinks off to the other side of the bar, a classic butterfly tattoo visible beneath the hem of her black shirt that must be intentionally too small. It works for her. Even her meanness works for her.

I stare at the shot glass in front of me, wondering how long this is going to take.

“So,” the woman two stools away begins in a low, mousy voice. Almost scared. Definitely nervous. “You’re Vitaly?”

I turn to take in her face, mostly hidden by hair, and something about it feels familiar. I don’t know her, but I think I’ve seen her before.

Is she one of the women from the mansion?

Does she know that I got the other girl killed?

Would she be stupid enough to be talking to me right now if she did?

I look over the woman, dressed in faded jeans and a dull sweater. She doesn’t look like a whore. She doesn’t look Russian either.

Maybe she’s just an alcoholic. Maybe she hears things, sitting at this bar at eleven thirty in the morning, nursing what looks like an Appletini.

It doesn’t seem to bother her when I don’t answer. She already had her mind made up about who I am. Sitting up straighter, she swallows and holds out her hand. “I’m, um… I’m Olive.”

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