Page 116 of Filthy Little Fix
"It would be fiscally irresponsible of me. Svetlana would be horrified by the inefficiency of allocating such a resource to an asset that doesn't use it. It's bad business."
Luca stares at me for a long time. He's trying to understand the logic of it. My only expenses were rent, frozen food, and internet. Dante is giving me an entire life now.
His phone screen flashes. He stares at it. He frowns, clears his throat, and says, "I'll bring the prisoner."
I smile and watch him go.
I'm alone.
Or almost.
Hispresence lingers. It clings to the walls. To the scent of leather. To the weight of the furniture.
I wantedhimto be the one to bring me here, introducing me to every space in this suite, giving me his orders to eat and sleep properly.
I allow myself to drown in the scent.
I miss him.
Dmitry isthe Volkov who talks in my ear the most. Funny, because I thought it would be his brother. Or Iwantedit to be.
Since I've been locked in here, Dante hasn't shown up. Not even to scold me for talking to Nicole. I've already asked Luca. He tells me nothing. The most I get from the Volkovs is in daily meetings with Svetlana and Dmitry through a secure channel. Svetlana stays for a short time, gives information, and leaves. She's efficient, doesn't like to waste time. Dmitry is a bit more cordial, and he's the one who discusses the best paths with me. He's a perfectionist, pragmatic, doesn't mind me calling him by his first name, and sometimes laughs at the jokes I make about Sal's hands, who is the ghost in the basement.
By Dante's orders, Luca doesn't leave me alone with our prisoner. I find it funny, because Sal has been reduced to a man who doesn't even have tears or autonomy—a prisoner in every sense of the word. He is thin, weak, always tied to some chair, and definitely doesn't find my jokes funny. Where his handsonce were are now bandaged stumps that need changing a few times a day. He doesn't see me as a guardian angel, doesn't thank me for saving his life. He wishes Dante had killed him.
Sal doesn't know it, but his family is alive. Or something like that. He must think they were killed, but Dante kept his promise to protect them, in his own way. They received a generous sum of money, new identities, and a one-way flight to some forgotten place in the Midwest. They made a silent agreement: if they return or say anything about the past, theytrulydisappear. Dmitry told me this one day. I asked out of clinical curiosity.
Meanwhile, Sal gave us everything he had to give for now. He no longer fights, and we don't need extensive blackmail or threats. Deep down, I think Dmitry enjoys his petty, justified revenge. He talks about Sal's children in detail—how he would ruin their lives, hunt them down, dig up every living relative. And he does this knowing exactly where they are: crying for Sal, yes, but wiping their tears with money inside a hot tub in a mansion in the Midwest.
For today, Luca took Sal away from here. A shame. I even like looking at his fucked-up wrists—it's a reminder of the last time Dantereallyspoke to me. But we're on practical matters and, according to Luca, Dante would prefer Sal to be kept in the dark.According to Luca. Everything according to Luca, or according to Dmitry, or according to Svetlana, because Dante is still just a presence in my head, though in constant contact with his list of pillars… which doesn't include me.
The video call with Dmitry is almost over. We finalize the details of the first information leak that will pit Ivan against Alexei. The work is ready to be executed.
"Are we done for today, then?" I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"Yes. Good job, Nyx," Dmitry says. "Dante will like to see these results."
Dante will like it. Of course he will. Except he's not here to see it. He hasn't been here at any point.
Well, he's done this before. He keeps me when he wants. But now it's different. I'm not a pet—hepromotedme for this.
The last time I saw him was in that basement. After he shot Sal's hands. I touched him. I saw the way he looked at me, afterward. There was hunger, but there was something else. Shame? Disgust? Maybe the kiss in the warehouse, in front of Luca, was a mistake. A misstep. Maybe my reaction in the basement disgusted him. I shouldn't have enjoyed watching that. It was inappropriate to ask him to fuck me after he blew off the hands of someone he trusted. But does he care about that? He wanted me there. I don't remember provoking him, this time. Not on purpose.
I force my voice out. A casual question.
"Out of curiosity, Dmitry... why doesn't Dante participate in these meetings? He's the boss."
Dmitry gives me the corporate answer. "Dante defines the overall strategy. We execute the details. He doesn't need to be on every call. He has other fronts to take care of. The dirtier part."
A waste of time. "You don't need to explain the hierarchy to me. Is he avoiding me?"
The direct question catches him off guard. Dmitry sighs, and the answer he gives isn't that of the Volkov executive. It's that of the brother.
"That's not the word I would use." He pauses. "Dante… chooses when to be present. When he's not, it's because he thinks he shouldn't be."
He treats me with a cordiality that borders on that of a brother-in-law trying to get along with his brother's problematic boyfriend. Of the three Volkovs, Dmitry is, by far, the most...welcoming.
I accept his non-answer. I understand it's the most he'll give me.
