Page 214 of Ruins
Vaska glares at me before stepping aside, but I don’t miss the warning in his eyes. I turn to face Maksim, who stands a few feet away, his hair now a ridiculous shade of pink. The snakebites under his lips catch the light, glinting as wickedly as the smirk stretching across his face
“Vasilisa would like to request you don’t kill her mother.”
Maksim clutches his chest in mock horror. “Kill my aunt? How could you think so little of me?” His smirk returns. “Besides, my mother would have my head if I laid a finger on her sister.” He takes a key out of his pocket, “I’m just holding her, so she won’t have any way of warning Miroslav.”
“She’s given you information then?”
“Of course, she squealed as soon as we found her.”
“What has she said?”
“Nothing of use, except she had no choice, her duty as a wife, it was all his idea,” Maksim waves his hands around. “In either case, Miroslav has to return if he’s to make his drop off with the Armenians.”
“So, she has no idea where he is now?”
“She claims he’s in Russia. I’ve got men at every port and border—if he so much as breathes wrong, I’ll know."
He hands me the key, “Still need proof of life? Be my guest but lock the door when you’re done.”
I take the key from Maksim and unlock the door, shutting it firmly behind me. The room is nothing like I remember. What was once barren—a mattress on the floor, a bucket in the corner—is now furnished extravagantly. An ensuite bathroom, a television mounted on pristine white walls adorned with art, and a plush mattress replace the cold emptiness.
Vera Popov sits at the edge of the bed, poised and regal, a statuesque vision in couture. She is Vasilisa’s mirror, but where Vasilisa is soft warmth, Vera is sharp edges and cold steel. A magazine rests in her manicured hands, but as she looks up at me, surprise flickers across her features.
"Mr. Amato."
Her voice is composed, but the way she stiffens betrays her unease.
"Vera." I regard her evenly.
She sets the magazine aside, her gaze wary, shoulders taut.
"I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here for Vasilisa."
Her breath hitches. "Is she okay?"
It’s telling that her first thought is fear. "Why wouldn’t she be?"
She wrings her hands. "I thought when word got to you, that you would..." She trails off, and anger coils in my chest.
"I wouldneverhurt her."
Her head snaps up, shock flashing across her face. "You wouldn’t?"
"No." My brows furrow. "Did Miroslav hurt you?"
Sadness flickers in her eyes before she schools her expression, lifting her chin with practiced grace.
"I am a dutiful wife," she says evenly. "Loyal to my husband. Loyal to the Bratva. He would have no reason to hurt me."
That word—dutiful. It grates against me like a dull blade.
"So, you fled willingly?"
“I followed my husband and did what he asked of me, as any wifeshould.”
It’s like talking to a robot. “Vasilisa can do what she wants so long as she’s safe.”
Vera’s brows furrow, but she fixes her face and scoffs. “So long as she’s safe and under your control. That is how it is for a woman in this world. Under our husband’s thumb, under hiswatchfuleye.”
