The Professional: Part 2 (The Game Maker #1.2)(23)

He didn’t relax whatsoever, conflict clear in his expression. “No. Not from my hand.”

Because Sevastyan had never been with the same woman twice? When Paxán had told me that, I’d kind of thought he was exaggerating. But it was likely Sevastyan had never stuck around to see the aftermath of his appetites.

I sensed him slipping away from me. “I’m perfectly fine. You liked when my ass was sore,” I reminded him. “How is this different?”

“It’s different. Now.” He handed me a robe.

With a frown, I donned it. “Now that what?”

“We’ll discuss this later. We have a long day ahead of us.”

He wouldn’t look at me, was closing down right before my eyes. Now that we’d made love, I thought that we would be entering into a new stage of our relationship. In which, you know, we talked.

But it was as if a draft had soughed into the air between us. “In the banya, you told me not to wake up. I feel like I should be telling you the same. You’re pulling away, and I don’t know why.”

“I have something for you.” He withdrew an envelope from his jacket pocket, handed it to me. “It was in Paxán’s cabin, in his safe.” The back was sealed with a red wax circle. I recognized Paxán’s fanciful calligraphic handwriting on the front.

For my daughter

He’d told me he would never tire of saying that.

“Read that, then pack a suitcase for five nights.” Sevastyan gave a curt nod. “We depart soon. I’ll leave you to it.”

As soon as I was alone, I tore the envelope open. . . .

My dearest Natalie,

If you are reading this, then I am—how do you Americans so eloquently phrase it?—shit out of luck.

Even in those words, I could hear his wry tone, could imagine him writing it with a sigh.

However, you are with Aleksei, and that is my consolation. He will walk into a hail of bullets for you.

He had.

Yet as loyal as he is, there is a darkness to him. Since the first winter I brought him to Berezka, he has not spoken about his childhood, but I know it was horrific. I never pressed him to talk about it, because I sensed he wanted to shed his past and make a fresh start.

This was a failing on my part.

Dorogaya, he’s like an intricate clock, and some mechanism deep within is broken. He bears scars inside and out, and until he can trust another enough to confide about his past, I don’t believe he will ever be whole. Coax him to entrust you with his burdens.

How? If Sevastyan hadn’t learned to open up by now . . .

Not that I expected him to know how. He’d been raised from the age of thirteen in a domicile inhabited by men, rife with guns and criminals.

And who knew what had happened to him before that?

You’re a wealthy woman now. Once you are out of danger, please see the world and live out your dreams.

With all my heart, I hope you and Aleksei can build a future together on a strong foundation. But if you can’t, my brave daughter, then eye the horizon. Life is short. Take it from someone who apparently knows.

Tears clouded my vision. Again his wryness permeated his words. But we would never laugh together again, would never share jokes.

You are my life’s great surprise, treasured beyond words. However much time I got to spend with you was not enough—and never could be.

With all my love,

Bátja

Through tears, I reread the letter several times, until I was almost numbed to it, then placed it in the inner pocket of my suitcase. As I began to pack, I reflected on my father’s advice about Sevastyan.

I wasn’t a big fan of women trying to fix men, to change them. I always figured there were guys enough out there, so I should look for a total package that was already fully Ikea-assembled—or go without.

But getting Sevastyan to open up didn’t necessarily involve changing him, it involved getting to know him. Like a scholarly investigation.

Our relationship needed work. Work is what I do.

Did I want Sevastyan enough to fight for him? Yes. Yes, I did. I’d wanted him since I’d first seen him.

I had to try.

I emerged from the cabin just as he was disconnecting a call. With the same mysterious person as before?

“Are you well?” His way of asking about the letter.

“Yes. Paxán wrote a beautiful good-bye.”

Sevastyan nodded. “I’ve just learned that much of the danger has lessened. Word of the bounty’s expiration has spread, and Berezka has been secured. Your father’s funeral will be held there in two weeks.”

“I see.” I swallowed past a lump in my throat. “Are we going back there now?”

“Not yet. I’ve rented a car for us to head south to Paris. There’s a secure property in the city.”

“But if the danger is dwindling . . .”

“I trust the information about Berezka—but not enough to risk your life.”

“Who’s giving you the intel? One of the brigadiers?”

“A man named Maksim.”

At the mention of this name, something tugged at my memory. “How do you know him?” When Sevastyan didn’t answer, I said, “Let me guess. You met him in the north. By chance.”

“Something like that,” he said, twisting that thumb ring like a son of a bitch. Like my shady Siberian. “I’ve known him for most of my life. I do . . . trust him, up to a point, at least.” Twist, twist, twist.