Satin Princess(88)

“It comes at a cost. Never forget that and you might actually live long enough to really enjoy the benefits of your newfound position.”

“I’ll remember,” he says. “I promise.”

I give him a parting nod and set off down the path towards the car. Yulian is still sulking when I sit down in the driver’s seat.

“What was that about?”

“Just needed some reassurance that the thing I’m about to do is justified,” I say.

“And what thing is that?”

I put the car in reverse and back out slowly. “Killing my wife.”





30





JESSA





Driving with Lev is a silent, orderly affair. For a man who operates well beyond the bounds of the law, he obeys all the traffic rules and never ventures above three miles per hour over the speed limit.

I can’t decide if he always drives this way or if it’s just because he doesn’t want Anton to kill him if we get in a crash.

“How did you get involved in all this?” I ask suddenly. The silence is killing me, and it’s the first question I can think of, even if it sounds like a corny first date interview. What’s a gal like you doin’ in a town like this?

“In all what?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused.

“Ah, keeping secrets, are we?”

“It’s not a secret,” he says. “It’s just no one’s ever asked me that before.”

“Well, I’m interested.”

“You’re the first one to be.” He chews on his thoughts for a moment, so I give him space. He’s not used to talking about himself.

“My father worked in the underworld. He pushed drugs. He was a small-time dealer but wanted to make it big. It’s ironic, really. He had big names he wanted to make connections with. Like the Ivanovs and the Stepanovs. When I turned sixteen, he started taking me with him. He’d been dealing for about a decade by then. He earned enough to pay my mother’s hospital bills and to keep the roof over our heads, but it was still a lot of scraping by day to day.”

“Your mother’s hospital bills?” I ask, and then immediately regret it. I don’t want to cross the line from curiosity to prying. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

“She spent the latter half of her life in a mental institution. Paranoid schizophrenia.”

“Jeez, that’s awful. I’m sorry, Lev.”

He nods. “She had fits. Sometimes, she self-harmed, but mostly, she hurt others. After she threw a bottle at my head and split my forehead open, Dad had her committed.”

“That’s how you got the scar,” I say, eyeing the jagged curve of pale scar tissue snaking into his hairline.

He nods. “Other kids’ mothers baked them cakes and bought them footballs. Mine left me with scars.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You had nothing to do with it,” he says curtly. I assume he’s going to clam up on me, but he continues his story. “Dad was determined. He got shot down nearly every night I was with him, but he still pushed to get into the right rooms with the right men. One day, he got desperate. Probably because I was with him and he didn’t want me to think he was a failure. So he pushed past the security and tried to get within a foot of Don Stepanov.”

“Anton’s father?” I gasp.

He nods. “Anton’s security broke my old man’s nose and had him on his back in seconds. When he got back up, they knocked him down again. Six times they hit him, six times he stood.” I can hear the muted pride in Lev’s voice. “It was Don Stepanov that finally gave them the order to stop. My father was lying on the floor, bleeding all over the place, and asked to be given a chance to join the Stepanov Bratva.”

“What did he say?” I ask, even though I’m sure I know.

“Don Stepanov told him that the initiation process was rigorous. You couldn’t just become Bratva on a whim. Most were born into it. And those who weren’t had to earn the right. My dad said he’d do whatever it took.”

“And did he?”

He sighs. “My old man had the determination, but he lacked skill, strength, and stamina. He died during the induction.”

“Are you serious?”

“It involved accompanying some of the Stepanov men on a drug heist. He was shot on their way out. He stayed conscious for a minute before he died. And in that minute, he asked that I be taken care of. Apparently, he’d earned enough respect from Don Stepanov that Anton sent one of his men for me. I was nineteen at the time. I was given the same option as my father. Prove myself, earn my place, and pass my initiation—or die trying.”

“You really wanted to go through the same test your father failed?”

“I had nothing to lose.” He shrugs.

“And… your mother?”

“Killed herself trying to get the demons out of her eyeballs. Had a closed casket for her funeral. Gouged eyeballs don’t make for a pretty corpse.”

My stomach churns. “Lev, that… I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say. It’s my life.”

“It must have been horrible.”

“There were moments that were horrible,” he admits. “There were moments that were not. I choose to focus on those.”