Painted Scars (Perfectly Imperfect, #1)(55)

“It’s how his world works. But not yours.”

I turn toward the canvas and take my brush again. “I have to finish this one by tomorrow.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll let you work.” She reaches with her hand and brushes the back of my palm

lightly. “Please answer when I call.”

I hear my mom’s footsteps moving away, then stop. I turn and see her standing in the doorway, her head slightly bent.

“I was wrong about your husband,” she says, then lifts her head and our gazes connect. There is a strange look on her face. I am completely confused by her words, and this whole visit in general.

“Your father would never kill a man because of me, you know.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, Mom.”

“No, honey. It isn’t,” she says and leaves the apartment.





Chapter 22


One week later




My phone starts ringing on the nightstand, but I ignore it and put a pillow over my head. The ringing stops, just to start again a minute later. I groan, reach for the damn thing, and answer without looking who’s calling.

“Did I wake you up, child?”

I sit up in the bed, instantly awake. “Varya?”

“I need to talk to you. Can I drop by?”

“Sure, I’ll text you the address.”

“I’ll be there in an hour then.”

“Varya, what’s happening? Is . . . is he okay?”

“Yes. For now, at least. We’ll talk when I get there.”

A bad feeling forms in my chest while I stare at my phone. Something is wrong, I know it. I rush into the bathroom to shower and change. I’m collecting the brushes and discarded sketches that litter the floor in my living room when I hear the doorbell.

“What the fuck has he done now?” I ask the moment Varya comes inside.

“I like the hair, kukolka. Green looks good on you.” She kisses me and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s sit.”

I lead her into the kitchen, pour us two cups of coffee I made earlier, and sit down in the chair opposite Varya. She slides the cup toward herself and holds it in her hands, looking at the liquid inside. “Can you please come back?”

Her question stuns me, and for a second, I stare at her speechlessly. “I’m not coming back. We divorced three months ago; you know that.”

“Roman started a war with the Italians. He did it on purpose. They have been playing cat and mouse for months now, attacking each other’s shipments, blowing up warehouses.”

“Dear God. What the hell was he thinking?”

“He wasn’t. I think he wanted a distraction, and the Italians were a convenient choice.”

“A hell of a distraction. Has he gone mad?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee. “I was there when he signed the divorce

papers, you know. I think that up until that point he believed you’d come back eventually. But after signing those papers . . . he just snapped. Two weeks later he sent the guys to intercept one of the Italians’ shipments. And he went with them.”

“He did what?”

“He said it was because he needed to keep an eye on Sergei, and I assumed it was a onetime thing.

It wasn’t.”

“I thought a pakhan is supposed to handle the organization, manage business deals or whatever, not play foot soldier.”

“He doesn’t seem to care, child. Do you know how big a deal it is in our world if a soldier

manages to kill a pakhan? The one who does that becomes a hero among his peers. When it’s just the soldiers on the field, it’s business as usual, but with a pakhan there, he becomes the primary target.”

“Varya, I . . . I don’t know what you expect me to do. Call him and ask him to stop acting like an idiot?”

“I need you to come back. With you there, he won’t be so reckless. He wouldn’t want you to

worry.”

“He’s a grown man, Varya. He doesn’t need me to act as his off switch.”

“Roman loves you, Nina. I don’t think you know how much.”

“A man died because of me. I told Roman I can’t live with that, and he killed him anyway. If he truly loved me, he would have never done that to me.”

“Do you know how Roman became a pakhan, child?” Varya asks, and I shake my head. “Let me tell you that story. It might help you understand things better.”

She looks down at her cup and starts stirring the liquid with a spoon.

“Roman’s mother married his father when she was only eighteen. Lev was twenty years older than her, and he was a really bad man, kukolka. I came into that house with Nastya. I had known her since she was a baby, and I hated seeing Lev mistreating her from the moment she arrived. He beat her, even while she was pregnant with Roman. When Roman was five, he started confronting his father on purpose so Lev would take out his anger on him instead of Nastya. It worked for a few months. Until it didn’t. A few days before Roman’s sixth birthday, Lev hit Nastya so hard that she fell down the stairs. Roman watched.”

“He killed her?”

“Yes. Broken neck. I took over taking care of Roman then. Lev married again a few years later, but Marina managed to run away. I’m not sure what happened with her, but we never heard anything about her afterward.”