The Fixer (Chicago Bratva 2)

I keep my eye on his back, but he never turns.

Heart pitter-pattering, I make it through check out, the phone buried in the bag under my girly stuff.

I step outside, almost lightheaded with my success.

Mission accomplished.

“All set. Thanks for coming with me,” I say, suddenly feeling quite chatty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It just wears on me feeling like I never get space. But I know you guys are just trying to keep me safe, and I appreciate that.”

Oleg slides his gaze over my way, but that’s his only acknowledgement of my words.

“Do you need anything?” I ask, suddenly realizing how hard it must be for Oleg to function in this world. “Can I buy you a coffee or tea or anything?”

Oleg’s brows come down and he shakes his head.

“Okay. How do you communicate when you want something, Oleg?” I come right out and ask him. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it up. I blink, unclear what he’s telling me. He obviously can’t talk on the phone. Does he have some kind of app? “You text it?”

He tucks the phone away.

“Is that a yes? You can nod, you know.”

His brows get lower.

“Sorry,” I apologize. I know he won’t hurt me, but he is pretty terrifying, just in sheer size and intimidation factor. The silent thing makes it even worse. I’m sure Ravil and his cell merely have to trot Oleg out with them and people piss their pants. “Was it a yes?”

He actually nods this time.

“Do you have my number?”

He frowns some more.

“So you can text me if you need something.”

He shakes his head, but it’s dismissive, like he’s saying no fucking way he’d text me for anything.

I want to remind him that I’m the one who introduced him to his fantasy-girl, but that would be pushing it way too far. Befriending Oleg will probably be a long term project.

Back at the apartment, I go into the bedroom and then the bathroom, closing the door and running the bathtub for background noise. Then I call the last number my mom called from on the burner phone.

She doesn’t answer at first, so I text that it’s me and try again, and she picks up. “Sasha! How are you, darling?” she asks in Russian.

“I’m okay. Where are you?” I don’t know why I fired that question off first. I guess it’s because Ravil asked. Everyone seems to want to know her location.

“I’m somewhere safe.”

“Why is she asking?” a gruff male voice rumbles in the background. The hairs on my arms stand up.

“Is that Viktor?”

“Yes. Where are you, Sasha? At Ravil’s penthouse?” Later I would wonder how she knew about Ravil’s penthouse, but my mind is already trotting forward to my most burning question.

“Yes. I’m in the bathroom with the tub running. That’s the noise you hear.”

“Where is Maxim?”

“I don’t know—out on business. But he has roommates. They all live together on the top floor of a building. Mama… “

“What is it, Sasha?”

“Um... “ Asking your mother if she killed a man is harder than you’d think. “Who poisoned Vladimir?”

“Oh, probably Leonid,” she says dismissively.

“But he hasn’t claimed responsibility for the death. Ravil thinks that’s strange. He made it sound like people think you did it,” I blurt.

“Th-that’s because he probably gave the order,” my mother says, sounding flustered. I know her well enough to hear the thread of tension in her voice.

Warning bells go off, but I ignore them.

I don’t want to believe my mom would do such a thing.

“Ravil has backed Leonid. He’s responsible for him taking the helm in Vladimir’s absence.”

That chill that I felt in the pool returns.

“Don’t you see why, Sasha? If Vladimir’s dead, he’s one step closer to taking control of the oil wells. That’s why I’m in hiding. As long as they can’t find me, you’re safe. You see? Because if you die, your money passes to me. But if we’re both dead, Maxim and Ravil have it all. They take control of the money and the bratva. It’s exactly what your father feared would happen to us.”

I shake my head. “I-I think you’re being paranoid, Mama,” I tell her, but I can’t stop the trembling in my hands.

“Have they asked about me? Did they ask you to find out where I am?”

I suck in a ragged breath. “They asked, but I said I didn’t know. Which is true. So...I guess don’t tell me. So I don’t have anything to hide.”

“I won’t tell you. But how are you doing, darling? Are you a prisoner there?”

I think of what I just had to go through to buy the phone to call her. I expel a measured exhale. “It’s a gilded cage, but yes. I’m a prisoner.”

“Has he hurt you?”

“Maxim?” Guilt seeps in through the cold. Am I wrong to listen to my mother? Maxim takes very good care of me—sexually and otherwise. How could I even think he planned to murder me? Besides, why would they need to murder me when they alraedy control my money? I’m the one who should do the murdering around here. My father treated me like the spoiled princess he created, not trusting me to manage my own funds. Giving them to Maxim to divvy out to me as he sees fit.