January passes.
February arrives, bringing heavy snowstorms that shut down the town and close school for days. I spend time with Sloane, focus on my painting, and mark off a black X on my calendar for every day that brings me closer to seeing Kage again.
My birthday is marked with a red heart.
The week before my birthday is Valentine’s Day, which I celebrate by eating an entire pint of ice cream for dinner alone on the sofa while watching TV. Sloane’s out with Brad Pitt, Jr., probably getting stuffed to the gills with his pretty dick.
Kage sends one hundred red roses and a diamond necklace I won’t be able to wear out of the house because it’s so huge.
I don’t care. I wear it around inside with my bathrobe and slippers, feeling like a queen.
A lost, lonely queen, pining for her besotted lion.
Twice when I go outside to leave for work or take out the garbage, I see footprints in the snow around the house. I can tell by the size they’re a man’s. I know who they belong to.
But I won’t tell Kage that Chris is still sniffing around, because I know what will happen, and I don’t want blood on my hands.
A thousand years later, my birthday arrives.
It’s a Saturday. I’m up early, brimming with excitement. Kage’s text from last night said only “See you soon,” so I’m not sure what time he’ll be arriving. I want to be ready whenever he gets here, though, so I shower and shave all my parts, get dressed, tidy up the house, put fresh sheets on the bed, then wait.
And wait.
And wait.
By eight o’clock that night, I’m wilted.
I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom, staring dejectedly at my reflection. I’m wearing the red sheath dress Kage admired that evening at Michael’s restaurant months ago, along with the necklace he sent me for Valentine’s Day. My hair’s up, my makeup’s perfect, and my face looks like someone just told me the dog died.
I know it’s not fair to be disappointed that he isn’t here yet. He usually comes very late. Plus, there’s a five-hour flight time to consider, along with the war he’s dealing with and everything that goes along with running a mafia empire. He’s got a lot on his to-do list.
I just wish I were a little closer to the top.
Sitting alone at the kitchen table, I pick at the cold filet mignon I made earlier, trying hard not to feel sorry for myself.
It’s a losing battle.
When the house phone rings, it startles me so much, I drop my fork. It hits the plate with a clatter. My heart beating faster, I jump up to answer it, hoping it’s Kage.
“Hello?”
A prerecorded electronic voice says, “Hello, you have a collect call from Green Haven Correctional Facility. To accept the charges, press two. To decline the charges, press nine.”
My heart stops dead in my chest.
Kage has been arrested. He’s in prison.
Hands shaking, I press the number two.
The electronic voice says, “Thank you. Please hold.”
I hear a series of clicks, like the line is being transferred.
Then: “Hello, Natalie.”
The voice is male, raspy, and heavily accented. He sounds like a two-pack-a-day smoker. It’s definitely not Kage.
“Who’s this?”
“Maxim Mogdonovich.”
I lose the ability to breathe. In a state of shock, I stand frozen, gaping at the kitchen cabinets.
“I assume by your silence you know who I am?”
My hands shaking and my stomach in knots, I whisper, “I know who you are.”
Kage. Oh god, Kage. What’s happened to you?
Because something must’ve happened. Something terrible. The head of the Russian mafia wouldn’t be calling from prison to wish me happy birthday.
“Good. You’re probably wondering why I’m calling.”
He pauses, waiting for me to say something, but my lungs are frozen. All of me is frozen in pure, cold terror. Except my heart, which is now beating frantically like a hummingbird’s wings.
He continues in a calm, conversational tone.
“To be honest, dorogoya, when I first discovered what was going on, I couldn’t believe it. My own Kazimir, like a son to me these past twenty years, would never disobey me. He would never lie to me. And he definitely wouldn’t betray me. Especially for a woman.”
Disobey? Betray? What the hell is he talking about?
“But all those unexplained trips to the West Coast made me curious, so I sent a little birdie to have a look. When I saw your picture, it made slightly more sense. So pretty. All that black hair.”
The footsteps in the snow. The night I thought someone was outside my kitchen window. All those times I felt like someone was watching me—it was him.
“You look so much like your mother. How is Naomi, by the way? Enjoying golf course living? Personally, I could never live in Arizona. It’s so dry. All those ugly cactus plants. But I suppose Scottsdale is good for your father’s health.”
He knows all about my parents. Is he threatening them? Oh god oh god oh god!
I start to hyperventilate. I’m going to be sick. The steak I ate will come up any second, and I’ll puke it all over the kitchen floor.
Gripping the phone hard, I say in a shaking voice, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but my parents have nothing to do with anything. Please—”
“Of course they do. They gave you life. You, the woman who turned Kazimir against me. They’re complicit. They’ll pay, just as you will.”
“I didn’t turn him against you! I don’t know what you mean! Please, listen to me—”
“It will be cold comfort, dorogoya, but you may be interested to know that Kazimir has never been serious about a woman before. They were always disposable to him. Forgettable. Until you. I hope you were worth it.”
He chuckles. It’s an awful sound, like sandpaper scraping wood.
Hopefully that unhealthy rattle in his lungs is cancer.
My voice high and desperate, I demand, “Where is Kage? What have you done with him?”
“Nothing yet. But if my timing is right, he’ll arrive soon, to find you dead. On your birthday, no less. How tragic. I wish I could be there to see his reaction, but Viktor will tell me.”
On the verge of hysteria, I shout, “Who’s Viktor?”
“I am.”
I spin around to see a man standing in the middle of my kitchen, smiling at me.
He’s tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a black suit with a black wool overcoat and black leather gloves. His hair is gunmetal gray, shaved close to his head. His eyes are the clearest blue I’ve ever seen.
The gun he’s pointing at me is enormous.
Over the line, Maxim says, “He’s very good at what he does. Almost as good as Kazimir. If you cooperate with him, it will be much better for you. It will go quicker.”
His voice lowers. “And believe me when I tell you that you don’t want him to go slow.”
I drop the receiver.
Smiling pleasantly, Viktor gestures to one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit down. Let’s have a chat.”
I’ve never been so terrified in my life. It’s not only the gun pointed at me, or the phone call I just received, or the obvious fact that the head of the Russian mafia has put out hits on me and Kage both.
It’s also the smile on Viktor’s face.
That warm, eager smile, like he’s about to engage in one of his favorite hobbies.
When I remain frozen in place, clutching the kitchen counter and hyperventilating, Viktor says, “Sit down, Natalie, or I’ll fuck your corpse after I’m done with you and send the video to your parents.”
Hot and acidic, bile stings the back of my throat. I drag in several breaths, but feel like my lungs are full of water. I think I’m drowning.
When Viktor’s smile sours, I find the will to move and throw myself into the nearest chair.
“Good. Now. Tell me where the money is.”
Sweating and trembling, I whisper, “The money?”
He exhales a short, disappointed breath through his nostrils. “I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for games. So I’ll ask you again, you’ll tell me the truth, and we’ll get on with it.” His voice hardens. “Where’s the money?”
My stomach churns. A trickle of cold sweat drips down between my shoulder blades. “Do you mean the trust account?”
Looking interested, he cocks his head. “He set up a trust?”
Licking my lips, I nod. In my peripheral vision, I see Mojo standing stock-still in the living room, ears flattened, staring at Viktor with all the fur on his back bristling.
“I suppose that makes sense. Fucking accountants. Which bank?”
Accountants? “M-moraBanc. In Andorra.”
“Andorra? Interesting choice. He always used Armenian banks when he worked for Max. They give ten percent interest on their accounts. Good way to grow your money. Give me the account number.”
When he worked for Max? Did Kage go freelance?
My panic level is so high, I almost can’t hear the words coming out of my mouth over my internal screaming. “I don’t know it. I-I haven’t taken any of the money out.”
He stares at me for a beat, smile fading, blue eyes glittering like icicles in the sun. “Don’t take me for an idiot. You couldn’t afford that necklace on a teacher’s salary.”
I reach up and touch the stones around my throat. I whisper, “It was a Valentine’s Day gift.”
Eyes narrowing, Viktor studies my face. “This year?”
“Yes.”
He takes a step closer to me, voice rising. “You’re still in contact with him? Where is he? Where has he been living?”
Something’s going on that I don’t understand. A piece of the puzzle is missing. It’s almost like he’s talking about someone other than Kage.
But I can’t concentrate on that right now, because I’m trying to figure out a way to avoid getting shot in the face.
“Yes, we’re in contact. He told me he lives in Manhattan.”
Viktor chuffs out a small, astonished laugh, shaking his head. He murmurs, “All this time, right under our noses.”
Then he looks me up and down, studying me with new interest. “You’ve been a very busy girl. Where do you find the time, little schoolteacher?”
When I only shake my head in confusion, he makes a dismissive gesture with his free hand.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way, I suppose. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a slut, but you never can tell. Sometimes the ones who look the most innocent are the biggest whores of all.”
“Did you just call me a slut and a whore?”
Viktor looks mildly surprised by my tone. I’m surprised by my tone. It was loud, angry, and even a little bit dangerous.
In a soft voice, his smile returning, he says, “What would you call a woman who fucks two men at the same time?”
Behind Viktor, Mojo creeps silently closer, his head lowered, his teeth bared.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do they know about each other?” He laughs. “I hope not. I’ll tell him before I kill him. I can’t wait to see the expression on his face.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
When I shout that at Viktor, Mojo lets out a bloodcurdling growl.
Viktor turns his head toward the sound. I take the opportunity to leap up from the table.
As soon as I move, Mojo lunges.
Catching sight of a hundred-pound ball of fur flying at him, Viktor fires a shot in Mojo’s direction. The sound is deafening. I scream, purely on instinct, but don’t look back as I tear through the house toward the front door.
When I’m five feet from it, a bullet whizzes past my head and embeds itself in the drywall with a spray of plaster. I duck and keep running, but another bullet goes straight through the door. I dive to the floor, hearing Viktor roaring in pain, and roll, slamming into the corner between the door and the wall.
Viktor is struggling to get Mojo to release his arm. Mojo’s got him by the wrist of the hand that’s gripping the gun, which is probably why his shots went wide and didn’t hit me. The dog is growling furiously and yanking his head back and forth hard, backing up to keep Viktor off balance.
But somehow, Viktor gets free.
He doesn’t bother wasting another shot at the dog. He simply raises his arm and strides toward me, pointing his gun at my face.
I raise my hands and scream, “Stop!”
Then there’s a thundering explosion of hot air and white light, and Viktor’s head explodes like a ripe tomato.
Blood and brain matter spray the wall and ceiling.
What’s left of him topples face first to the floor, where he lies, unmoving. Blood squirts from the severed artery in his neck.
I sit stunned, not understanding what happened. I stare in total disbelief at the dead man on my living room floor, until I raise my gaze and see Kage standing across the room, holding my father’s shotgun.
I guess he loaded it.
Happy birthday to me.
