these people—and a quiet rage over what had been done to them. I knew the end of Kovalev’s story—he’d obviously vanquished that vor and succeeded—but I wanted to hear how he’d done it. Sparing no details.
I wanted to relive his retribution. A startling idea. Maybe I was precisely where I belonged—in the middle of a turf war. “What did you do?”
“I was only a teenager when they struck,” Kovalev said. “But guided by my mother, a fierce and proud woman, we avenged my father and outwitted that gang to stamp them out.”
Yes, but . . . “How?”
He exhaled, giving me a sad smile. “Let’s not speak of unpleasant things. Just know that we won the day. Yet not long after, a new gang arrived to demand money from us and all our neighbors and friends. My path became clear. I could allow a stream of jackals to prey upon us, or I could hire my own brigadiers to protect myself and our friends. Nearby businesses paid me what they could, and I expanded over and again.”
In as even a tone as I could manage, I said, “I’m glad you defeated them, Paxán. I’m glad you avenged your parents.”
Seeming to wake up, he said, “I have been worried that you wouldn’t be able to accept what I am.”
“Do you want to know something weird? I’m more upset that I don’t get to hear how you defeated them than I am about what you do for a living.”
He eyed me, saying in a softer tone, “What a treasure. . . .” Then he straightened, making his manner upbeat. “Let us talk of less troubling things, of the future. Tonight I’ve planned a banquet in your honor. You’ll meet everyone in our organization, all our brigadiers. And your cousin Filip as well.”
“I ran into him on the way in.”
Kovalev looked surprised. “Most young ladies find themselves more starstruck after first meeting him.”
Maybe if I hadn’t already had eyes for Sevastyan.
“Filip’s the son of my distant cousin and best friend, who died recently. The poor boy took it hard. Your being here is just what the lad needs. . . .”
After that, the afternoon passed companionably. Kovalev and I came up with things we had in common: dislike of slapstick comedy, love of animals and heist movies. “They’re usually not accurate, though,” he commented, reminding me that I was talking to a crime boss.
He told me stories about my mother—she’d loved to garden, loved plants; she would’ve been pleased to know I’d grown up on a farm. He challenged me to a game of chess in the morning and promised to teach me about clocks.
When they all struck five, Kovalev said, “As much as I’m enjoying this, I should let you go, so you can have time to get settled in before the banquet.”
“Oh.” Banquet, schmanquet, I was greedy for more time with my father.
In a confiding tone, he said, “I regret scheduling it, wish we could have a quieter dinner and carry on this conversation.” He was as reluctant for me to leave as I was. “Aleksandr could join us.”
A knock sounded. Speak of the devil.
CHAPTER 13
“P erfect timing, Son,” Kovalev told him. “Will you see Natalie to her rooms?”
“I thought you would want to.”
“No, no, you two go on. I’ll see you tonight, dear.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and it felt natural.
As Sevastyan and I left the study, I couldn’t stop smiling. The Siberian had been right—I hadn’t known what I was talking about; Kovalev was wonderful.
On our way up the grand staircase, Sevastyan said, “You enjoyed yourself.”
“Just like you said, Paxán is great.” My prejudging of Kovalev had been off the mark to a laughable degree, and I’d been totally wrong about Sevastyan. Maybe it was time to take a hiatus from my manalyzing—which must be geographically limited.
Sevastyan raised his brows. “You call Kovalev a term of affection?”
“He asked me to,” I said defensively.
“And you do, despite his occupation?” he said in a curt tone.
Though I’d
I wanted to relive his retribution. A startling idea. Maybe I was precisely where I belonged—in the middle of a turf war. “What did you do?”
“I was only a teenager when they struck,” Kovalev said. “But guided by my mother, a fierce and proud woman, we avenged my father and outwitted that gang to stamp them out.”
Yes, but . . . “How?”
He exhaled, giving me a sad smile. “Let’s not speak of unpleasant things. Just know that we won the day. Yet not long after, a new gang arrived to demand money from us and all our neighbors and friends. My path became clear. I could allow a stream of jackals to prey upon us, or I could hire my own brigadiers to protect myself and our friends. Nearby businesses paid me what they could, and I expanded over and again.”
In as even a tone as I could manage, I said, “I’m glad you defeated them, Paxán. I’m glad you avenged your parents.”
Seeming to wake up, he said, “I have been worried that you wouldn’t be able to accept what I am.”
“Do you want to know something weird? I’m more upset that I don’t get to hear how you defeated them than I am about what you do for a living.”
He eyed me, saying in a softer tone, “What a treasure. . . .” Then he straightened, making his manner upbeat. “Let us talk of less troubling things, of the future. Tonight I’ve planned a banquet in your honor. You’ll meet everyone in our organization, all our brigadiers. And your cousin Filip as well.”
“I ran into him on the way in.”
Kovalev looked surprised. “Most young ladies find themselves more starstruck after first meeting him.”
Maybe if I hadn’t already had eyes for Sevastyan.
“Filip’s the son of my distant cousin and best friend, who died recently. The poor boy took it hard. Your being here is just what the lad needs. . . .”
After that, the afternoon passed companionably. Kovalev and I came up with things we had in common: dislike of slapstick comedy, love of animals and heist movies. “They’re usually not accurate, though,” he commented, reminding me that I was talking to a crime boss.
He told me stories about my mother—she’d loved to garden, loved plants; she would’ve been pleased to know I’d grown up on a farm. He challenged me to a game of chess in the morning and promised to teach me about clocks.
When they all struck five, Kovalev said, “As much as I’m enjoying this, I should let you go, so you can have time to get settled in before the banquet.”
“Oh.” Banquet, schmanquet, I was greedy for more time with my father.
In a confiding tone, he said, “I regret scheduling it, wish we could have a quieter dinner and carry on this conversation.” He was as reluctant for me to leave as I was. “Aleksandr could join us.”
A knock sounded. Speak of the devil.
CHAPTER 13
“P erfect timing, Son,” Kovalev told him. “Will you see Natalie to her rooms?”
“I thought you would want to.”
“No, no, you two go on. I’ll see you tonight, dear.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and it felt natural.
As Sevastyan and I left the study, I couldn’t stop smiling. The Siberian had been right—I hadn’t known what I was talking about; Kovalev was wonderful.
On our way up the grand staircase, Sevastyan said, “You enjoyed yourself.”
“Just like you said, Paxán is great.” My prejudging of Kovalev had been off the mark to a laughable degree, and I’d been totally wrong about Sevastyan. Maybe it was time to take a hiatus from my manalyzing—which must be geographically limited.
Sevastyan raised his brows. “You call Kovalev a term of affection?”
“He asked me to,” I said defensively.
“And you do, despite his occupation?” he said in a curt tone.
Though I’d
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