1.
“Vera Avdonin, I love you to death but I swear to God if you don’t answer your phone—”
She didn’t even hear the rest of her mother’s voicemail before deleting it because frankly, the first three seconds were enough to tell Vera that it wasn’t any different than the previous three she had already heard. Just like the first handful of text messages in a string that had come in over the night while Vera’s phone charged on her bedside, turned off as it had died on the ride home after being discharged from the hospital. They held the same panicked desperation.
And the reason why—Demyan had yet to call his wife, which he should have done the second he landed in Russia, according to Claire and the texts and voicemails her mother left for Vera, he had still yet to contact her.
Maybe she should have turned it on the day before once she had it plugged into the wall. Yet, after she had settled into her villa, and took the time to care for the plants that desperately needed water, and rotated for the ones that were in the windows, well ... why lie? Vera forgot about the phone, and the fact she promised to call Hannah back as soon as she got home.
Never mind Claire in New York.
It was late by then. The first time since her childhood bedtimes ended when she went to bed before eight in the evening.
It all caught up.
All of it.
Vera tried to soothe her guilt with those thoughts as she shakily dialed Claire’s international number and paced back and forth in front of her kitchen sink. It took her mother too many rings before she answered, and the groggy, confused voice on the other end damn near broke Vera’s heart.
“Y-yeah, Demyan—hello?”
“Ma?”
Vera’s pacing finally came to a standstill. At least, for the entire four seconds she counted that it took for Claire to realize it wasn’t her missing husband on the other end of the call. Despite all the valid reasons her mother would have to blame Vera for her confusion, like missing every frantic phone call and message over the evening and night, Claire cursed herself.
“I knew I shouldn’t have laid down. I couldn’t keep my eyes open,” came the regretful croak from Claire. “Have you heard from him yet? Vera, it’s been more than a—”
“I only missed calls and texts from you, Ma.”
And a couple from Hannah, but her friend was fine and safe in Italy at the moment. Shaken and confused about her feelings regarding the recent discovery of her ex-husband’s body in the canal, sure, but that was to be expected. Nonetheless, the same couldn’t be said about Vera’s father’s current whereabouts.
“You’re sure he didn’t have extra layovers or an unexpected stop—”
“Vera,” her mother cut in fast, the desperation leaking back into her high pitch, “he should be there now. Yesterday! I should have already gotten a call from him telling me he was standing on your doorstep and that I was right!”
Vera blinked. “About what?”
It took Clarie more than a few passing seconds to whisper her answer. “That he was overreacting to all of this. I thought you were fine.”
“I am,” she tried to assure.
It did little to help her mother.
“Yes, you say that now, but Vera, where is my husband? Just who have you gotten yourself mixed up with there?” Claire didn’t even give her stepdaughter the chance to answer, although it wasn’t like Vera had one at the ready; it wasn’t that simple. “I told him not to go alone! I knew he shouldn’t just blindly go. This is horrible!”
She didn’t want to work Claire up any more than her mother already was, but she had to be sure about one thing. “You’re absolutely positive he should have already arrived in Russia?”
“He did!”
“Ma, just calm—”
“Vera, I’ve talked to his pilot. I know where he is.”
She winced at the mistake.
Claire stumbled over her correction, mumbling around a sob, “Where he should be.”
Oh, God.
That’s how she was sure Vaslav knew Demyan had arrived without her delivering the news. Who else could make her father disappear from practically thin air? She couldn’t even consider something else might be going on because Demyan wouldn’t put his wife through any suffering, certainly not the fear that he was missing.
Claire had continued her nonsensical, panic-induced rambling. Verbally running through the last couple of days since Demyan’s jet left the states and even, what his plan had been before. Only one thing really concerned Vera enough to interrupt her mother.
“It’s not like I could call Roman to help. He’ll lose it, Vera. Maybe Koldan could—”
“No,” Vera jumped in fast. Even her loose-cannon, wild-to-his-core younger brother, by six years, would be better than her uncle, Koldan. The New Jersey bratva boss was loyal to a fault to Demyan Avdonin, but Vera seriously doubted a man like Vaslav would appreciate someone else he might consider a problem coming to his territory on her father’s behalf. Blood, on the other hand, he might understand.
“Let’s not call anyone right now,” Vera added after a moment.
Too long of one, though.
In the next breath, her mother replied, “You better tell me why you think that’s the right choice, and be quick about it, Vera. My patience is running seriously thin.”
The disappointment bled into Claire’s words, and Vera didn’t mind that her mother didn’t try to hide it.
“I know as much as you,” Vera replied honestly, “but if you give me a few hours, I could probably explain a lot more.”
A disgruntled squeak crackled through the speakers.
“Well, it’s going to take me—”
“Vera, you or your father have five hours—five, that’s it—to get him on the phone with me, or the next jet I get chartered will be for me,” Claire said, every word clipped and fiery into the phone. “And whoever else I choose to bring along. I am not above making a scene. Do you understand? Pass the message along to ... whoever.”
Right.
Whoever needed to hear it. Vera understood perfectly well.
“He won’t hurt my father.”
Vaslav agreed.
“Why can’t you say that like you believe it?” her mother asked.
*
Vera hadn’t even been awake long enough to brush her teeth when she finally called Claire, so by the time she was presentable enough to leave her house, without even grabbing as much as a black coffee to fill the grumbling void in her stomach, the time had crawled past nine. Locking her villa, she spun around in the cable knit, grey sweater dress to find an empty street.
Well, not entirely.
The black, sporty coupe with windows tinted opaque all the way around except the front windshield sat where Kiril had parked it the day before. Along the side of the road at the very end of her driveway. He assured her the vehicle would still be there in the morning. His special way of letting her know that even if she didn’t see him, the kid wasn’t too far away. Her new babysitter, hilarious considering she was almost positive he wasn’t even of legal adult age, didn’t mess around about his job.
Keeping an eye on her, that was.
Whoever provided him with the new wheels, likely Igor or Vaslav, was the newest bonus he pointed to when Vera asked where he planned to sleep considering he still refused to enter her villa. Unless he was leaning into a window. The little puke enjoyed that too much.