Last Kiss (Hitman #3) (28 page)

“We will be smaller and weaker,” Thomas warns.

“Then we will be smaller. But not weaker. Today we are only as strong as our weakest leak. When we weed out the traitors, the disloyal, the malcontents, then we will be left with a true brotherhood, one that serves together because it suits them, because we cannot bear to disappoint our brothers. Not because we fear their reprisals. Fear is what we will foment in our enemies. Never within our brotherhood.”

“Then yes, I am with you,” Thomas says. Once Thomas agrees, the rest follow except for the last, who hesitates. I note his reluctance and mentally mark him for watching.

“Meeting is dismissed.” I rise and wait for everyone to leave, but Igorek stops them.

“Kiss the ring,” Igorek demands. Thomas hesitates but then turns and strides toward me. Thomas is an aged warrior, and it is odd to see him bend over to lift my hand to his mouth.

“I pledge my loyalty to the
Volk
.” Then he raises my hand in his. “Long live the
Volk
!”

The
boyeviks
echo the cheer loudly while the elders watch. One by one they come and kiss the ring. Naomi stands behind me, one hand on my shoulder as the men pledge their homage.

NAOMI

Vasily is in control. Like a king, he takes the homage of his people with due accordance and gravity. Me, I’d be giggling like a loon each time a pair of sour old lips came up to press themselves against the ring.

And then I’d scrub the ring, because of germs.

But my
volk
is standing tall and proud. This is everything he has ever wanted, everything he has dreamed. It will be a tough road from here, carving out their niche once more, but if anyone can do it, it is Vasily, who wears his determination like a second skin.

I’m a little sad I won’t be here to see it.

Okay, a lot sad.

But now that the painting is gone and Vasily is in control, there’s no more need for me at his side. I’ll leave him all the tools
I possibly can, of course. I’ll keep his bank account loaded and protected to ensure that my
volk
will always have enough money to run his organization. I don’t need to be with him to be helpful, but my body will miss his body.

And I’m going to miss his germs, his wolfish smile, and the way he strokes my skin as if I’m the finest thing he’s ever touched. I’m going to miss challenging him and caressing him, and just having someone listen to my crazy conversations and actually having them listen instead of tuning me out.

Vasily is meeting with his
boyeviks
late into the night. There is much to be discussed, including current jobs, current enemies of the Petrovichs, future enemies, and a trail of minutiae that leads from one side of the world to the other. The Petrovichs have a messy empire and it needs tidying, and Vasily is the man to do it. But he’s so busy that I retired to another room some time ago, needing to get away from the people and the sounds. Daniel hangs out with me in the ornate study, eyeing the ridiculous furnishings and occasionally picking one up and saying things like “Do you think Regan would want a vase covered in naked babies?”

“Cherubs,” I correct him, not looking up from my computer screen. I know the vase he speaks of. It’s gaudy and hideous and stands proudly on the mantel of an equally gaudy and hideous lacquered fireplace mantel. “And does Regan collect Sèvres?”

“Sèvres? Is that what this is? Shit, it’s ugly.” I hear him plop it back down on the mantel. “Whoever ran this place before liked some seriously terrible shit.”

“It is rococo style,” I tell him. “A very shitty style.” It hurts my eyes, all its frills and gaudy swirls and endless color and carvings. It’s not a restful style in the slightest. I think of the pale white
dacha
Vasily mentioned with longing, but it’s not to be.

I don’t want to be there alone, close to him and yet not together. And I know he can’t be there with me, not if he expects to rule his empire. It’s just not going to work. My heart hurts at this realization, and I continue moving funds around on the computer, electronically scraping off any sort of trail so I can later deposit the money into one of Vasily’s many accounts.

I’ve cleaned out his enemies, which means they will be coming after him. But they would anyhow, especially if the leadership has been shuffled. So it’s best he has a shit-ton of cash in order to grease palms.

“How much longer do you think Vasily’s going to be out there?” Daniel says, and I hear a yawn in his voice. “Regan’s going to want me home soon. She’s still not good at being alone for long periods of time.” He says it easily but I hear the strain in his voice. He’s worried about her, and he’s eager to leave.

I suppose I’ve stalled for as long as I can. With a stab of regret, I close my computer and bite my lip. “I’m ready.”

I’m not ready. I’m not. I want to run into the next room and grab Vasily’s arm and cling to it as if that will somehow change things. But that will only highlight how incredibly wrong I am for him, and so it’s time for me to go. I feel like crying. I want to bury my face in some antibacterial Kleenex and weep for days, but I dare not, because it will distress Daniel. And then I’ll be even more distressed, and we’ll have an endless circle of unhappy emotion and I’ll retreat within myself, unable to process.

Which isn’t a bad idea, really, but I want to be present for my last views of Russia. It is a cold and unforgiving country, but it is Vasily’s, and I will savor every last glimpse of it.

“You want to say good-bye to Vasily before we head out, then?” Daniel asks me.

I do, but it’s not wise. I know I’ll end up weeping uncontrollably, and I can’t handle intense emotion like that, not right now. So I shake my head and tuck my laptop under my arm. “Let’s just go,” I tell him.

“Can your dear ol’ brother point out that this is a crappy idea? Because I’d really prefer for an enraged Russian to not follow us to the airport with some idea that I’m kidnapping you home. I really like my nuts and would prefer to keep them.”

“Vasily won’t want your nuts,” I tell him. “He likes women.”

Behind me, Daniel sighs. “Sarcasm, sis.”

Right. “You know I’m not good with that stuff,” I tell him, annoyed. “Speak plainly.”

“I am saying,” Daniel enunciates, coming up from behind me. He grabs my shoulders, taking care to touch my sleeves only and not my skin, and he turns me around. “That you shouldn’t run away like a chicken.”

And he points me toward the door.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out to him that chickens are rather speedy runners, when I realize Vasily is standing in the doorway.

Oh.

I blink, and then my gaze slides away from his. It feels like too much to look into those blue eyes right now. I inspect his clothing, instead, the perfect way it lies against his big, muscular form. The clenched fists at his side. The tension in his body.

“Where are you going?” he asks, and his accent is thick, a sure sign he is agitated. Maybe tired. It has been a long day for all of us.

“My lovely sister is running away,” Daniel says. “And I’m guessing you’ll have something to say about that.”

“I’m very irritated with you right now, Daniel,” I tell my brother, scrunching my mouth to stop from frowning. I need to look calm. “And Vasily, Daniel and I were leaving to go home. You’re in charge, so we’re not needed any longer.”

The fists at his side clench so hard that I see his knuckles whiten. “You are leaving? Why?”

Daniel’s hands lift from my arms. “This is my cue to skedaddle on out for a bit. I’ll be in the hall if you need me, sis.”

“Now who’s the coward,” I taunt him, but I don’t move. The truth is, I’m still a coward. I did try to run away. I set the laptop down on a nearby twiggy-legged table, and then my fingers flick at my sides, helplessly. I pull off my cap and clench it in my hands, running my fingers along the bill.

Vasily strides forward to stand in front of me, and he moves so close that now I’m staring at one of his buttons on his shirt. I hear the door shut, and Daniel has left the room. Warm fingers—the only fingers I like touching me—brush under my chin, and Vasily lifts my head until I’m forced to meet his gaze.

“Why do you leave, Nadya?” His voice is achingly soft.

It hurts me to hear it. All of this hurts me. I feel as if I’ll never recover from the heartache echoing through every ounce of skin and muscle in my body. “I can’t stay, Vasily. You know I can’t.”

“I know no such thing.”

“I don’t belong at your side.”

“Who has told you such?” His fingers tighten, imperceptibly. “Has Daniel said such a thing? Shall I remove his head from his shoulders?”

“No,” I tell him, surprised at the vehemence in his tone. My gaze skitters over his harsh face, so beloved to me now. “No one has said this. I am saying this.”

“But why? Is it me?”

Now that’s just ridiculous. “It’s me, Vasily. Of course it’s me. It’s who I am. I can’t be at your side. You have to rule with an iron fist. No one’s going to follow you if you keep company with a retard.”

His nostrils flare and he tenses against me. “Never call yourself that again. Never.”

“I don’t really think I’m retarded,” I tell him, and my voice is soft. “But others will.”

“Do you think I care what others think?”

“Don’t you?” His tie has become slightly crooked with his movements. I reach out and straighten it absently. “You needed the respect of the
Bratva
, so you hunted the painting. Now you have them, but my presence might undermine you, and I don’t want that.” I tug at the knot, then tighten it, and smooth my fingers down the fine, dark silk.

“I do not understand where you get this. Of course you are meant to rule at my side. As the
volk
’s woman.”

I search for a hidden meaning in this, but I’m not finding one. He can’t possibly be telling the truth, though. So I try again. Perhaps he needs a visual. “Have you ever seen the movie
Forrest Gump
?”

“I do not know where you go with this—”

“In the movie, Forrest is looked down upon by everyone because his brain works differently. People think he’s stupid. They mock him. No one understands him. And he falls in love with a beautiful girl.” I keep smoothing the tie, because I need to touch something. “And she turns him away because she’s embarrassed by him. Because he doesn’t think like everyone else. Because he’s different.”

“Naomi—”

I rush on ahead. “But she’s happy to be with him in private, of course. Because no one can look at them and laugh. And I thought at first that I would be okay with that. That I could hide out at your little
dacha
and be your secret. That it would be fun. I’d have the best of both worlds because I’d have you when you have time, and I’d have my silence. But now that we have been together in all these noisy places and spent our days and nights at each other’s side, I realize that’s not what I want at all.” I run my fingers over his tie, over and over, even though it’s aligned perfectly. “I don’t want to be someone’s ugly secret. I don’t want you to be ashamed of who I am and hide me away. I don’t want your love only when it’s convenient. Now do you understand?”

He touches my cheek, and I realize that it’s wet. I must be crying. I didn’t notice. My entire world is down to that tie, to the soft pattern of dark lines in the silk, to the angle of it lying against the paler shirt. The tie is all I see. It’s all I can focus on, because if I let my brain pan out, I’m going to lose control. I just know it.

Because I thought I could handle this without emotion, but I’m very, very wrong.

“Nadya,” Vasily says to me. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” I say, and there’s a hitch in my breath. “I really can’t.”

“I would never be embarrassed by you. Never. You are special to me—”

I flinch. “I hate that word, special.”

“Then I will not use it,” he declares. “You are unique. Original. One of a kind, like the Caravaggio.”

I think of the painting with its wolf doing terrible things to the Madonna. “I am like the donkey fucker?”

“
Nyet
,” he says, exasperated. There’s a laugh in his throat. “I
am saying this all wrong. You are priceless. You are so rare and valuable to me that I would chase you all across Europe in search of you. I would destroy men that stood in my way. I would worship at your feet, if you would let me.” His fingers brush over my tear-wet skin. “And your weeping destroys me,” he says in a soft voice, and kisses my cheeks. “So come, let your Vasya show you what you mean to him.”

He tugs me into his arms and I go willingly, because I love it when he touches me. To my surprise, though, he hauls me up, one arm under my legs, and one arm against my back, and carries me like he would a heroine from a black-and-white movie. We head back into the antechamber that is still full of assassins awaiting their orders from their new leader.

Daniel is off to one side, and he is smiling as if he knows a secret I do not.

Here, Vasily sets me down. He turns, one hand clamped on my shoulder in case I try to run away, and he addresses his men. “This is Naomi Hays,” he tells them. “She is my queen. She will rule at my side. She is the brains to my brawn. If I am the wolf, she is my keeper. If I am the gun, she is the hand holding the trigger. Do any of you question this?”

The room is utterly silent.

“Good,” Vasily says, and he leans in and kisses me hard in front of all. He kisses me so long and so thoroughly that my knees are weak when he releases me, and I have to lean against him for strength. His arm goes around my shoulders and he pulls me against him. “Now you are not leaving my side,” he murmurs into my ear. “Are you?”

“No,” I say, dazed. “I suppose not.”