16. Matvey

16

MATVEY

I'm woken up by my curtains being wrenched open.

Forcefully .

"Rise and shine, sweetheart!" Petra's nightmarish voice screeches. Am I still dreaming? Somebody tell me I'm still dreaming.

Normally, I don't do slaughter before 9:00 A.M. I might make an exception today.

Sighing, I try to pinch myself awake and fail miserably. "You have five seconds to tell me what the everlasting fuck you're doing in my apartment."

Apparently, my bride only needs three. "We need to talk about Vlad."

I groan. The last thing I want to do is talk about a wrinkly old man who spits when he talks. Especially when I was just in the middle of dreaming up a certain tailor in handcuffs and nothing else.

"Is he dead?"

"No."

"Then someone's gonna be."

Petra scoffs—actually scoffs. "He's getting restless. I can't keep him under control anymore."

"God forbid you keep anything under control."

"I'm sorry—what was that, Mr. Unplanned Parenthood?"

The lion, the witch, and the audacity of this ? —

Something whistles from the kitchen. I jump upright, snatching my gun from under my pillow.

"Oh!" Petra goes, trotting to the stove. "Kettle's boiled."

Clearly, I have to rethink my no-slaughter-before-nine policy. Homicide doesn't keep office hours, apparently. "How did you even get in? I don't remember giving you a key."

Petra simply laughs. "God, you're hilarious."

I make myself count down from ten. You can't kill her, Matvey. You can't marry a corpse, Matvey. Think of the mess on the carpets, Matvey. "Tell me you made coffee and I'll consider sparing you."

"Strong as hell, just how you like it." Petra dangles a full pot. "Do I get to live another day, moy pakhan ?"

"Hmph. For now."

I drag myself out of bed. I'm wearing nothing but a pair of sweats, but I doubt Petra's the modest type. If she were, she would've called ahead. Or, at the very least, she would've fucking knocked.

"What's got Vlad's panties in a twist?"

We both cringe at my word choice. "Okay, first: ew . Second: your little komuk , what else? He wants to know if the runt is yours or not."

I pour myself a generous mug. I'm gonna need a lot of caffeine for this particular conversation. Maybe something stronger mixed in, too.

"It's mine," I confirm.

" Blyat' ," Petra curses under her breath. "You're positive?"

"The paternity tests are," I answer after taking a long, scalding sip that burns every inch of me on its way down. Just what the doctor ordered. The pain centers me. "Both of them."

"Okay," Petra exhales, pacing up and down the loft. "Okay. Fine. We're screwed, but fine."

"We're not," I yawn from the kitchen table. "As far as Vlad is concerned, the test is still in the works. If push comes to shove, we'll tell him it came up inconclusive. That'll buy us time until the birth."

"Oh, that's great," Petra bites out sarcastically. "And then what?"

"Then," I growl back, impatience pounding at my temples, "the waters will have calmed. Vlad will have come to his senses. He'll realize there's no point in blowing up a profitable business deal over an extra mouth to feed. The end."

" ‘The end,' " Petra mocks. "Sure. And maybe pigs will fly and hell will freeze over and my father will conveniently forget all about the woman who pushed out that extra mouth to feed."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, he will." I rise to my full height. I'm growing tired of this game. "Because there's nothing between me and April."

Nothing but the memory of her skin under my lips. Nothing but the daily kisses I indulge in to keep that memory alive.

Petra shoots me a venomous smirk. "Is that so?"

I don't dignify that with an answer. "Is that all?" I ask instead, moving towards the door. The sooner this nightmare of a conversation ends, the sooner I can get back to things that actually matter.

No such luck. "When's the little komuk due anyway?"

"We don't know." I shrug. I went through all of April's medical records from the last nine months: post-term pregnancy, family history, yada yada. Only the sex of the baby was blacked out—at April's request, no doubt. "Apparently, it's comfortable where it is."

She sighs. "Lucky bastard."

"Don't."

Surprised, Petra turns to look at me. "Don't what?"

My fist is balled up on the table, knuckles gone white. I don't make an effort to control the sudden surge of anger rushing through me.

I was clear about this once already. I don't like having to be clear twice.

"Don't call my child a bastard. I told you what would happen if you disrespected either of them."

Petra blinks candidly. "I meant no disrespect, Matvey."

Her tone is astonished. Subdued.

I don't trust it one bit.

"I find that hard to believe."

True to form, Petra circles the table and comes up to me. "What else do you call a child born out of wedlock?" she asks, feigning innocence. "It's not an insult, you know; it's a fact."

"Petra."

"Of course," she continues, refusing to heed my warnings, "if you want a legitimate heir…"

Her manicured hand splays over my chest. I can feel my literal skin trying to pull away from her touch, the most unpleasant goosebumps I've ever felt spreading where her palm lays.

And then, just as I'm summoning all of my restraint, she leans up on her tiptoes and whispers, close to my ear, "There's always time to make one."

I shake her off. Violently . Then I start walking away before I do something I'll regret.

Like put a bullet between the eyes of my most important ally.

"Oh, come on! What is it?" Petra calls over to me. "What, got someone else on your mind?"

Warm skin. Soft hands. Lips like ? —

"No."

"Mm. Could've fooled me."

I grab my gun from where I left it. That seems to shock Petra into silence.

"You can go home of your own accord right now," I start, tossing the weapon back and forth between my hands, "or you can go home in a body bag. Your choice."

For a moment, Petra's quiet. Then: "Alright, alright, I get it. God, you really are no fun. I was only joking, you know."

I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she sashays to the door. For all that Vlad's keeping her out of higher management for being a woman, she should count herself fucking lucky right now. If a man had spoken to me like that, I would've put him six feet under.

"Matvey…" she calls from the doorway.

"What?"

A pause. "You're still up for this, right?" she asks, tone suddenly uncertain. It's damn near imperceptible, but it's there. "Us?"

I take my time to reply. "As long as you hold up your end of the deal," I growl, the threat clear in my voice, "I'll hold up mine."

"Alright then," Petra says at last. "Don't forget."

Then, blessedly, she's finally out the door.

I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed. Petra has a knack for a lot of things, but the worst is getting under my skin. The conversation keeps playing back in my head, certain sentences sticking out like splinters.

There's nothing between me and April.

Got someone else on your mind?

Mm. Could've fooled me.

"Nothing," I snarl out loud to the empty loft. To myself, willing my own words to fucking sink in. Anything less than that, and this will all become an even worse shitshow than it already is. "There's nothing."

By the time my phone buzzes, I almost believe it.