11. Yuri

She’s beautiful.

It’s a fact as I watch her in the car, gazing out the window. A contemplative silence has fallen between us, and I realize she gets more beautiful every time I see her.

That’s never happened before, not with any other beautiful woman.

Sometimes I look at her and she’s so beautiful it hurts.

And it keeps happening.

There’s sadness in her, though that won’t seem to go away.

I know why Viktor constantly put her down, it’s easy enough to untangle – for me, anyhow, from the outside perspective. Her low self-esteem ensured she would stick around and not look for something better. Not go out and seek life, confidently, know what she wanted and to go after it.

The methods of a coward.

That’s what I meant when I told her, ‘I should have just killed him.’ It’s what he deserves for doing this to her, never mind what he’s done to the Bratva.

We arrived at the restaurant after about 15 minutes of mostly quiet car ride.

“Here we are.” I nodded to the small bistro at the end of the block. One of the last secrets in this city.

We walk in together, and I guide us to a table in the middle of the restaurant.

Katya wrinkles her nose, but she follows me down the steps and inside.

She looks around. “Why is everyone looking at us?” she whispers, drawing closer to me.

I smile. “They’re looking at you.” Even in jeans, she’s still the most beautiful girl in any room.

“It’s strange to see you here,” she remarks. “I was beginning to think you lived for your work,” she blushes.

I nodded. “There hasn’t been much time in my life for anything but work.”

“Is this work for you too, then? Babysitting the boss’ daughter?” She asks it in an almost vulnerable tone, not the attacking tone she usually puts on for me.

“It’s a mix. Business and pleasure. Is that okay with you?”

She considers it, cocking her head to the side but before she decides, the food comes. Katya gapes at the spread: huge double decker slabs of ground sirloin with bacon, onions and cheddar, and crispy, thick fries.

“There’s enough here to feed an army! I can get through half of that.” Then she has a moment of uncertainty, looking at the silverware, unsure whether to use her hands or do some ungodly thing with her fork and knife. I grab my burger with my hands and take a bite, she follows my lead.

“I’ll allow it,” I say, with a smile to let her know I’m joking. “But I bet you’ll finish the lot.”

We start eating, and soon she relaxes. “Oh my God,” she murmurs, taking a bite. “This is worth the diet and exercise I’ll need to do the next few days to work this off.”

My breath sticks. Fuck, she’s sexy, savoring every bite. She’s relaxed and carefree, gulping beer and wiping the foam from her lip with the back of her sleeve.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Katya asks hesitantly. “I hardly know much at all.”

I pause. “Like what?” I ask, dunking a fry in ketchup. “And what do you know?”

“Well, what I know comes from Dmitry.” Katya glances around, as if she said something dirty. He was her brother dammit, but Viktor wouldn't let anyone talk about him.

She toys with her beer for a second, thinking hard, “Would you promise to answer my questions?”

“It depends on the question, kiska. Some I won’t answer. You can ask anything. There’s no guarantee I’ll answer.”

“Believe me, I’m aware,” she rolls her eyes.

I agree with my eyes. “Dmitry knew as much as I did about what came before. I don’t know my parents or where I came from, and I don’t really know how I came to live on the streets. My first real memory is getting into a fight with Dmitry, winning, and then how he took me home with him and made me his brother.”

It was terribly simple when you put it like that. But living it was anything but simple, especially with Dmitry’s little sister following me around, making eyes at me.

“You really don’t remember anything before that?” she asked, incredulously.

“No. But I don’t try to either. I don’t look back, only forwards.”

She rolls her eyes. “Blocking out childhood trauma is a defense mechanism, not the sign of a well-adjusted, emotionally mature adult.”

“I don’t pretend to be one of those,” I snap back. “I don’t need to be one of those to lead a Bratva. I ignore the past and the irrelevant, and what came before is both of those things.” I try to hide my annoyance, but I know she sees. She’s always watching, observing. One of the things I like about her but drives me crazy at a time like this. “And what about you? Are you a well-adjusted, emotionally mature adult or just pretending?”

“I’m not sure,” she says warily.

“Then don’t throw stones at me from your glass house.”

“That’s fair,” she smiles. “I just wonder— Why did you bring me here?” It’s the type of question I’ve swatted away countless times since I crashed into her life. But I’m sick of the pretenses, of the games, the secrets. Seeing the way, I looked at her gave her a much-needed boost in confidence.

“We were both hungry, so it seemed like the smart thing to do.”

“Okay, but why a fancy place for burger and fries?”

“Isn’t this one of the best burgers you’ve ever had? That’s why. Plus, you need to feel like you belong in a place like this if we’re going to be married— no matter if the marriage is a sham, it still has to appear real and things like this make it appear real.”

My mention of marriage clearly makes her uncomfortable. She takes a gulp of beer, looking away, then changes the subject. “What about my father?”

“What about him?” I ask.

“You don’t think much of him, do you?”

“I don’t think anything of him. I don’t think of him at all.”

“Is that true? Is that why you're so successful? You ignore what’s not directly necessary?”

“You can’t think about more than one thing at a time, so yeah. Focus on the most important things, always.”

“OK, but at one point you liked and respected my father, right? How did you guys get along before … before Dmitry? The way he talks, you were close.”

I nodded, smiling at the memory of my mentor, when he was worthy of respect. “He was a good man. Everyone respected him. He really made a point of showing people that he was listening, that he heard them. He gave you his full attention when you were with him, and that’s a rare quality.”

Katya gives a small smile. “I remember. Not that I got to see it very much,” she adds, sounding wistful. “You probably spent more time with him than I ever did.”

She’s joking but there’s an edge of sorrow behind her remark.

She pauses, years of sadness behind her eyes. No wonder she always acts so icy and self-sufficient. It’s the only way she can cope with her life. Compassion isn’t what she needs from me right now, though. She needs to deal with her shit, so I don’t go easy on her.

“Viktor was willing to sell you to Petya for … I still don’t know what Viktor is supposed to get, but I promise you, it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. And no one’s ever going to treat you that way again, not like Petya or like Viktor. You may not feel very strong right now, but you’re stronger than you know.”

Katya gives a weak smile. “I don’t feel strong. I feel like a total mess most of the time.”

“It takes a strong woman to put up with me. And to give up control of herself, the way I want you to, and to trust me, trust that I won’t hurt you like them.

She swallows. “Thank you, Yuri. Not just for dinner, but for everything.”

“Always,” I say simply. And it’s true. This woman has gotten under my skin and wrapped herself around my heart. Whatever she needs from me, I’ll provide.

Except for the one thing she wants from me.

Forgetting my duty, my job is why Dmitry is dead. She doesn’t know that but it’s why I can’t take my eye off the ball again. Why I can’t focus on her and give her everything she wants from me.

That ends in death.