47. Natalia
47
NATALIA
I press my shoulders back and knock on Andrey's office door, ready to be cool, calm, and collected.
But when the door whips open, it's Shura standing there.
I sag. "Where's Andrey?"
"He's in the gym."
With a nod of thanks, I'm already turning away when Shura clears his throat. I've never seen him look so awkward. "I was just wondering if… er… When will Katya be visiting next?"
I suppress a smile. I know how Katya feels about Shura; I just wasn't sure if he reciprocated. The sheen of nervous sweat on his forehead makes things a little clearer.
"Soon," I assure him. "She wants to come over and see the nursery."
He shrugs like he could care less. "I have some records she wanted to borrow. That's all."
"I could just give you her number, if you want? That way, I don't have to be your middleman."
"Oh? Well, um…" His face flushes. "I suppose so. If it makes things easier for you."
"I'll drop you her contact."
I'm humming the wedding march and grinning like a loon as I walk to the gym in search of Andrey.
But an eyeful of Andrey, shirtless and sweating, as he rails against a punching bag in the far corner of the gym, wipes the smile and every safe-for-work thought away.
He's wearing a pair of black shorts and matching black hand wraps as he bounces on the balls of his feet, circling the punching bag with a kind of brutal grace I've never seen before. When he unleashes his fists on the poor bag, threatening to rip it right off its hook, I think I'm watching poetry in motion.
Gingerly, I approach, marveling at the way his muscles ripple with every movement. He has muscles in places I didn't even know you could have muscles.
Forget cool and calm—I'm officially hot and bothered. And who could even blame me? He's perfection. I want to run a finger over the topography of his thighs, mapping them so future generations can know what a perfect specimen looked like.
And don't even get me started on his?—
"Natalia?"
I freeze like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. My face is flaming, but I square my shoulders and meet his eyes. "We need to talk."
Nice, approves my inner coach. Very stern. Very imposing.
"What's this about?"
I should answer him, but my attention is fixed on a single drop of sweat sliding down the V-cut of his abs until it disappears below his waistband. Only when it's gone do I blink back to his face, determined to keep things on track. "It's about Misha."
Andrey starts unwinding his hand wraps but his eyes stay trained on me. "Okay. What about him?"
Things have been reasonably calm between us ever since the whole suspension debacle. We haven't slept together, but we haven't fought, either. It's been… nice. I don't want to ruin a good thing, but I'm set on getting my way here. If that means another fight, then so be it.
"I want to keep him."
So much for easing him into the idea. I'm just a big, dumb bull stomping around in Andrey's china shop.
"You want to keep him?" The incredulity in his tone is exactly how I did not want this conversation to start.
Although, calling it a "hostage negotiation" at this stage might be more accurate.
"That came out wrong." Taking a deep breath, I try again. "Do you know what that kid has been through?"
"Considering I put him through some of it, I have an idea."
"He didn't explicitly say so, but I'm pretty sure he was born into some sort of…" I lower my voice. "—human trafficking ring."
I wait for some sort of reaction, but Andrey just keeps undoing his hand wraps, the long, sweaty loop of fabric piling up at his feet.
"Do you understand what I'm saying?" I press. "He mentioned his mother briefly, and I think… Andrey, I think she was sold?—"
"She was a prostitute."
I jerk back, frowning at him. "Wait, how do you know?"
"The boy's been in my home for months now. Did you really think I wasn't digging into his background? Did you really think I wouldn't want to find out everything there is to know about where he came from?"
"So… you know where his mother is?"
He shakes his head. "Dead, most likely."
"Oh my." My heart breaks for Misha. But then something strikes me. "Wait… does he know?"
"I'm not sure. Apparently, they were separated when he was only seven or eight."
Seven or eight. It's the same age I was when I lost my parents. I want to wrap Misha in a tight hug and never let him go.
"Why were they separated?"
"From what I understand, Star—we couldn't find her birth name—was sold to the highest bidder at an auction years ago. The man who purchased her wasn't interested in paying for her son as well."
My chest feels heavy. It's hard to breathe. "Oh my God."
"Misha was kept with the pimps and trained to be an errand boy of sorts."
"That's—" I can't find a word bad enough to describe what I'm hearing. "Despicable!"
Andrey's eyes soften. "I know it doesn't seem this way, but Misha was one of the lucky ones."
"How can you say that?" I scoff. "His mother was sold like a cow at auction! And he was forced into child slave labor!"
Andrey takes a cautious step towards me, leaving the black wraps behind him like shed snakeskins. "When a woman in that kind of scenario is unfortunate enough to have a child, one of two things usually happens."
I go deathly still in anticipation of what I'm about to hear. I have a feeling it won't be pretty.
"Either that child is killed. That's the best-case scenario," he informs me, taking no pleasure in the information. "Because the children that live get sold to the kind of men who hunt for that kind of thing."
He lets the information settle between us. He watches me, waiting for my mind to go to the darkest possible reality… because that's where Misha grew up.
"People like that can't really exist," I breathe. "They're monsters."
He meets my eyes and nods. "Which is why I've done my best to take out as many of them as possible."
For the first time since I was introduced to Andrey's wild and violent world, I ask myself if maybe I judged him too harshly. I thought it was all bad guys. Not black-and-white, but black-and-blacker.
Now, though, I'm seeing shades of gray.
Sure, Andrey deals in murder and money, but at least he's not buying or selling human beings. At least he's not ripping sons from their mothers or raping innocent children.
He may not be a hero.
But he's not the villain, either.
"Do you know how Misha's mother died?"
He shakes his head. "Her trail goes cold after her last purchase. She definitely wasn't sold again, which means she probably died at the hands of her last owner."
I drop my face into my hands. It's all so horrible.
Then a new thought occurs to me, and I bolt up. "The man that sold Misha's mother… Is he the same man that sent him to spy on you?"
"Yes. Nikolai Rostov." Andrey's jaw tightens, but he reaches out to brush the tips of his fingers against my cheek. "Why do you think I wanted you to move in here with me, Natalia? Why do you think I gave you a full security detail and a guard dog? We're not dealing with some petty threat here. Nikolai Rostov is?—"
"A monster," I finish for him. I grab his hands without thinking about it. I don't even care that they're callused and sweaty. "Don't you see, Andrey? This is all the more reason we should keep Misha with us! He has no one. We're all he has."
"‘We'?"
Another blush creeps up my cheeks, but I don't care. So what if I embarrass myself? It's for Misha's sake. He deserves it. "Please, Andrey. He's just a kid. A kid who never had a chance. I'll take responsibility for him, if that makes a difference. I just… I can't bear the thought of him—" I break off as the sobs I've been holding in finally catch up to me. I'm not sure how I ended up sitting on Andrey's lap, but my cheek is pressed to his shoulder and his hand is on my back.
"Hush now , little bird. It's okay."
"It's not okay," I mutter through my tears. "None of it is okay."
"You can't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."
His voice is soothing, but I won't relax until I get what I came here for. I pull back so I can look in his eyes—so he can look into mine. "He needs someone, Andrey. Just like I did when I lost both my parents to that… that bastard. I can't turn my back on him. Please don't ask me to."
His hand is tracing up and down my spine slowly. "Alright. I won't stand in your way."
I'm instantly cautious of the victory. "So he can stay?"
Andrey nods, his eyes flashing with some unknown emotion. "He can stay."
And finally, I let myself breathe. I let myself be comforted.
Because I believe Andrey.
More importantly, I realize… I trust him.