Chapter 21

Kimberly

W hen I get back from visiting Gran, I’m unexpectedly greeted as I enter the house by Artem. “Hello, Kimberly. I trust your grandmother is doing well?” he asks politely.

“Very well thank you. Where’s Yaroslav?” I ask, wondering why it’s not him greeting me, or at the very least why I’m being sent an escort instead of just heading straight back to my room if he’s busy.

“Mr. Volkov is tied up with work right now and will be for some time. He asked me to show you something if you’d be so kind as to accompany me?” he says, gesturing to the left.

“Sure,” I reply, allowing him to lead the way.

He takes me through parts of the house I’ve never ventured to since I was first shown around. Eventually, we wind up outside of a door close to where I know the entertainment rooms are located. If memory serves this was a ridiculously large supply closet. I look at Artem, confused as to why he’s brought me here.

“Yaroslav thought you may be a little bored while he is working, and he mentioned you have hobbies that the house doesn’t currently cater to. So, he took the liberty of making this for you,” he says as he opens the door.

I gasp with surprise. Inside, he’s turned it into a pottery room, complete with a brand-new top-of-the-line pottery wheel and kiln. It puts my makeshift workstation to shame. He’s even gone above and beyond, making the room feel light and open by knocking out the small window that was in there and making the external wall into one big glass pane window that looks out onto the trees outside. On one wall, there are shelves to store my completed works. There’s also a desk area with an array of sketchbooks, pens, watercolors, and pencils.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, looking around in disbelief.

“I shall tell him you’re happy with it. He will be pleased to know. Everything you need should be here but don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything else. You can use it any time you wish. Would you like me to escort you back to your room?” Artem asks politely.

I shake my head, still gawping at the room. “No thank you, I think I’ll stay here a while.”

“Very well,” he says with a nod before leaving.

I’m shocked that he’s gone to this much trouble since I’m only staying another week. But I guess when you’re that rich, you can afford to just decide to turn your freaking supply closet into an art studio on a whim. The surprise and disbelief wears off once I take a closer look at the range of glazes available and I immediately get stuck into making a new pot, losing myself in the familiar rhythm of creating something. Hours later, I hear a knock at the door. I know it must have been a while since the sun is already setting and the room is cast in a dull dusk light. I’ve managed to while away an entire afternoon in the blink of an eye.

“Come in,” I call, flicking on the lamp next to me and casting the room in its warm glow.

I’m right at a crucial moment of work, where if I take my focus off it for too long it will be ruined. So I don’t bother to look up as I hear the door open and shut. I assume it will be Yaroslav, wondering where I am, so I’m surprised when David ambles into the room.

“Hey, whatcha doing?” he asks curiously.

“Oh, hi David, I’m making a pot,” I reply, not looking up.

“Can I help?” he asks, sounding like a hopeful small child wanting to play.

I really don’t want him to. I’ve worked so hard on this and it’s finally starting to take shape. A novice getting involved now would surely ruin it.

“Umm… give me a second and we can start on a new one instead maybe? This one’s kinda tricky for a first-timer,” I glance up quickly and meet his eyes, before turning my focus back to the pot.

“Oh, okay,” he says, continuing to pace around the room. I can tell he’s agitated, his movements too quick and erratic.

“Why don’t you sit at the desk and sketch a design, something you’d like to make with clay? It doesn’t have to be a pot, it can be a mug, a plate, or even a figurine,” I tell him, hoping to calm him down and distract him with a task.

“Can I make a wolf?” he asks excitedly, racing to sit at the desk and scattering pens all over it in his haste to find the right ones.

I bite down the frustration at him interrupting my peace and making a mess. “It sure can,” I say, keeping my voice light.

He starts drawing, falling silent and his jitteriness eases as he calms down. After a while, he starts to talk.

“Do you miss your home?”

“In Charleston? Yes, sometimes,” I reply truthfully.

“What do you miss most about it?” he asks, still not looking at me and focusing on his work, mirroring me.

I ponder the question, I sense that David will know and be upset if I’m dishonest, and I have nothing to hide.

“The peace, it’s a calmer pace there. But in truth, it’s more how my life used to be that I miss. I miss my gran and my brother.”

“Are they dead?” he asks casually.

“No, sorry I should have been clearer. My grandmother is sick. She has Alzheimer’s so she’s still alive, but it’s like she’s gone at the same time.”

“I feel like that sometimes too. Like I’m here but not at the same time. I know I need the meds, but some of them shut me down and it feels like I’m a stranger watching my life,” David says quietly, his voice forlorn. Before I can respond he asks, “And your brother is he dead?”

“No. But we don’t talk anymore… it’s complicated.”

I sneak a glance at David, he’s still zoned in on his drawing. “Like my sister and brother, they don’t talk,” he says.

“What about you? Do you talk to Marta?” I ask curiously.

“I try to. Yaroslav and my uncle don’t like it if I do too much though. She moved to England when I was three, so I don’t remember her in person. I’ve only ever spoken to her on the phone or received letters, and even then, not much. Did you know she’s in town? I want to meet up with her, but Yaroslav says no,” he says grumpily, again sounding more like a child than a fully grown man.

“Yes, I met her briefly the other night. I could speak to Yaroslav, try to convince him to let you speak to her if you like?” I offer. Yaroslav may well want nothing to do with his sister, but it seems cruel to deprive his brother of contact when he so clearly wants to see her.

“You’d do that for me?” he asks, looking up at me with surprise and hope in his eyes.

“Of course.”

“What’s she like?” he asks curiously.

“We didn’t speak for long, but she seems nice. Very beautiful and has a kind smile, although she seems a little sad. I think she misses you and your brother.”

He nods thoughtfully, “I bet she looks like my mother. I don’t remember her either, or my dad,” he says sadly.

“My parents died when I was young too, I don’t remember them much either,” I confide.

“Are you a mafia princess? Is that how you really know Yaroslav? Are you going to get married? He needs to find a wife and have kids soon to secure an heir. If he died, then that would only leave Uncle Innokentiy and me. Once we die, there’d be no family left to run the Volkov Bratva,” David rambles, not making any sense. I’ve no idea how my being an orphan too has sent him off on this strange tangent.

“I’m not sure I understand…” I say, confused.

“Yes, you must be a mafia princess, that’s why my brother loves you. And why there’s a fire inside of you. Who is the boss of your mafia? Yaroslav is the boss of ours. Which family is yours? Are you a part of the Gillihan Mob?” he says, talking animatedly and standing up to pace the room again.

Nothing he’s saying makes sense. I shake my head, confused.

“David, I don’t understand what you’re telling me…”

Before he can answer, the door opens, and a frazzled-looking man walks in. Like most of the staff around here, he’s dressed in black trousers and a white shirt. “David, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You know not to disappear like that,” he chides. “Sorry for disturbing you, Miss. I hope he hasn’t been boring you with his wild stories,” he adds, glancing at me before directing his attention back onto David, clearly not expecting a reply from me. In a stern, no-nonsense voice he says to David, “Come on, let’s leave the nice lady in peace. Your brother wouldn’t want you bothering her now, would he?”

“Bye Kimmy,” David says, seeming unsurprised by the situation and allowing himself to be escorted out.

“Bye David, it was nice talking to you!” I call as they disappear down the corridor.

I’m left reeling by the conversation. I know that Yaroslav says that most of what David says is fantasy, or at least fantasy mixed with reality. But I can’t stop myself from thinking about what he said. It seems too crazy to be true, and yet I can’t get the words ‘mafia boss’ out of my head.

Could what David said be true? Could Yaroslav be involved in a criminal operation as the head of the mob?

Yaroslav—the mysterious businessman who’s vague about his wealth and seems to have more money than possible. Who also has a dark side. A man who has round-the-clock security, and recently escaped an attempt on his life—a bombing no less. What normal businessmen are people trying to blow up? Suddenly, David’s words don’t seem to be so absurd after all.

A shiver runs down my spine as I ask myself who the man I’ve been sleeping with really is.

Who is Yaroslav Volkov?

Another thing that David says keeps coming to mind. He said that Yaroslav loves me. An hour ago I’d be giddy at the thought of it, I’d be wondering how I felt about him. Asking, do I love him too? Now I’m wondering what that means. Is Yaroslav the man I’ve been falling for, or is he a monster whose affections I’ve now gained? And what does being loved by a man capable of god knows what mean?

If I wanted to leave, would he let me? Or like something out of a fairytale am I now the princess, locked away by a beast who thinks he loves me?