Painted Scars: Chapter 8

Something is not right. I remember Roman mentioning an important meeting planned for this morning. It’s after nine, and he still hasn’t come out of his room. I heard his phone ring around eight, and then him speaking to someone. Fifteen minutes later Valentina came to bring breakfast, saying that Roman instructed her to leave it with me.

Maybe I should check on him. I put away the paintbrush on the small plate I keep near my canvas, wipe my hands, and turn to head to Roman’s room. Suddenly, his door opens, and he wheels himself out and toward the kitchen. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his upper body fully on display, and I can’t stop staring.

Roman doesn’t even notice me approaching. Instead, he heads to the set of drawers near the sink and starts rummaging through the top one. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he mumbles something in Russian, shuts the drawer with a bang, and moves to the next one.

“Need any help there?”

“Nope,” he snaps.

I watch him fish out a white bottle from the drawer, take out two pills from it and swallow them. He looks at the bottle again, takes out another pill, and throws the bottle back into the drawer. While he’s grabbing the water from the fridge, I take the opportunity to have a look at the label to see what he took. It’s painkillers. Finally, he turns his chair to face me, and I gasp.

“You look like shit.” His face is pale and his eyes bloodshot. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

“Not really.”

I follow him to his room and watch as he enters the walk-in wardrobe and comes back with a pair of pants and a shirt on his lap.

“What are you doing?”

“I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Please leave, I have to change.”

“You are in no state to go anywhere, Roman.”

He ignores me, puts his clothes on the bed next to him, and starts to stand up from the wheelchair, but the moment he tries to straighten, a hiss escapes his mouth and he drops back down. “Fuck it!”

“Well, I guess this means there won’t be any disrobing involved in the near future,” I say. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

“Bed won’t work. My knee is stiff, I can’t straighten the leg.”

“How about the sofa? We could put something under your leg and watch a movie.”

Roman looks at me like I’m insane. “I can’t spend the day watching movies. I have a criminal empire to run.”

“Yeah, you won’t be running anywhere today, literally or figuratively. You just took a triple dose of painkillers, so you’ll probably be out in less than an hour, sleeping like a baby.”

“Shit,” he curses, then grumbles something in Russian and shakes his head.

“I have no idea what you just said, but I agree.” I nod. “Do you need to call them to cancel?”

“Yeah. Give me the phone.”

When we get to the living room, Roman somehow manages to transfer himself to the sofa. I grab one of the big pillows to put under his leg, then go to his room and bring back a blanket, which I throw over him. Roman follows my every move with his eyes but doesn’t comment. I don’t think he’s accustomed to having someone fuss over him. I might be wrong, but I believe he secretly enjoys it. I head to the kitchen and check out the breakfast left on the tray. It’s some kind of a hand pie with fruit filling. I take a bite. Still warm—it’ll do.

“I started watching a movie last night, do you want to join in? I only watched fifteen minutes or so. I’ll bring you up to speed,” I shout while I’m taking a carafe of orange juice from the fridge.

“Sounds good.”

“Any chance there is popcorn somewhere?” I ask as I open the cupboard.

“I doubt it.”

“What about the kitchen downstairs? We can’t watch a movie without popcorn.”

“I have no idea. Call Varya and ask her.”

I carry over the tray with breakfast and place it on the low table in front of the sofa, then turn to Roman. “You take an awful lot of space. Head up, please.”

“And you are bossy today,” he says but rises onto his elbows.

I sit down in the place where his head has been, prop my legs onto the table and tap on my thigh. Roman slowly lowers himself back down, putting his head on my lap. He hands me his phone with Varya’s number already selected.

I just can’t wait to hear this.

“Varya, I’m sorry if I interrupted you,” Nina chirrups into the phone. “Do you maybe have popcorn somewhere?”

I don’t hear the reply, but I can imagine Varya’s face. I’m pretty sure that no one ever saw popcorn in this house. We have bombs, a few crates of grenades, and a ton of ammunition in the garage. But no popcorn.

“Yes, popcorn . . . Well, to eat. We are watching a movie.” She listens to Varya’s response. “What do you mean ‘who’s we’? Me and Roman.” Another pause, and then, “Yes, Varya, I am serious . . . No, that’s not necessary, . . . I . . . Okay, thank you.”

She places the phone on the table, looks down at me, and makes a disgusted face. “There is no popcorn, but she’ll bring us peanuts. I hate those, but she is eager to come over.”

Of course, she is.

The knock on the door comes less than five minutes later. Varya starts heading toward the living room but stops midway to stare at us. Her eyes glide over me lying on the sofa under the blanket, and when they come to my head resting on Nina’s lap, her eyebrows hit her hairline. Then she approaches, leaves a bowl of peanuts on the table, and throws another look at me, her eyes going to Nina’s hand that’s buried into my hair, her fingers playing with one of the strands.

“I could have come down for that,” Nina says.

“Nonsense, child. Do you two need anything else?”

“Can we get the lunch here, later I mean? I don’t think Roman will be leaving this couch anytime soon.”

Varya throws me a look and smirks. “Oh, I’m sure he won’t.”

When Varya leaves, Nina leans back and starts the movie. She’s bringing me up to speed on what happened, but I don’t really pay attention to what she’s saying, and instead close my eyes and enjoy the feel of her hand running through my hair. The painkillers start to kick in, and I could probably get up and go back to my room or at least sit up, but instead, I stay in the same position and listen to Nina’s voice describing in great detail how the murder in the movie happened and drift away.

“I’m not bringing you the crutches, Roman.”

I stare at Nina from my sitting position on the sofa and grind my teeth. We spent the whole morning and a good part of the afternoon lounging in the living room. I even managed to sleep for almost two hours, and my knee is much better.

“Nina!”

“Roman.”

“Get me the fucking crutches. Please.”

“No crutches for you today,” she says and pushes the wheelchair toward me.

“You are overstepping your boundaries,” I bite out.

“Sue me.”

I curse, get into the fucking chair, and wheel myself into my bedroom. After I take a shower and change, I take my laptop and go back to the living room. I hate to admit it, but there is still some piercing in my knee. It’s not that bad, but it’s still easier to be sitting; and, since I’m in a chair anyway, I decide to do some work.

“I’m going to the office,” I say and nod toward the door. “Let’s go, I’ll give you the tour along the way.”

She follows me down the east corridor, and I point to each door we pass. “The second office, which I don’t use. Two guest bedrooms, locked. The gym. I work out there every morning, and three times a week I have a physical therapist coming.”

“Why do you keep the guest rooms locked? What do you do when you have people staying over?”

“I don’t invite people to stay over in my house. It’s a security risk.”

We come to a stop at the top of the stairway, and I nod toward the hallway that extends into the west wing. “My men have rooms there. It will be hard to bug any of those without someone becoming suspicious.”

The elevator takes us to the ground floor, and I turn right toward the “business” part of the house.

“The lounge.” I motion toward widely opened double doors, showing a large living space used by my men. “On the right, Leonid’s office.”

“What does he do?”

“Leonid is officially in charge of the finances, but in reality, Kostya and Ivan are doing all the work. Mikhail handles distribution and some other stuff. He has his offices at home and in one of the warehouses, so he’s rarely here.”

“Mikhail is the big guy with the eye patch?”

I stop for a moment, take Nina’s forearm, and turn her toward me. “What happened to Mikhail is personal, please don’t ask around about it.”

“Okay.”

“One other thing. When Mikhail is around, try not to touch him by accident. He . . . doesn’t deal well with skin contact.”

Nina’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t ask anything further, just nods.

“Good. This door here leads to the basement. You won’t go down there under any circumstances,” I say.

“Why?”

Telling her that’s where we usually torture people is out of the question. “You just don’t.”

“Did you already . . . you know?” She points to her ear.

“Maxim handled that already.”

“What’s his position?”

“He’s my second in command. Dimitri works with him, but he mainly handles the security.”

“And the rest?”

“Pavel is in charge of club business. Anton and Yuri handle the foot soldiers. Sergei, the tall blond guy, handles negotiations as well as all our legitimate deals, like real estate and rentals. He rarely comes here, but when he does, try to avoid him. He’s got issues.”

“Everybody has issues, Roman.”

“Not like Sergei’s. Believe me. Stay away from him.”

“And all of them live here?”

“All of the men you met last evening have rooms upstairs, but only Leonid, Pavel, Kostya, and Ivan live here.”

“And what about the staff? Maids?”

“Valentina and Olga have rooms on the other side, where the kitchen is. Varya also has a small apartment there. The rest go home every evening.”

“Is Varya your housekeeper?”

“She was the housekeeper for the old pakhan. When I took over, I set her up for life, so she won’t need to work anymore. She didn’t want to leave. Still doesn’t. So I let her run the house; it makes her happy.”

“She doesn’t want to leave you, you mean.”

“Yes.”

I see it in her eyes, she wants to ask more but she doesn’t, and I don’t volunteer. Some things are better left unsaid.

“This is Maxim’s office, then Dimitri’s.” I point to the doors on the right. “Kostya and Ivan share the office, it’s the door next to Leonid’s. Mine is the last one down the hallway. If I’m not upstairs, I’m probably here. I’ll give you Maxim’s and Dimitri’s numbers later, just in case.”

“Can we see the kitchen?”

“If you insist.”

“You sound reluctant. Is something wrong with the kitchen?”

Everything is wrong with the damn kitchen. “You’ll see.”

We’re right in front of the open kitchen doors when something big and metallic falls to the floor with a crash. There is a split second of utter silence followed by throaty yelling so loud I flinch. When we get inside, I look around and feel like I just walked into a madhouse.

A huge bearded man in his sixties, wearing a white chef’s apron and a bandana over his head, is standing with his hands on his hips and shouting what I can assume are Russian obscenities. He’s not very tall, but he’s as wide as a truck. A big overturned pot of what looks like soup lays on the floor near his feet. Valentina and two other women, who I presume are Olga and Galina, run around the kitchen, getting rags and then kneeling to wipe the floor. Meanwhile, the cook stands still in the middle of a big puddle of soup. Varya is on the other end, near the big fridge, pointing at the cook and also shouting in Russian.

On the far right, there is a small dining table where Kostya and Dimitri are sitting, drinking coffee, and discussing something. They don’t look even slightly perturbed by the yelling match happening behind them.

Nobody even notices us.

“Is it always like this in here?” I mumble.

“Most of the time.”

The two women wiping the floor start arguing. One of them throws the rag to the other and heads toward the sink.

“They are just under your suite. How come I’ve never heard them before,” I ask in awe.

“I got the kitchen soundproofed.”

“Good call.” I nod, still staring at the chaos with amazement. “Should we leave them to it?”

Roman looks around himself, reaches for a thick cutting board, and smashes it down onto the metal counter beside him. The sound reverberates across the room, making me jump. Everyone shuts up.

“This is Nina,” Roman says. “My wife.”

I smile widely and wave in their general direction.

“Nina Petrova,” they all shout and nod at the same time.

“Oh, you can just call me Nina.”

“No, they can’t,” Roman barks.

“Honey!”

“End of discussion.”

“You are so stern, Roman.” I pout just a little, then turn toward the kitchen staff. “He is, isn’t he?”

They all watch me like I’m a simpleton. Perfect. I turn to Roman. “Can I stay here?”

“You sure about that?”

“Yup.”

“All right. I’ll be in my office.”

“I’ll drop by later.” I place a quick kiss on his cheek.

Ten minutes later, I am sitting at the table in the corner, trying to discuss the breakfast with Igor, the cook. He only speaks Russian, so Varya is acting as my translator. It’s not coming along well.

“Igor thinks you didn’t like his piroshki this morning,” Varya says. “He is afraid that the Pakhan will fire him or worse, if he hears you don’t like his food.”

Oh, for crying out loud. I have this urge to start banging my forehead on the tabletop. Instead, I smile sweetly. “I loved the pie. It was delicious, and I’ll make sure Roman knows. I’d even love to learn how to make it. Just, can I please get some cereal for breakfast as well?”

Varya translates for me, and Igor beams. He jumps from his chair babbling something and motioning with his hand. I follow him toward the kitchen island where he puts an apron over my head and starts taking out stuff from the cupboard. I turn to look over my shoulder at Varya, hoping she’ll tell me what’s going on, but she just laughs and shakes her head.

I finish going over the numbers with Leonid and Kostya, and look at my watch. It’s almost seven in the evening; the whole afternoon flew by with all the meetings and paperwork that I was behind with. I wonder what Nina is doing. She said she would drop by but didn’t, and I’ll be damned if I know why, but it doesn’t sit well with me.

“How long do you plan on continuing with this thing, Roman?”

I look at Leonid who is sitting in a chair on the other side of my desk. Kostya already left, so it’s only the two of us. “What thing?”

“The marriage. You didn’t even have a church wedding. People will talk.”

“No, they won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I will silence them, Leonid. The same way I silenced my father.” I cock my head to the side. “Do you remember that night?”

He tenses and doesn’t say anything, but I notice the vein pulsing in his neck. Yes, he remembers that night very well.

“If you don’t have any other questions, you can leave.” I nod toward the door.

He gets up and marches out of my office.

Leonid has started acting strange the last couple of months. He’s always been a lazy piece of shit who prefers to have other people work for him while he takes all the credit. He’s been trying to take over more responsibilities from Kostya recently, which is the main reason I suspect he’s had something to do with that bomb. I will have to do something about him, proof or no proof, and soon. Now, however, I am dying to know what my peculiar little wife has been doing the whole afternoon, so I call Varya.

“Where is she?”

“Still here in the kitchen,” Varya says, her tone amused.

“What has she been doing there this whole time?”

“Come and see for yourself.”

I wheel myself down the long hallway and into the kitchen. Nina is standing by the work surface, placing round pieces of dough into a big pan while Igor is standing behind her, overseeing. Even though she’s wearing an apron, her pink lacy blouse and jeans are covered in flour. Her ponytail is standing askew, and she has something that looks like jam on her left cheek.

“Igor is teaching her how to make piroshki,” Varya says as she comes to stand by me. “They are on their third batch.”

“Igor speaks only Russian. How can he teach her anything?”

“I have no idea. He tells her what to do, and when she does it wrong, he yells.”

My head snaps to the side to look at Varya. “He yelled at my wife?”

“She yelled at him more.”

“What for?”

“Well, he yelled because she burned the first batch. She yelled because he didn’t say how long they should stay in the oven. Neither of them knows what the other one has been yelling about. It’s hilarious.”

We stand there at the door and watch them.

“What happened with the second batch?” I ask. “Burned as well?”

“The second one was good. They just took it out of the oven when boys started coming in for lunch. Everyone who passed took one or two, and in five minutes, they were all gone.” She laughs. “Oh, she was so mad.”

“Why? Did she want to eat them all by herself?”

Varya turns to me, and there is this mischievous satisfied look in her eyes, like a cat who got the cream. “No, Roman. She was mad because they didn’t leave any for you.”

At that moment Nina raises her head, our gazes connect, and she smiles at me. It’s like the sun had suddenly broken through the dark clouds, hitting me with its warmth, and I find myself wishing that this was real and not just an act. Her heels click on the floor as she is approaches, echoing in the big space.

“They ate your piroshki,” she says and puts her hands on her hips.

She is so bloody cute when she is mad. I lean forward, grab her around her waist with one arm and under her knees with the other. Lifting her, I deposit her onto my lap.

She squeaks and wraps her arms around my neck. “I got flour all over your shirt.”

“I don’t care,” I say and grab the wheels. “Hold tight.”

Her eyes widen, but she tightens her arms around my neck.

“Open the door for us, Varya,” I call over my shoulder, turn the chair around and wheel us into the hallway.

With Nina’s legs dangling on the side of the chair, it requires a little more maneuvering to handle the right wheel, but I manage, and take us across the hallway and into the elevator. She’s laughing like crazy along the way, with her face buried into my neck, and it feels so damn good.

My light mood evaporates the moment we exit the elevator and I see Leonid standing at the top of the stairs, looking at us with a calculated stare. I ignore him and take us to the door of my suite.

“Thanks for the ride.” Nina giggles and stands to open the door.

“Any time, malysh.” Inside, I shut the door behind me. “Come, we need to talk.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Maybe. Go get changed, I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.”

When I enter the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing clean clothes, I find Roman rummaging through the fridge. He changed as well, into a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt that stretches tightly over his wide back. I can’t help but stare.

“How’s the knee?” I ask when I manage to stop ogling him. He’s on his crutches again, so I suppose he’s feeling better.

“Back to normal,” he says and closes the fridge. “Or as normal as it was a few days ago. I have to call to schedule my therapist for tomorrow. I had to cancel today’s session.”

I walk over and stand next to him, sure that I’ve finally overcome my body’s idiotic response to his size. My arm brushes his elbow accidentally, and I flinch.

“Sorry,” I whisper and close my eyes, angry with myself. I hate this.

I feel Roman’s arm around my waist, and in the next moment, I find myself sitting on the counter.

“You don’t have to do that all the time,” I sigh.

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s absurd. Did it hurt your leg?”

“I’m sorry to tell you, but you are kind of small, Nina. My leg is perfectly fine.”

“Everyone is kind of small around you, Roman.” I roll my eyes and swat his shoulder. “Does the physical therapy help?”

“Yes, but it’s slow. It took me two months to walk on crutches. One more to use them without having significant pain. Warren says we’ll try the cane in a couple of weeks, see how it goes.” He moves to the counter beside where I’m sitting, reaching for a glass and the orange juice container.

“And after that?”

He doesn’t reply right away, seeming to concentrate on pouring the orange juice.

“My knee is too fucked up. The cane is probably the best I can do.”

By the way he avoids looking me in the eyes, he doesn’t like that outcome.

“You’ll be sexy with the cane, Roman. Very aristocratic looking.”

His eyes snap up to mine and his lips lift in a smile. “And I’m not sexy now?”

Oh, you have no idea how much, I want to say. Instead, I just laugh. “Are you fishing for compliments, Pakhan? My God, you are so vain.” I nudge him playfully, and we both chuckle. When the laughter trails off, I change the subject. “You said you have something to discuss.”

“Yes. I need you to bug Leonid’s room first. His office as well, but his room is the priority.”

“Okay. How do we go about getting me into his room? I could sneak in while he’s working.”

“There is always somebody around, a maid or some of the guys.” Roman shifts his weight away from his bad leg and leans his hip on the counter. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“What if I mess up?”

“You won’t.” He reaches for me with his hand as if he is going to touch my face, but then reconsiders and turns away. “Did you inform your parents that we got married?”

I cringe. “Not yet. Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“Shit. Mom is going to kill me. She always talked about how she wanted to organize this huge wedding if I ever found someone crazy enough to marry me. Maybe I’ll just message her.”

A muscle ticks in Roman’s jaw, and he leans toward me until our noses almost touch. “You can’t inform your mother that you got married via text message, Nina. You will call her and ask her and your father to come over for dinner.”

“Here?” I blink at him. “I can’t call them here. When my mom sees all the guys with guns, she’ll think I married into mafia!”

Roman’s eyebrows almost reach his hairline. “And your mother would be right.”

“Yeah, but can we leave out that small detail? She freaked out when she saw my nose piercing. My mother is extremely conservative; she even irons her towels. I’m not sure how she’ll take the fact that I married a crime lord.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “We’ll take them to a restaurant.”

I am not a fan of Nina’s mother.

As expected, she is shocked when Nina tells her we got married so suddenly, and to a man they have never met. However, based on the looks she’s been tossing in my direction throughout lunch, she is more concerned that I’m using a wheelchair than the fact her daughter married a stranger.

“Are you pregnant, Nina?” she asks casually between two bites of cake.

Next to me, Nina chokes on her wine.

“Jesus, Mom,” she says when she manages to recover. “Of course, not. We met a week ago.”

“But we are working on it,” I throw in and take Nina’s hand. “Aren’t we, love?”

Nina blinks at me, then smiles and leans in to kiss me. “We sure are.”

Nina’s father is sitting on the other side of the table, barely speaking. He’s been avoiding my gaze the whole evening. When he does look at me, he quickly looks away and hides his trembling hands under the table. I don’t like Samuel Grey, either, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he stole my money. He knows very well who I am, and he still let his daughter marry me to save his own ass. What a pitiful excuse for a human being.

On the table, my phone rings, showing Pavel’s name. It’s six in the evening, the clubs are still not open, so it can’t be club business. I take the call.

“Pakhan. We have a problem.”

Of course, we do. “I’m listening.”

“Ukrainians are here. Shevchenko wants to renegotiate the terms.”

“Tell him to contact Sergei. He’s in charge of that.”

“They already met earlier today, and Shevchenko says he has no intention of negotiating with him ever again.” There is a silent pause on the other side of the line, then, “Sergei tried to cut off his hand.”

“Wonderful.” I squeeze the bridge of my nose and sigh. “Where are you? At Ural?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

I put the phone in my pocket and turn to Nina. “I have to go. Dimitri will stay and take you back when you’re done.”

“Is everything okay?” she asks.

“Yes.” I nod and kiss her, then seeing the way her mother watches us, I add, “Put on something sexy and wait for me. I won’t be long.”

I follow Roman with my eyes as he wheels himself to the exit where Dimitri is standing by the wall. They speak quietly and Roman leaves. Did something happen? It sounded serious.

“Are you sure you did the right thing, Nina?” my mother asks.

I turn to face her. “What do you mean?”

“Marrying this man, after just two days.” She looks at me with a mix of exasperation and annoyance. “I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised, you always did things your way, but still.”

I roll my eyes. “This man has a name. And we are crazy about each other. Why wait?”

“I understand why you fell for him. He’s older, rich, sophisticated. Extremely handsome.”

“There you go.” I smile and lean back in my chair. “Your dream finally came true. I thought you would be thrilled.”

“He is in a wheelchair, Nina.”

“Zara!” my father whisper-yells from the other side of the table, and glances at Dimitri standing by the door. “Shut up.”

“Don’t silence me, Samuel. I want the best for my child, and I have the right to be concerned.”

“Keep your concerns to yourself, Mom,” I snap.

She leans forward over the table. “What happened to him? A car accident?”

“Yes.” I toss my napkin on the plate. “He got a serious injury to his leg a few months ago. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

She grinds her teeth and watches me through narrowed eyes. “Can he walk?”

I stare at my mother. “I just told you. I married him because I’m in love with him. Why would that matter?” I find it concerning how fast and easily that came out of my mouth.

“Why?” She widens her eyes at me and turns to my father. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Did you know about this, Samuel?”

“Zara, for God’s sake, just shut up.”

She ignores my father completely. “Is this some kind of rebellion, Nina? Another one of your phases?”

That’s it. I’ve had enough. I grab my phone from the table, stand up, and head toward the exit, leaving my parents sitting at the table.