23

Ravil
A week later, I watch Lucy slice through the water, her body lit only by moonlight. She’s spectacular-a clear, concise, strong swimmer. I imagine she swims the same way she does everything. With attention to detail and little extraneous noise.
She woke at midnight to pee and then stood at the great window staring out at the moon and the water. When I asked if she wanted to bathe in the moonlight, she said yes. She didn’t even bother with a swimsuit, which means I’m now harder than stone watching her. After exactly ten laps, she swims to the edge where I sit with my feet in the pool.
Water droplets run down her smooth porcelain skin. “Ravil?”
“Da?”
“How did you get into the bratva?”
I dip my hand in the water to cup her heavy breast. “The bratva found me on the streets of Leningrad when I was eight. What is now St. Petersburg. My mother was a prostitute and a drunk, and I’d already been fending for myself for as long as I could remember. Stealing food, hustling for money. They gave me little jobs-running errands, sitting lookout, picking up their clothing from the washer woman, and they paid well.
“By the time I was twelve, I’d sworn loyalty. When I was thirteen, I found my mother dead in a pool of her own vomit and blood.”
Lucy wraps her hand around my calf and looks up at me, compassion swirling in her brown eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Something in her expression tears a hole in my armor, and I don’t like the resulting vulnerability. Throwing my barriers back up, I say, “At seventeen I went to prison for strangling a man.”
Lucy attempts to hide her shock.
“Is this more than you wanted to know?”
“No.” She shakes her head, but I still see traces of horror on her face.
I experience a stab of defensiveness at her shock. But I’ve always been ashamed of my beginnings. It’s what made me determined to succeed at all costs. “You’re afraid I’ll raise our son to be part of the brotherhood,” I accuse.
She swallows. “Will you?”
Her mistrust of my intentions for our son angers me. It’s stupid. It’s not like I’ve told her differently. But pride makes me refuse to grovel and prove my worth. If she can’t see my honor by my actions toward her, she’s blind.
“You won’t see past your own judgements.” I stand. I leave because if I stay, I will say something I’ll regret. Let her see too much of what matters to me.
I hear the splash of water as she climbs out. “You never tell me anything! What am I supposed to think?” she calls after me.
The protective part of me wants to turn around, pick up the towel and wrap it around her. Make sure she doesn’t slip on the surface in her bare feet. But no. I was walking away.
“Ravil, if you refuse to tell me the nature of your plans or the nature of your business, I must surmise it’s because they are illegal or incriminating. Am I wrong?”
I stop to make sure she has her robe on. She doesn’t.
I stride back, pick it up and hand it to her.
“What is your business, Ravil?” she demands.
“I told you, Lucy. Imports.”
“Smuggling.”
“Yes.”
“Smuggling what? Sex slaves?”
I draw back as if she slapped me. “What in the fuck would make you think that?”
She loses steam in the face of my anger. “I heard something.”
“About me?” I thunder. “My organization?” As if we’d ever be as low as fucking Leon Poval.
She swallows. “About the sofa factory.”
“Ah.” I can’t stand the bitter taste in my mouth. “Yes. That’s Adrian’s story to tell not mine.”
Her eyes widen.
Despite my piss-off, I’m still the fucking gentleman, so I escort her in and leave her in our room before I bark orders at Oleg to guard her door, and I head out of the building for a walk.
Lucy
Either I got everything wrong or Ravil is a really good gaslighter. He’s distant the next day although he still ensures all my needs are met, sending Valentina with my to-order breakfast.
He definitely made me feel like shit for suggesting he had anything to do with the sex trafficking. But he does know what it’s about. And apparently, so does Adrian.
I need to unravel the puzzle. I’ve scheduled the preliminary hearing for Adrian this week, so I’ll see him in court if not sooner.
To make matters worse, Gretchen calls and, feeling like I really need a friend, I pick up.
“Lucy! You’re on bed rest? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m flying out there tomorrow.”
Oh shit.
“No, no, no, no. I’m fine. Who told you about the bedrest?”
“I called your office since you’ve been so hard to reach lately.”
“Trust me, I’m totally fine. I feel great. I’m still working. I just have to do it from home. I don’t need you to come out. In fact, it would be a huge hassle if you did because I have a bunch of trials coming up, and I need to keep my nose to the grindstone.”
I guess I made my decision. No secret messages. No grand rescue from my best friend. Apparently, I’m sticking around willingly. Or semi-willingly.
“Well, so what happened?”
“I have preeclampsia. But it’s not serious. The doctor just wanted me to stay off my feet for the rest of the pregnancy.”
“She probably also wanted you to cut down on the stress. So why are you still working?”
“Ugh. Taking off time is not even close to an option. The partners are talking about opening a new slot for partner, and with me being out of the office, I feel like I have to work twice as hard to prove I’m still worth considering.”
“Let me just ask you this-devil’s advocate.”
I sigh. Lawyers are very big on playing devil’s advocate. “Okay.”
“If something happens to this baby because of your stress, will you really care whether you made partner or not?”
My neck tightens, and I try to rub the stiffness away. Thank God for Natasha and her daily visits. She’s going to earn her money today.
I consider Gretchen’s question. “Honestly? It’s hard to care about anything I used to care about right now.”
“Well, that’s understandable. A baby changes everything.”
A baby… and Ravil.
“Yeah, I suppose. What I don’t know is after I’ve given birth and my brain isn’t hormone-addled, if I’ll regret the choices I’m making now.”
“What choices?” Gretchen doesn’t miss my slip.
“I just mean, if I decide not to go for partner.” Or even… not to go back to work. As a single mother, that wouldn’t be an option, but Ravil’s loaded. Not that he’s offered for me to be a stay-at-home mom. But I suspect it’s on the table. Whenever we finally sit down and come to an arrangement.
Whenever I convince him to set me free.
“Well, let’s talk this through,” Gretchen says. “Being partner would mean more money, but it would also mean more pressure and longer hours. Is that what you want when you’re single-parenting a newborn?”
I rub my baby bump, and Benjamin kicks as if answering my touch.
“Maybe it’s time to coast a bit. Back off the hamster wheel of success.”
I close my eyes. “Maybe it is,” I admit.
“Tell me the truth-have you ever been happy there?”
“Well…” I consider. “I’m happy when I do my job well. When I win a case.”
“Okay. That’s important. But that could happen anywhere. At any firm. It doesn’t have to be your dad’s. Especially now that he’s…”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I feel like with his stroke, it’s even more important now that I make partner. I have to preserve his legacy, you know?”
“What do you think matters more to your dad, a healthy grandson or you making partner?”
I hesitate because I’m honestly not sure. My dad’s pushed me so hard from the beginning.
“It’s the healthy grandson,” Gretchen supplies when I don’t answer. “I know you’ve internalized his career goals for you, but trust me-if he could talk-he’d tell you to give yourself a break. Starting a family on your own isn’t going to be easy.”
“Is this supposed to be a pep talk?” I complain.
“I’m just worried about you. Are you sure I can’t fly out?”
I close my smarting eyes. I desperately want to talk to her about my much bigger problems right now, but I can’t. “Yeah, I’m sure.” I somehow manage to keep my voice even. “But let’s talk soon.”
“Yeah, don’t make me call four times before you pick up next time.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Thanks for being such a good friend.”
“Aw, you know I’m here for you. Any time. And if you want to quit that job and move out here so we can give that baby two mamas, I’m down.”
I laugh.
“Thanks, but my mom would never speak to me again. I love you.”
“Love you too. Take care.”
I hang up and wipe my brimming eyes.
A light tap sounds on the door. I don’t realize I’m foolishly hoping for Ravil until I register disappointment at seeing Maxim instead. He pokes his head in. “I’m leaving for Moscow. Just thought I’d say goodbye.” He holds up a hand like he’s waving. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone-but hopefully, I’ll be back before the baby’s born.”
I look past him to see if Ravil’s there. He’s not.
“Ravil’s licking his wounds,” he says, reading my body language. “The thing you have to remember, counselor, is that male egos are quite fragile. Especially when it comes to beautiful women.”
I twist my lips, considering him. So, did Ravil share with him what happened? My cheeks heat.
“He’s painted himself into a corner with you.” Maxim shoves his hands in his pockets and leans his back against the door. “Something, I suspect, he’s coming to regret. He loves you, Lucy. Or he’s falling in love.”
My stomach somersaults at that news, but I shake my head. “This isn’t love.”
“What you should know is that he’d do just about anything for you.” He cocks his head to the side. “Short of letting you and that baby go.” He opens the door and takes a step backward to stand halfway out. “He doesn’t like to show his hand, which serves him well in business but not in love. That’s why I’m here to help him along.” He leans his head back in. “Before it’s too late.”
It was too late the moment he took me prisoner, I want to say, but Maxim’s already shut the door.
“Have a safe trip,” I call out.
The door pops back open, and his friendly face appears. “Thanks, doll. You keep yourself and that baby safe.”
I find myself smiling a little at the closed door when he leaves. It’s hard not to like Ravil’s whole crew.
Do these men seem like sex traffickers? Murderers? Heathens?
No.
Still, I know for a fact they’re bratva. And so is Ravil. So my question last night wasn’t that far out of line. Especially considering the limited facts I have.
But Ravil was hurt by it. That was my impression, and Maxim said as much.
So I guess I owe him an apology.
Some of the tension in me leaves at that decision. It feels right.
You claim to have had complete knowledge of my profession-exactly what I do and how I manage my business? You researched this thoroughly before you made the decision to keep our son from me?
Maybe I did bruise his ego. He doesn’t seem insecure, but Maxim seems to think my mistrust of him and his business dealings hurt him.
If only I believed I could trust him. But how can I? He’s a criminal mastermind, and I have no idea the nature of his crimes.