Olena arrives hours later, uninvited, and lets herself in. I don’t bother asking how she got a key, though I wonder if Satin and she talked about their misgivings.
The penthouse door clicks softly, and she steps inside in a black trench coat, head freshly shaved and gleaming like a knife.
She surveys the space with a critical eye.
“You’ve upgraded.”
“Did I?”
She takes a slow turn, then fixes me with that sharp gaze. “You needed an untainted place.”
I say nothing, tamping down the rage that threatens to burst my veins. This isn’t time to turn against my own. Olena has been by my side for years; I trust her with my life. Andsheisn’t the one who made a mistake.
I am.
She walks toward me, heels muffled on the expensive tile. She stops three feet away.
“I assume Satin filled you in.”
“I didn’t ask for gossip.”
“You should. Because everyone’s talking, Konstantin.”
Her arms cross over her chest.
“You’re distracted.”
I raise a brow. “I’m recovering.”
“You’ve been recovered for days. You haven’t attended a single meeting. Haven’t reviewed the expansion in Macau. The weapons shipment in Tunis. You’re barely holding the board’s attention, and they’re starting to look for other sources of power. By the way, the auction house in Upstate New York is doing well. Not that you asked.”
I lean back.
Olena has always known how to strike where it hurts.
“You’re worried,” she says. “About her. The child. The future.”
It’s not a question. I meet her gaze. “You ever wonder what we’re building, Olena?”
Her mouth twists. “Power. Legacy.”
“And what’s the point of a legacy if I’m dead before I can give it to anyone?”
Her eyes soften, just a fraction. Like me, Olena escaped a past that didn’t want her. But I’ve never asked her: what doesshewant? What does she long for?
And is it not another person, a companion? A legacy?
“You think this child will save you?”
“No,” I whisper. “I think I’ll destroy them.”
She sighs, stepping closer. “Then let them go.”
“I can’t.”
“Then make them strong.” Her words land like a slap.
I watch her cross the room, pour herself a drink from the bar, and perch on the edge of a low-slung leather chair. Probably the first person to ever set her skinny Russian ass on it.
