“Hey, Mom.”
“Vasya?” my mom’s groggy voice comes through the line. “Oh my God! Where are you, baby?! We’ve been going crazy—”
“I’m fine, Mom. Listen, I can’t talk long. I just wanted you to know I’m okay and that I’m coming home in a couple of weeks.”
“What? Tell me where you are! Right now!”
“I’ll call again in a few days, okay? Love you.”
I barely finish before Guido snatches the phone out of my hand and cuts the line. “Time’s up. Can’t risk them tracing the call.”
His tone contains a trace of smugness, as if taking that phone from me is the most gratifying thing he has done in a long time. My teeth squeak from the forceful way I clench them. It’s either that or letting the tears welling in the corners of my eyes burst free.
But I won’t give this little prick the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
Turning on my heel, I march to the wall cabinet on the opposite side of the kitchen, grabbing a chair from the dining table along the way. The damn thing has to be solid wood because it weighs a ton. By the time I reach my intended destination, my arms hurt from hefting the bulky object. I set the chair next to the cabinetry, climb it, then start pulling glassware off the top shelf and setting it on the counter.
“What are you doing?” Guido asks behind me.
I ignore him, focusing solely on my task of reorganizing. It’s the only way I’ll be able to distract myself from worrying about my family.
Blindly, I empty the cupboards of cups and glasses that have all been haphazardly placed on one shelf, and the stemware that was mixed in with tumblers and other cocktail glasses.
“Kакой ужасный беспорядок,” I mumble as I move on to the middle shelf. They even have cake stands wedged in the same place!
“I asked, what the fuck are you doing?” Guido snarls next to me and slams the cabinet door closed, barely missing my fingers.
Eyes fixed on his hand keeping the door shut, I take a deep breath, then face the dickhead. The look he levels me with is loaded with narrowly restrained contempt and malice.
“Do you have a problem with me, Guido?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And what problem might that be?” My voice may sound strong, but truthfully, I’m barely holding myself together. I have no qualms about confronting men with an overabundance of testosterone and asshole personalities under normal circumstances, but this fucked-up situation is proving a bit too much. “The last I checked, I’m not here because I want to be.”
Guido’s nostrils flare. He leans toward me, getting in my face. “If you get my brother killed, I’ll fucking murder you.”
Two treacherous tears escape, sliding down my cheeks. Returning his resolute gaze, I make myself smile. “Feel free to try.”
He bangs his fist on the cupboard and storms out of the kitchen. Only after he’s gone, do I lower myself to the counter, sitting down between the rows of glasses and cups, and wipe my cheeks.
Jesus Christ, what did I get myself into?
And why in the hell does the idea of my dad offing Rafael not sound as tempting as it did before?
Magnificent.
There is no better word to describe the woman sitting cross-legged at my desk, mumbling to herself while her fingers fly over the keys as she fixes the mess my IT team purposefully created. Mitch assured me that it would take days just to sort out the financial system, considering how thoroughly they corrupted the software.
It took her a couple of evenings and less than a dozen hours.
Tonight, she’s working on the file management system, untangling the permissions to the subfolders of our data repository. Apparently, this should keep her busy for a week. Mitch’s guys better have done their jobs properly and scrambled it up real good, otherwise, heads will roll.
“Did that pencil do something to offend you?” I ask, eyeing the thing in question.
Vasilisa lays down the pencil she’s been chewing for the past hour and sends me an irritated look. “Nope. It’s just an unwitting victim.”
“Of what?”
“My thought process. The extent of the clusterfuck I’m trying to resolve here is colossal. It’s frustrating. Who set up your NAS?”
“I have no idea what NAS is or who set it up. IT is like hieroglyphs to me.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows arch quizzically. “A man willing to confess that he doesn’t possess absolute knowledge on a particular subject? That’s a first.”
“I’m a rather simple being, vespetta. Give me a goal, and I’ll reach it, brutally obliterating all obstacles in my way. I don’t have the finesse for solving such cerebral problems, I’m afraid. But I have you and your brilliant mind at my disposal to deal with that now.”
Vasilisa stares at me with wide eyes and her lips slightly parted, looking utterly bewildered. Even in the dim light, I can see color creeping into her cheeks. I’ll need to work on delivering my compliments, obviously.
“Um . . . right.” She quickly looks away. “NAS is a data storage device. It should automatically back up twice a day, but instead, the files are being wiped out.”
“Mitch would be the person who could clue you in on whatever you need to know about that.”
“I’d like to have a word with Mitch, then.”
“Okay.” Taking out my phone, I extend it toward her. “Here.”
