Midnight Purgatory (Bugrov Bratva #1)(80)

“Please, please, please—”

“Alyssa?!”

“Oh, thank God, Elle! You picked up!”

“Sorry it took me so long. I didn’t realize my TV was the one that was ringing. Oh my God, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Elle, you have no idea. I’m so happy I might just cry.”

“Are you crying? Because you sound a little snotty.”

I sniff. “Umm… would you believe me if I said no?”

“You are. Lys, is that sad crying or happy crying?”

I’m not quite sure how to answer. “It’s both.”

“Okay, let’s get real. Tell me what’s going on. And who is this guy you’re shacking up with? He’s not some, like, Cuban drug lord, is he? Because I’m gonna find it really hard not to freak out if he is.”

“He’s not a Cuban drug lord. In fact… he’s not Cuban at all.”

There’s a beat of silence. I know I’m taking a risk here but I can’t help it. It’s one thing to lie over text message. It’s a whole other thing to lie over the phone. That voice-to-voice contact makes the lie feel so much worse.

“He’s not Cuban?”

“He’s Russian.”

“You met a Russian in Cuba?”

I sigh. “I’m not in Cuba at all, Elle. I never left the States.”

She gasps. “You lied to me?”

“I didn’t want you getting involved. I did something stupid and I got mixed up with the wrong people.”

“Does that include this Russian dude?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure.”

“Because you’re sleeping with him?”

Yes. No. I’m not sure.

“I don’t really know, Elle. It does feel like he’s just trying to protect me. That’s what he says, anyway.”

“How? By keeping you locked away? By stopping you from contacting your friends and family? By controlling your every move? Alyssa, this is serious. I’m gonna call the cops.”

“No!” I shout. My reaction is so immediate and so adamant that it shocks even me. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just… you can’t call the cops.”

“Why the hell not? You’re clearly a prisoner. Am I right?”

“No, it’s not like that.” I have no idea why I’m lying to her. Didn’t I just call her in a panic because I felt stuck down here? “It’s way more complicated. He’s not a bad guy; he just knows the situation better than either you or I do and—”

“What ‘situation,’ Alyssa?” Elle demands. “What the fuck is going on and how are you in the middle of it? I don’t understand—”

“Elle, stop and listen to me for a second.” She pauses, breathing frantically, as I explain. “I saw something… um, that is to say, I picked something up that I shouldn’t have. I was confused and I made a mistake. And that mistake put me directly in the path of my neighbor. Who is… well, you know the rumors. They’re mostly true.”

“For fuck’s sake, Alyssa,” Elle hisses in a tense whisper. “You’re wrapped up in some hardcore mafia shit.”

“Bratva,” I correct automatically. “And yes.”

“And this guy… he’s protecting you from it?”

“Yes. I really shouldn’t get into the how and why now, Elle. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. I just really needed someone to talk to.”

I’m fingering my charm bracelet, trying not to word vomit all over my best friend. But after days of isolation, it’s hard not to let it rip.

“Okay, hon. I can’t believe I’m letting you get off that easily, but okay. You know I’m here for you, right?”

“I know.”

“And you’re safe? As in, you feel safe? He’s not… hurting you or anything, right?”

I blink away my tears. “He makes sure I’m comfortable. And his place is huge. It’s definitely not a prison, even if it feels that way sometimes. I’m just… going a little stir-crazy, is all.”

“Of course you are. You’ve never been able to stay in one place since Ziva died.”

I stop short, feeling like she just flayed me open in one sentence. “I—that’s not true.”

Elle gives me a wry chuckle. “Oh, hon, who are you kidding? You’ve been running from the moment we buried her. You’ve never stopped.”

Is that why I hate this basement so much? Is that why I’m fighting so hard not to be alone?

“I get it, you know,” Elle says gently. “She wasn’t just your sister; she was your twin. I can’t imagine a bond any closer.”

Tears prick at my eyes, but the more I try to ignore them, the harder they become to avoid. “Elle.” My voice sounds shaky even to my own ears.

“Yes?”

“There are moments when it feels…” I clear my throat self-consciously. “It’s like the bond I felt with Ziva is similar—very similar—to the one I sometimes feel with… him.”

“Are you fucking with me?”

“I wish I were.”