“Oh, hello,” he says, turning that smile on me. “Didn’t even see you there. We’re not disturbing you, are we?”
I put my drawing aside and get to my feet. I notice the old man’s eyes veer towards me. It’s obvious he can’t move his neck. I move into his line of vision so that he doesn’t have to strain.
“No, you’re not,” I reassure him. “I was just doodling.”
“You’re an artist?”
“Cartoonist,” I correct.
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
I smile. “I think so, but it depends on who you ask. Not everyone regards cartoonists as real artists.”
“Well, I’d call you an artist,” he says.
“You haven’t seen my work yet.”
He smiles. “I’d sure love to.”
I grin back, warming to him immediately. Shocking how three seconds of genuine human affection can be so moving when I’ve been starved of it since Aleks took me.
“That’s really sweet of you…？”
“Oh, shoot! Sorry.” He juts out a hand to shake. “I’m Mike,” he says. “And this here is Don Makarova.”
“Don Makarova?” I repeat. “I think you’ve got your wires crossed. Don Makarova is the surly asshole who owns this compound.”
Mike raises his eyebrows, but I can see that he’s fighting a smile. “You’re talking about Mr. Aleksandr,” he says. “This is…”
“Oh my God,” I gasp when it finally clicks. “Aleks's father.”
Mike nods. “Bingo.”
And I just called his son an asshole. Right to his face, no less. I study the man’s features, searching for annoyance, anger, or insult.
But there’s not much expression there at all. His face is a desert, totally devoid of emotion.
His eyes, though? Those are bright, sharp, and searching.
And they’re fixed right on me.
“I’m sorry about the asshole comment. I didn’t mean it.” I frown the moment I start stumbling over my words. “You know what, scratch that. He is an asshole. Just… maybe don’t tell him that. I’m already in deep shit with him as it is, and—I mean, not that I care, but he… dammit.”
“Don’t worry.” Mike laughs and pats the old man’s shoulder. “Your secret’s safe with us. Right, boss?”
The old man blinks twice and mumbles something that I don’t catch. His speech is slurred, near-silent.
Whatever he says, though, Mike seems to understand. He chuckles and nods. “Right.”
“What did he say?” I ask, moving closer.
“He said that Mr. Aleksandr didn’t inherit any of his charm.”
I can’t help laughing, even though this man’s spawn is the cause of my worst nightmares. “It’s very nice to meet you, Don Makarova.”
He slurs out something else and Mike translates for him. “He wants you to call him Vlad.”
“Vlad?”
“It’s a nickname,” Mike explains. “I think that means he likes you.”
I nod, taking note of the state-of-the-art wheelchair. “Would it be rude to ask what happened?”
“A stroke,” Mike explains with crisp professionalism. “Years ago. It left him paralyzed on one side of his body. He can still move the other half, though. And he’s as sharp as ever.” He wheels Vlad forward so that he’s sitting right in front of the lake. “He likes coming here in the evenings. It’s peaceful. Better than staring at the damn ceiling day in and day out.”
“It is,” I agree. I move a little closer to Mike and lower my voice. “Um… do you guys live on the grounds?”
“We do,” Mike says. “Well, he does. Me, too, most of the time, but I have a few days off every month. Vlad has a second caretaker come in on those days.”
Vlad says something else. Mike leans in to hear him out. He chuckles again when he straightens. “He’s not a fan of his second caretaker.”
“No?”
“She doesn’t have the same laidback vibe with him that I do. Isn’t that right, boss?”
Vince mumbles something else, and this time, I catch most of it. “You were the best out of the worst bunch of morons I ever saw.”
Mike just looks at me and shrugs, totally unfazed. “You can guess where his son got the asshole gene.”
I’m a little surprised that Mike can get away with that kind of comment, but Vlad doesn’t seem to mind. Or maybe it’s more about the fact that he can’t afford to mind.
“So you’re the new bride, then?” Mike asks conversationally as he takes a seat on the grass next to Vlad.
I wince as I join him. “You heard.”
“Everyone who lives in this house has heard.”
“Great,” I mumble. “Just so you know, it’s not a real marriage. I’m definitely not a bride. I’m here under duress.”
“Ah.”
I look at him, wondering if maybe I’ve found the ally I need.
He dispels that notion quickly. “Uh-oh, stop looking at me like that.”
I frown. “Like what?”
“Like I might be able to help you,” he says. “I can’t. And what’s more, I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not about to cross the big guy,” he says. “No one crosses the Bratva and lives to tell the tale. I’m smart enough not to try.”
I sigh and look back towards the lake. “Guess this place is full of assholes.”
He smiles sympathetically. “Harsh but fair. Sorry to disappoint.”
“I’m used to it by now. Men always disappoint.”
He chuckles a little, but takes my anger in stride. “I may not be able to be your way out,” he says. “But I can be your friend. We both can.”
“Guess I can’t afford to turn down a friend,” I say. “They’re running in short supply these days.”
He throws me a guilty smile. “Great. So now that we’re friends, would you mind doing me a favor?”
“Seriously?” I say. “You’re gonna say no to helping me and then ask for a favor?”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “It’s a very small favor.”
“Fine. Let me hear it.”
“I need to pee,” he says. “Could you stay here with him until I get back?”
“I suppose so,” I sigh melodramatically. “If I must.”
“Great, thanks. Back in a flash.”
He jogs back up the path and I’m left looking over at the don. Or rather, the ex-don. Don emeritus? Not sure how the titles work around here.
It blows my mind that Aleks never once mentioned to me the fact that his father was alive and well. Okay, not exactly well. But he’s still alive.
Not all of us are so lucky.
“I thought you were dead,” I tell him. “I mean, no offense or anything—it’s just that nobody mentioned that you were alive. I figured that, since Aleks was don, that would automatically mean you were… well, you know.”
He looks at me with pale eyes that are neither blue nor gray. Just a strange, in-between color that leaves me feeling unsettled. Skewered, in the strangest way. I can imagine how intimidating he would have been in the prime of his life.