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.”
“Jesus.”
“I know.”
“Hey now, that’s not a bad thing, right? I mean, apart from the fact that he might possibly have ties with the Russian mafia and is probably involved in a whole shadow war with a rival mob… er, bratty-whatever-gang who drive around in unmarked vans killing people off willy-nilly.”
I exhale. “That was a very succinct and eloquent summation.”
“I’m a wordsmith, what can I say?”
Despite how shitty I feel right now, how desperate and alone, a laugh bursts from my lips. It makes a world of difference.
“Thanks for talking to me, Elle.”
“Anytime. And if you get to the point where you need help and you decide that you’ve had enough—call me. I’ll bring in the cavalry.”
With that promise secured, I hang up and stash the headphones away. It’s nice knowing that I have an out if I need it. What’s not so nice is knowing that, in spite of everything, I still feel the need to protect Uri. I still feel the need to protect his family.
Lev doesn’t deserve to have the property swarmed with cops and reporters. That would just push his progress back by years and I refuse to be responsible for that. So that’s not an option.
But I’m also not willing to be ignored anymore. Uri can’t just waltz in here whenever he needs me, just to walk back out again when he’s done using me. He doesn’t get to pull all the strings anymore—because I’m taking control.
I move around the basement until I find tape, paper, and scissors. Then I comb through the space until I pinpoint every single camera that he’s used to spy on me all this time.
It takes me the better part of the day, but by the time I’m done, every lens is covered over.
Take that, Uri Bugrov. Try spying on me now.
46
URI
The plan is simple: gather final evidence that Sobakin was the one behind my parents’ deaths. Infiltrate his ranks. Bring him the fuck down.
The plan has the added bonus of keeping me so busy I haven’t had time to check on Alyssa. I’m doing my best to ignore the way she keeps popping into my head every now and again. Let’s just call that a glitch in the system. It’ll work itself out soon.
The moment Sobakin is dealt with, that takes care of my Alyssa problem. She’ll be gone. A memory, nothing more.
“Lunch?” Nikolai asks, looking up from his phone.
“Not hungry.”
He frowns. “You’re never hungry these days. What’s with that?”
I shake my head. “I’ve got too much going on.”
“To eat?” Nikolai asks. “Come on, I thought we could go out for lunch with Polly and Lev. There’s a new restaurant downtown I’ve been wanting to try.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You say shit like that and it reminds me of the fact that you barely spend any real time with Lev.”
I don’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does, but Nikolai flinches back. “Fuck you. I spend time with Lev.”
“When was the last time you kicked a ball around with him? Or played video games with him? Or joined us for dinner at home?”
“I’ve been busy running your Bratva.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a nice idea, but Lev can’t sit in a restaurant and eat. He hates the sound of cutlery on plates.”