Page 13 of The Beast of Moscow

Vaslav never got an answer about her tears; he also didn’t get her name.

But he remembered her.

“The woman in the gallery,” Vaslav said, turning to face Igor fully in the hospital room. “The one that found me—who is she?”

“A ballerina for the company, I suspect.”

“Yes, but which one?”

Igor’s gaze narrowed a bit. “Do you want me to find out?”

Even he could hear the way the man’s sarcasm bled into the question—just enough to say he thought Vaslav’s current focus, considering he probably shouldn’t even be getting discharged, was skewed. Didn’t he have better things to worry about than an unknown woman who danced ballet in sneakers and only felt like a fragment in his memories?

Sure, he did.

And still, Vaslav couldn’t stop himself when he said, “Find her for me. I want to know who she is.”

He could figure out why later.

5.

Vera swore under her breath as she almost knocked over the potted orchid waiting at the front doorstep of her Noble Row villa. It was the peek of a familiar script on the card that had been hung from the stem held up by a stick that made her smile, though.

Bending down, and leaving her door still cracked for her four-bedroom villa that she had bought shortly after her broken ankle was cleared, it was the first thing in her life that she dropped any real money on and then spent hours with an interior decorator making it exactly the place she wanted to call home. It felt like hers.

She recognized the script font her father always had the florist use whenever he called in to send her something special. Flipping the card over, a small note from Demyan was printed alongside the flower shop’s logo.

Your mother said you sounded sad the other night. I hope this makes you smile. Love you, Vera. Call me if you want. - Papa

Of course.

Demyan always added that little if you want on his messages, even when he called and left one for her voicemail because he’d learned long ago that Vera didn’t like it when people pushed. She had been capable of making the right choices for herself from the time she was young; none she ever made steered her wrong.

They simply didn’t always end the way she expected.

Tucking the potted orchid with its pretty purple and white petals onto the small table just inside her doorway, Vera closed and locked the villa. She lived with roommates, chosen by her father and her bodyguard at the time, initially when she first came to Russia, and then rented a more expensive, luxury apartment in the party district of Moscow with other girls from The Swan House after she turned eighteen. Her one roommate at that time, Hannah, moved out before she bought the villa.

Nothing quite suited her like the row of villas, yellow upon yellow, each featuring its own entrance, garage, and large terraces with views of the Kremlin. The fenced backyards leading to the walkways and park continuing through or back out of the community had been her favorite part, though. She’d never felt unsafe here—and Ostozhenka was a short fifteen-minute walk away from The Swan House, even if she only went there on a voluntary basis a couple of times a week. It was still close.

Like everything else she needed.

It meant she didn’t need to bother with a car, which Vera liked considering driving in Russia was not like back home. Renting a vehicle was far easier whenever she had a need for doing so ... which honestly, wasn’t often.

Pulling the cell phone from her crossbody bag, Vera dialed her father’s familiar number as she took the front steps of the villa’s stoop two at a time. Her neighbor, who was letting his dog piss while he watered the vines that crawled between their fenced yards, waved to her as she passed the view of his gate.

Demyan picked up her call on the fourth ring. “Sometimes I wonder if you even bother to look at the time.”

Vera laughed. “I know what time it is there—six.”

“Yes, in the morning.”

“Are you saying you weren’t already up?”

“Well.”

Vera grinned wide at the amusement in her father’s tone. He was caught. He could complain all the time about the time difference when she called, but if it was past five in the morning, the man was up. Sometimes, he didn’t close his eyes before one.

“You got the orchid, then?”