Page 35 of The Beast of Moscow

“Exactly. And he wonders why people don’t.”

He didn’t give her the chance to respond before he slammed the door shut, his laughter muffled through the glass Vera watched him head for the gate and admired the way ivy covered almost the entirety of the gray brick on the front of the massive home at the same time.

It didn’t take Igor long at all to unlock the old iron gate and swing both arms wide open beyond the stone pillars holding them up. He had jumped back in the SUV, and the vehicle lurched forward before he had even shut the driver’s door again.

“There’s only one rule today,” Igor said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror as they crawled up the small hill, closer to the house.

“What’s that?”

“No phones in the house.”

Vera met his stare, then. “That hardly seems—”

“It’s non-negotiable, sweetheart. He wouldn’t care if you were his mother yeah, no phones in the fucking house.”

The hill flattened at the top where the driveway widened into a massive block that covered most of the front of the house. Igor parked next to the towering circle of birch trees in the very middle, likely the only shade for the front of the house when the sun was high in the sky. She was entirely unsurprised to see terracotta pots lining the entire front of the house, and even the steps of the wide stone staircase leading up to the double front doors. She bet every little shrub in each of those pots matched the one she had at her villa.

“Phone?”

Igor’s sudden demand brought Vera back to the present. Her admiration of the home and property was gone in an instant as Igor’s hand popped palm up between the front seats, not giving her any time to really think.

“Now, come on,” he said.

Dammit.

She should have sent that text to her father when she had the chance ... but why worry Demyan, who was all the way across the world, and not actually capable of helping her, should she need it?

Besides, she’d never asked him for permission to do something before. Not since she turned eighteen, anyway.

Vera slapped her phone into Igor’s palm.

“Spasibo,” the man thanked her. “Out you go—now you’re on your own.”

“Seriously?”

Igor shrugged, and flopped back into his seat. “I did my required time with Vaslav today, thank you.”

“You make him sound like—”

“A beast,” the man interjected. “He’s a beast on his best days. And don’t you forget it.”

*

Vera thought she should be more nervous as she climbed the fifteen stairs—she counted each one—that led up to the entrance of the house. The double doors were older than they first appeared because once she stood on the circular woven mat in front of them, she could see where the brown paint had started to crack and peel along the hinges and brass knocker. The only thing that looked new or modern on the door was the curved handle with a latch and the three deadbolts in a line above.

“Mind Marrow, if you see him,” he called behind her.

Vera glanced back at Igor who had come to stand at the front of the SUV where she could see him around the line of birch trees.

“What?”

“Marrow—the water dog. He’s a bit wilder than his master. Sometimes, we don’t see him for weeks.”

“How do I mind him?” she asked.

“By keeping a distance.”

Great.