Dirty Grovel: Chapter 28

Sutton disappears into the bungalow as Artem delivers the news that has forced us back on land.

“… he’s in the hospital.”

I force my attention to Artem, though all I want is to go back to Sutton and pick up where we left off. “Or is that just what he would like for us to believe?”

Artem lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “You think this is some sort of ploy?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past the old fucker. What else do we know?”

With a shrug, he glances down at his phone. “The housekeeper found him in his study. There were signs of forced entry and he had been badly beaten before being bludgeoned across the back of the head.”

“But he’s alive?”

“According to my source, yes, he’s alive. But barely. He’s in critical condition. They’re monitoring him in the ICU as we speak.”

That gives me pause. Even if Boris was insane enough to orchestrate a scheme like this, he’d never commit to the bit so hard.

If there’s one thing I know about my uncle, it’s that he’s a fucking coward.

And cowards don’t voluntarily take blunt force trauma to the head.

“The cops are swarming around,” adds Artem. “They want to speak to the family.”

I nod. “Make arrangements for a quick departure tomorrow morning. We need to nip this in the bud.” Artem winces, his shoulders stiffening. I frown and ask, “What haven’t you told me yet?”

“I’m afraid the time for nipping things in the bud has passed, brother,” Artem sighs. “There are rumors spreading already. They reek of Martinek influence.”

Now, it’s my turn to wince and stiffen. “What rumors?”

“That you are responsible for the attack on Boris.”

I can only scoff. “Any idiot should know that if I really did launch an attack on Boris, he wouldn’t be in the ICU—he’d be dead.”

“And yet i’s picking up steam, brother,” Artem says soberly. “We need to counteract it somehow.”

“I agree. And we start by moving up our plans to deal with the Martineks. They want a fight? They’re gonna fucking get one.”

“So what’s the next step?”

“We zero in on the Martineks’ independent enforcers. Starting with that shit fuck, Drew Anton. Check to see when and where his last communication with Lipovsky was.”

“Got it.” Artem nods, typing fast into his phone. “I’ll have them ready the jet.”

“Does Oksana know?”

Artem pauses. “No. I steered clear of her until I’d spoken to you.”

I slap him on the back. “Good man. Go see to your family now. Make sure they’re ready for departure.”

Once Artem disappears into the bungalow, I follow voices into the kitchen.

I stop short at the sight that waits for me there.

It’s Oksana and Sutton. They’re sitting at the same table, their backs to me. Both are rigid, a taut kind of formality hanging in the air between them.

But I don’t see any spilled blood, and I don’t sense outright hostility.

Not the kind that usually comes off Oksana in waves, anyway.

“I am happy, you know.” Oksana’s voice is deep as it rings around the kitchen. I step back into the shadows, hesitant to interrupt them. “About the baby, I mean. Despite the circumstances.”

Sutton glances up from her steaming mug of coffee to squint at my mother with suspicion. “Is that your not-so-subtle way of saying that you’re happy about the baby, just not about the woman carrying said baby?”

One of Oksana’s shoulders bobs in a half-hearted attempt at denial. “I imagined someone different for Oleg, it’s true⁠—”

Sutton scowls. “If you stopped trying so hard to hate me, maybe you’d see that I’m not so bad. You might be able to see that I’m a pretty nice person actually.”

“I don’t hate you,” Oksana says, so matter-of-factly that even I do a double-take. “And I’m all too aware that you’re a nice person, Sutton.”

Sutton looks truly dumbfounded. “Then why⁠—?”

“You just might be too nice for this life.”

Sutton opens her mouth, then closes it again. She looks down at her hands, then back at Oksana. “Maybe I don’t want to be a part of this life,” she replies, an edge of fear underpinning her shaky words. “And maybe that’s a good thing. I’m not interested in the politics or the intrigue or the bloody bullshit. I don’t care about the shady deals or the never-ending schemes. I just want to live my life, find something of purpose to work towards, and raise my children in peace.”

“Exactly,” Oksana sighs. “That is exactly my point.” She points one manicured nail at Sutton. “Your naiveté, your innocence… It’s only going to cause you heartache and disappointment, Sutton. This is the Bratva life—there is no such thing as ‘peace.’ And if there ever is, it won’t last long.” She strokes the rim of her mug without actually taking a sip. “That is why I disapproved of this match. It was doomed before it even started.”

“It’s not a real match,” Sutton says softly. “Oleg and I… We’re trying to be friends. But I’m not sure we can be anything more.”

There’s a whiff of uncertainty in her voice. A stubborn, stagnant hope that refuses to budge.

I have no doubt that Oksana will have picked up on that herself. My mother doesn’t miss much.

Certainly not signs of weakness.

“But that won’t stop you from wanting more,” Oksana guesses. “If not now, then eventually. You have the look of a woman who desperately wants to cling to fairy tales.” An almost-sympathetic smile curves in the corners of Oksana’s lips when she sees how Sutton’s brow tightens. “I don’t say any of this to hurt you, Sutton.”

“Then why do you say it?”

A sigh.

A pause.

A long, lingering glance out of the window.

Then Oksana takes us all by surprise when she says, “I suppose it’s because you remind me a little of my daughter.”

White-knuckling the kitchen threshold, I lean against the cool frame.

Jesus. She just mentioned Oriana?

To a stranger?

Of her own accord?

“She had the same innocence about her,” Oksana continues. “She skipped through life believing everything would be okay.”

“Of course she believed that,” Sutton snaps, her voice getting stronger, more confident. “She was raised in a wealthy family with two parents who clearly loved her. And a brother who would have done anything for her. When you grow up with everything, it’s easier to believe that things will turn out okay. Me on the other hand… I grew up with nothing and no one. My parents weren’t really interested in being parents, and my sister and I never knew when our next meal was coming, let alone where we would be sleeping that night. I suppose you’re right about one thing: I do want to believe in fairy tales. But only because I hid beneath them on all my worst nights. They got me through tough times.”

Oksana is watching Sutton with interest. She never betrays much, but I see how she toys with the ring on her finger, twisting it back and forth, deep in thought. “You’re right: Oriana was pampered. She is—was—our little princess.” She turns her face out toward the window again. “Sometimes, I wonder what kind of woman she would have turned into, if she’d been given the chance.”

“A good one,” Sutton answers immediately.

“How do you know?” my mother asks. “You never knew her.”

“But I know people who did. Oleg. Jesse. Artem. Everyone has nothing but praise for her.”

“People often do that—praise the dead. It’s almost like they believe that death absolves a person of all their faults.”

“But you don’t agree?”

Again, my mother pauses and chooses her words carefully. “People think I’m cold. I know that. I see how they look at me. And maybe I am. But I’m a pragmatist. A realist. Oriana was no more perfect than my husband was. By Bratva standards, we had a successful marriage. We got along; we could talk to each other. But we didn’t love each other. Not the way husbands and wives are supposed to love each other.”

Sutton is frowning like she isn’t sure if this twist in the conversation is just another trap. “You were married for a long time.”

“Twenty-one years before he died,” Oksana agrees. “It worked so well because neither one of us were under any delusions as to what we were: a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”

That frown deepens. Fuck, I’d snatch it off her face if I could. I despise that frown. I hate it with every fiber of my being. “Didn’t you get lonely?”

“I found… distractions,” Oksana says cryptically. “So did my husband. He knew about my affairs and I knew about his. But we both pretended it wasn’t happening. Safer that way.”

I run a hand through my hair and hug the shadows. None of this surprises me. But ironically, it does disappoint me.

“I wonder,” muses my mother, “will you and Oleg be able to handle the same sort of arrangement?”

The mere suggestion has anger coursing up my arms until my hands are clenched into trembling fists.

I would sooner Sutton and I both remain celibate until the grave than allow her to be “distracted” by other men.

I have half a mind to storm into the kitchen and end this conversation once and for all. The only thing that stops me is the fact that I haven’t heard Sutton’s response yet.

“I… I don’t know what Oleg has in mind,” she admits, her voice dipping so low that I have to really strain to hear her. “We aren’t together. Our old contract no longer applies. He is free to be with whomever he chooses.”

“As are you,” Oksana points out.

“Technically, I guess. But… men are messy. So are relationships,” Sutton says. “I’d rather just keep to myself and focus on my baby.”

“Will you still feel that way when Oleg is out entertaining his women?”

I’m grinding my teeth so hard that I might be in danger of being discovered from the sound of shattering enamel. But neither woman so much as glances in my direction.

“I have no hold on him,” Sutton murmurs. “He’s not mine to make demands of. Nor to keep.”

Oksana shakes her head, a soft smile playing across her lips. “Oh, dear. It’s too late for you already, isn’t it?”

I have no fucking clue what that’s supposed to mean. But before Sutton can answer or Oksana can clarify, my phone starts ringing, revealing my position by the door.

Both women jerk towards me.

I reject the call and stride into the kitchen as though I’ve just arrived. Wiping my face clean of emotion, I address them both like I haven’t spent the last fifteen minutes eavesdropping on their conversation.

“We’re leaving tomorrow morning for Palm Beach,” I announce.

Oksana raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Boris is in the ICU. Signs indicate that he was attacked in his home, beaten to a bloody pulp, and then hit across the back of the head.”

Sutton claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God…!” Her sweet eyes turn immediately sympathetic despite everything Boris did to her.

Oksana’s cheeks are hollowed and taut, her skin pale. “Is this real?”

“By all accounts, it is. I have to go home and deal with this. The cops are sniffing around.”

“Are you okay?” Sutton asks, her fingers twitching towards me.

She doesn’t actually reach out. She doesn’t touch me. No matter how bad both of us want exactly that.

“Are we taking the jet out?” Oksana asks.

“You will be,” I tell her. “Along with Artem and his family. I will be piloting the yacht back to Palm Beach with Sutton.”

Sutton’s eyes widen. “Won’t that take longer?”

“It will. But there are things you and I need to discuss.”

Her lips tighten. She nods slowly but she doesn’t ask any follow-up questions.

Except for one.

“Tomorrow, did you say?”

Her eyes are welling with tears already and I know exactly why.

“You’ll have to say your goodbyes tonight, princess,” I murmur. “There’ll be no time tomorrow.”

“E-excuse me,” she stammers, a tear rolling down her cheek. “If you need me, I’ll be at the cottage.”

She heads off, hiding behind her waterfall of hair. Oksana and I both stare after her, watching her silhouette get smaller and smaller as she follows the garden path to the cottage. The lights are still on in the main living room, so at least she’ll be able to say a proper goodbye to Jesse, if not Teo.

When she’s gone, my mother turns to me. “How much of our conversation did you hear?”

I don’t look at her. “Enough to wonder what your motives are.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that my only motive is your happiness?”

“Probably not.”

Oksana sighs. “I know I have not always been the best mother. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“I know.” I can still hear her anguished screams on the dock as smoke and fire filled my nostrils. “I wasn’t really unconscious, you know. The day of the explosion, when I was thrown off the boat… I heard you screaming for her. You wouldn’t have been able to make those sounds if you didn’t love her.”

Oksana shakes her head. Her eyes are dry but they’re hazy, distant, seeing things that aren’t actually there. At least, not there anymore. “I didn’t see Oriana. I didn’t know where she was. But I did see your body, lying there, bent and broken. I thought you were dead, you know.” She lifts her gaze to me. “I wasn’t just screaming for her, son. I was screaming for you, too.”

I sit down heavily into Sutton’s chair, the seat still warm from her body heat. “It should have been me that day. I should have been the one to die.”

“But you weren’t.” Oksana’s voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “And it would be poor repayment to waste your life away now.”

Frowning, I look up at her. “What are you trying to say?”

“Only this. You got the chance that Oriana didn’t. You got to live. So live.”

She picks up her coffee mug and leaves me to the solitude of the kitchen, her words echoing in my ears.

As far as Oksana is concerned, that might be as close to a blessing as I’m ever going to receive.