Page 44 of Sexting the Bratva Beast

I nod. I don’t trust myself to speak because someone beat the life out of this once-vibrant woman, and I’m not going to let them get away with it.

I finish arranging the flowers in the vase, because I promised, and because I can’t let Cartier see how badly Elena’s presence in the refuge has affected me. Then I make an excuse that I have business to attend to, and head outside.

My feet barely touch the bottom step when my sister Victoria picks up my call.

“I need you to find out everything you can about Elena Midori.”

There’s a pause, during which I can picture my sister rolling her eyes while she types the name into her computer.

“Elena Midori,” her voice speaks to me through the handset. “As in the woman who almost married our brother.”

“The very same.”

She sucks in a deep breath. “Okay, Andrej, what’s this all about?”

I ignore the question. “How soon can you get the information to me?”

“Depends what you’re looking for.” I hear the resignation in my sister’s voice. She knows me well enough to understand when to fight and when to back down and just do what I want.

“Personal stuff. Husband. Kids. Family. Lovers.”

“Give me thirty minutes.” She ends the call.

Twelve minutes later, I’m pulling weapons out of my apartment’s safe when the information pings through on my phone.

Victoria has been thorough as always. I skim the information until I find what I’m looking for. The name of Elena’s husband.

Michael Swinney.

Attached to his name is a list of criminal charges, all of which he seems to have somehow dodged serving time for. Assault. Sexual assault. Domestic abuse. Attempted homicide.

The guy is a walking talking fucking shit ball.

I can picture him sucking up to the cops investigating the claims that he was abusing his wife. Men like Swinney know how to play the system, and the system makes it too fucking easy for them to get away with it. He probably threatened to kill Elena if she took the charges further, and she was so damaged that she believed him.

Guys like him need to learn some respect.

Failing that, they need to suffer.

11

CARTIER

The new resident,Elena, helps me prepare the dining room for lunch, moving around on silent feet, hunched in on herself as if trying to remain invisible. The song ‘Beautiful Trauma’ by Pink comes on the radio, and her lips follow the lyrics soundlessly without paying any attention to the meaning.

I don’t mention her connection to Leonid and Andrej. We save conversations about the past for the scheduled therapy sessions when our guests are in a safe controlled environment.

But I saw the shock in Andrej’s eyes when he recognized Elena.

Like all the women who seek refuge in our shelter, her life has taken its toll on her looks. Even so, Elena is undeniably beautiful. With large brown eyes, chestnut hair that only needs some time and care to regain its previous vitality, and high cheekbones, she must’ve turned heads when she knew Leonid.

As Gianna’s friend, I’m curious to know what happened between them. But as a professional, I worry that Elena will have reservations about opening up knowing Andrej’s connection to the shelter.

I text him after lunch, but he doesn’t reply.

I try again an hour later, and still nothing.

“What’s going on?” Mika comes bounding into the office carrying a stack of freshly laundered, crisp white sheets. At my vacant stare, she adds, “You’re staring at your phone with frown lines, and you’re giving off enough anxiety vibes to make the cat run away.”