As I assumed, almost everyone from the Bratva's top circle is here. Dimitri, the head of security, stands next to Roman's desk, while Mikhail sits in the chair near the window. He oversees transport operations for the Bratva's drugs, and handles information extraction. In other words: torture, when necessary.
Sergei, the pakhan's half-brother, leans against the wall by the door, flipping a knife blade in his hands. He negotiates with suppliers and buyers. And kills them, occasionally.
"Fyodor's daughter, Ruslana, has been found dead," Maxim, the second-in-command, says, placing a yellow folder in front of Roman. "The body was discovered in a dumpster in the suburbs. Some homeless man stumbled upon it."
"Cause of death?" Roman asks.
"Suspected overdose."
"Ruslana was a good kid. Sophomore in college. Doesn't sound like her to get mixed up with drugs." Roman nods toward the folder. "When did she go missing?"
"Last month. Her father said she went to a store and never came back."
"Did he file a missing person's report?"
"Yes. Nothing came of it. It was as if she fell off the earth. But that's not the strangest part." Maxim pulls a piece of paper from the folder and passes it to Roman. "Here's the medical examiner's report. She was high on heroin, but they also found traces of an unidentified substance. I pulled some strings and had the results cross-checked against the pills from the dealer at Ural. Same thing."
Roman scans the contents briefly. "You think the heroin is a cover-up?"
"Probably," Maxim nods.
"Drugs aren't ice cream. You can't just whip up a new flavour in someone's kitchen." Roman drums his fingers on the desk and looks at Mikhail, who sits to my right. "Did you get anything from the dealer Pavel caught?"
"He just repeated what he told Pasha," Mikhail says. "A friend gave him the pills in exchange for debt forgiveness. He didn't know where his friend got them. We have nothing—just the friend's name. But it seems he's disappeared. Yuri has men keeping an eye on his place. As soon as he surfaces, they'll bring him in."
I've seen Mikhail work over a guy before. Torture is an art to him. If he couldn't get more from the dealer, there wasn't anything left to extract.
Roman sets the folder aside and leans forward, elbows on the desk. "Now, onto the second issue. What the fuck is wrong with you all—collecting random unconscious women and taking them home with you?"
All heads turn toward Sergei, sitting to my right.
"Oh, don't look at me!" he laughs. "I got mine years ago. I'm done."
"And don't we all remember the monumental fuck-up that followed?" Roman snaps. "Speculations are still rampant all over Mexico about the Sandoval compound. Some people don't believe the government's story about the earthquake. They think it was a meteorite strike instead."
"Well, since Pasha doesn't know shit about explosives, I'd say we're good," Sergei smirks at me. "Wanna share something about the girl Roman told me you have at home?"
Everyone's attention immediately switches to me.
"I have no idea who she is. She won't talk," I say. "But when I found her, she was spiked with the same crap that's being peddled at Ural."
"I need updates on this new drug," Roman says. "I want to know who's making it and why. And I want them dealt with. Fyodor's daughter was a good kid. Everyone involved in her death will pay. In blood."
He jerks his head toward the door, meeting over. Kostya and Mikhail leave first, and the rest of us follow.
Crossing the foyer toward the front door, I hear high-pitched screams. I turn and spot Kostya cowering in the corner, hands over his head. Olga and Valentina have him pinned, crying and smacking him with kitchen rags. Looks like they still haven't forgiven him for breaking up with both of them. Poor bastard had to move out the same day he ended things to avoid bodily harm. I shake my head and leave him to it, stepping outside.
My phone rings as I get into my car. It's the doc.
"Where are you?"
"Just leaving the pakhan's house, heading to Ural," I answer. "Why?"
"I spoke with a friend who's a psychologist. She works with assault victims. I explained the situation and the girl's behaviour."
"And?" I switch to hands-free and put the car in reverse. "Did she have any insight?"
"She wasn't surprised. She said the girl has developed an attachment to you. Some assault victims avoid men entirely, especially strangers—or even family. Others latch onto whoever saved them. They attach to their protector, sometimes a male."
"I don't understand."
"The trauma of sexual assault transforms a person's sense of safety, their perception of the world, and their relationships. Looks like she associates safety with you. In her eyes, you've become her 'safe place.'"
"I didn't save her. She saved herself. Ran out of that building."
"Realistically, yes. But in her mind, you're the one who saved her. We don't know how long she was held captive, how long she endured assault. You taking her home may have been the first time she's felt safe in days. Weeks. Maybe months."
"Jesus fuck."
"Go home. Talk to her. She needs professional help, and she needs her family," he says gravely. "And she shouldn't be left alone."
I hang up and immediately call Ivan, sending him to Ural. It's an hour drive from Roman's to my place, and the whole way, I can't stop thinking about the doc's words. I should have stayed with her. What if she woke up and was terrified because I was gone? No one in their right mind leaves a girl in that state, alone, in a stranger's apartment. I wasn't thinking.
I hit the steering wheel with my hand and press the gas pedal harder.