Page 113 of The Enemy Protector
I don’t know how to process what I know to be true.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes. The nausea is overpowering.
Nelson steps close, his hand grabbing my elbow. He would never touch me.
He knows I’m on the verge of losing my shit.
He says nothing as he guides me back to the door, pulling his hand back before we step out.
I don’t know how I do it, but we climb into the back seat.
My hand presses flat on my stomach like that can stop the churning.
Nelson gets in and says nothing.
I breathe. In, out. In, out.
My father's empire. My inheritance. The thing I have been preparing my whole adult life to run. Convinced myself the bad parts were victimless. Just standard business in the underworld.
There are people in those containers. Parts of them.
This has been running for years. This isn’t new. This isn’t Yuri.
My father.
I don't know why I'm surprised. I knew there were operations I didn't know about. I had made a careful choice to believe they were tolerable. I told myself the Baranov empire didn't run guns or traffic women and that made it acceptable. I had decided there was a line, and we were on the right side of it.
The drive is quiet. No one talks. Nelson is texting. Sergei. Checking in as usual.
I find myself anxious to get home. I need him to hold me. Last night he chased away the ghosts. I need that from him. I’ve never needed anyone, but I need my husband.
He’ll know what to do.
Nelson walks me inside and then disappears like he always does. I leave my purse and backpack in the foyer, not bothering to take it to my room.
My legs are moving without me telling them to.
I see light coming from under the door of his office. Relief washes over me.
I knock softly.
"Come in."
He's at his desk. Jacket off, sleeves rolled and his eyes on his computer screen. He looks at me. I don’t know how much Nelson told him.
He gestures to the chair across from his.
I sit, my hands in my lap. I’ve managed to control the nausea, but I’m still trembling.
"Tell me what you know about Baranov Medical Supply," I say.
He doesn't look surprised.
He already knows.
“You know,” I whisper. Hurt. How could he not tell me? Did he think I knew? That I approved the vile practice of harvesting organs?
"Yuri mentioned the operation when he proposed an alliance," Sergei says. "He wanted to use my port infrastructure for the logistics. I declined."
