Page 16 of The Enemy Protector
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” he says. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
I want to ask from whom, and what specifically, and through which channels that information traveled, but I don’t. Not yet. "Come in. Can I get you a drink? I’ll send someone to inform my father.”
Anton picks up on my cue and gestures to one of the other guards who quickly disappears down the hall. I lead Yuri into one of the sitting rooms. It’s formal with a view of the garden. This room was one of my mother’s favorites. I rarely step foot in it because it stirs up memories I try to keep buried. I gesture for him to take a seat. Once he does, I take the seat farthest from him.
A housekeeper brings tea. Yuri takes his with sugar and tells me about his flight. I listen and watch him, judging him. Looking forthe reason he’s really in New York. The risk he took to come into the country has to be worth the reward.
Is it really about saying goodbye to a man he doesn’t know?
I don’t think so.
He asks about my studies. The city. My social life. Each question is normal. Expected.
“It must be difficult to keep up with your education while managing the business,” he says. “When I learned of Uncle Mikhail’s illness, I knew I had to come. It took a little time to secure entry into the country, but I came as quickly as possible.”
"It's been manageable," I say.
"You're modest." He fixes his eyes on me while offering a smile. "Your father tells me you've been running the business almost single-handedly since his diagnosis."
My father told him that.He’s spoken with my father, and yet my father never mentioned him to me. "He's exaggerating. He's still very much directing strategy. I'm handling operational details."
That’s a lie, but for now, I want him to believe my father is still in charge. There’s a certain protection in being perceived as naive.
He gives me a look that passes for admiration. “The construction arm alone is complex. Contractors, inspectors, city contracts. A portfolio like that takes oversight,” he says lightly. “How many properties are in the hotel group now?”
"Three," I say, "with a fourth in development."
“And how far along is the development?”
I pick up my tea. "Early stages still. A lot of moving parts." I smile over the rim. "You know how it is."
He does. The Baranov family has a similar business in Moscow. I’ve never thought much about it. I know Yuri runs the operation there, but I was under the impression it is relatively small. I don’t like how interested he suddenly is in the operations here. If I weren’t paying attention, I might mistake this for conversation.
My instincts say otherwise.
It could be nothing. Idle chitchat while he waits for my father.
Or it could be something else entirely.
He changes direction so smoothly it almost makes me doubt what just happened. He tells me about Moscow and the business there. He’s entirely at ease. Like we’re long-lost family.
Dinner is the three of us with my father at the head of the table, Yuri to his right, and me across. The housekeeper serves. Nobody mentions that my father barely eats.
My father and Yuri talk about Russia, names and loyalties old enough to shut me out without ever saying so. I know we send a percentage of our earnings to Moscow to support the family there.
My father is more animated than I’ve seen him in weeks. His eyes are brighter. Real joy.
Yuri is blood. A living link to the brother my father lost. A living reminder of the brother my father doesn’t discuss but still grieves.
I watch my father’s face and think Yuri is studying him too. Measuring. Assessing. My father either doesn’t see it or doesn’t care.
I eat my dinner and listen to everything while pretending to hear nothing.
"The old families are navigating interesting times," Yuri says, refilling his wine. "New York especially. So much has changed.” He gets a look on his face like he’s remembering better times. "The traditional models of succession are changing. People underestimate how much stability that offers. Especially during a transition."
He doesn't look at me when he says it. He doesn’t have to.
My father says something noncommittal. I take a sip of water.
