Die for Me (Killing Eve #3) - Luke Jennings Page 0,28

never so much as looked at a woman…”

“You looked at me. And I looked back.”

“And what did you see?”

“You, pchelka.”

6

At 5 p.m. Asmat Dzabrati’s family are contacted by officials of Pokrovskaya Hospital with a request to collect his body. There is, apparently, no suggestion that the Pakhan died of anything other than natural causes, although there is some confusion about the fact that two ambulance teams appear to have attended the bathhouse where he suffered a fatal heart attack. This is Russia, however, and such misunderstandings occur. Pokrovskaya is a busy public hospital, and the duty physician who certified Dzabrati dead on arrival from the Elizarova banya, and issued the requisite certificates, saw no reason to authorize a post-mortem examination. Apart from anything else, it appears that the mortuary is full. All of this is relayed to us by Dasha, following her long and difficult phone conversation with Dzabrati’s tearful ex-wife Yelena. Dasha then convenes an emergency meeting of the three other Kupchino Bratva brigadiers, who arrive within the hour.

Kris, Oxana and I have dinner in the kitchen. After winding herself around me like a cat all afternoon, and practically dragging me into bed, Oxana is now in a simmering fury. When we sit down to eat, she sips Dasha’s vintage Riesling, announces that it tastes like petrol, and helps herself to champagne from the fridge. I know better than to ask why she’s so angry, but I’m certain that it’s because she hasn’t been invited to attend Dasha’s gangster conclave. Though why she thinks she should be invited, I have no idea. So as Kris and I dart anxious glances at each other, Oxana spoons down her borscht with sour cherries, scours out the bowl with a hunk of bread, flips her spoon into the sink, and walks out without a word.

“Sorry,” I say. “Again.”

Kris nods. “There are things Dasha doesn’t tell me, but I’m not stupid. I know that you and Oxana were involved in what happened today. I’m not going to ask you about it, but I just want you to know that I know.”

“OK. Thank you.”

“Are you all right? Oxana’s obviously dealing with it in her own way, but—”

“I think I’m OK. I’m not sure.”

“Was it awful?”

“Not really. If I’m honest.”

Kris peels a banana. “She loves you. You know that, don’t you?”

“I wonder. There are times when I think that she just conceivably might. Then there are others when it’s hard to believe that she even likes me.”

“Eve, you prove to Oxana that she exists. You’re the only reality that she has outside herself. It’s that basic.”

“You think her insecurity’s that deep?”

“I do, yeah. You’re going soon, aren’t you?”

“I guess.”

“I know. Dasha’s got your passports and money in our room. She’s had them for two days. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, Kris. How do you feel about Dasha becoming the Pakhan?”

Kris shrugs her narrow shoulders. “It’s what she wants, although I’ve never understood why. I mean, fuck. Those bratva guys. They’re jackals. You take your eyes off them for a second, and they rip you apart.” She looks away. “I have a lot to be grateful for, Eve, truly. And unlike Zoya, I don’t have to sleep with some horrible old guy to support myself. But I worry. I worry all the time.”

“About?”

“About this life. About the vorovskoy mir. Gang leaders don’t grow old.” She winds the banana skin around her finger. “I love Dasha and I don’t want to see her die.”

“I’d say she can look after herself pretty well, having seen her in action.”

“At the factory, you mean?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up. And we did make a mess. I still feel bad about that.”

“Don’t. The whole place burned down earlier this week. There was literally nothing left, so the insurance claim will be massive. But bring your glass. There’s something I want to show you.”

She takes me into the bedroom she shares with Dasha. I’ve never been in here before and I look around with amazement. The bed is a four-poster with purple damask curtains, the walls are decorated with framed posters of Amazonian women riding dinosaurs and giant dragonflies, the shelves hold velveteen unicorns, Beanie Babies and statuettes of Marvel Comics heroines.

“This look is more you than Dasha, isn’t it?”

“She said I could have it how I wanted. What do you think?”

“Cool. I’m guessing your side of the bed is the one without the gun.”

Kris shoves the butt of the Serdyukov automatic under the pillow. “You guess right. I