Chapter 13 –

As predicted, the two lovers slept like the dead for whatever had been left of the day and all the night after it. They owed their salute to Vladimir's phone, warning him they were due to go to the clinic today. She didn't remember him setting it on but she had been half asleep already when they had gone to bed. He had helped her putting on some cream for her bruises and some disinfectant on her cuts. Her right hand would have to wait.

"Ugh." She groaned once her brain got back in working order. In this case, it meant it had started cataloguing everything that hurt. Which was everything. Everything!

Her back, her side, her hips, her neck, her shoulders, her head, her elbows… Even her breasts hurt!

The only place numb in her body was her right hand, which wasn't a good sign…

"I'm going to die…" She complained when the other side of the bed stirred. Vladimir tended to sleep on his belly. She had no idea how he could manage that without smothering himself.

His head turned her way, still buried into his pillow, letting one eye rest on her. She stifled a laugh. Let it never be known by anyone else – for that poor soul would have to die – but Vladimir Ranskahov, Russian menace and bogeyman of mobsters all around, was cute when he woke up.

It took him some time to really awake. In the meantime, his blue eyes – or in this case the only blue eye out of the pillow – were blurry with sleep. His hair was a proper mess and his baby face didn't have that permanent tough look on it yet. He basically looked like a kid who didn't want to go to school. She wanted to hug him. She didn't. First, because she was hurting too much, but mostly because he would be pissed if he knew.

"I'm right behind you." He mumbled into the pillow. It had taken her some time but she was getting the hang of understanding his particular brand of pillow talk.

"Pussy."

A desperate groan answered her. She was driving him crazy in the morning. It took him forever to wake, not being able to function until he had his coffee. She was awake the second any kind of sound, like a phone ringing, echoed around the room.

They got out of bed, getting ready for the day.

They took their time eating breakfast, his was mostly coffee and whatever fruit he could scavenge from the fridge, hers was another affaire. She took hot cocoa, with real milk, not water, and buttered bread.

He was mocking her love for Nesquick when the doorbell rang. Someone banged on the door right after. She looked at her man, an eyebrow raised in question. Usually, the concierge warned him whenever someone was coming. They got their answer soon enough.

"Ranskahov!" A male voice called. "Police. Open up!"

Camille's eyes widened. Vladimir just sighed.

"Stay here." He told her as he stood up. He was still in his sweatpants, no shirt. That didn't seem to bother him as he went to open the door. "Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney!" He greeted whoever was at the door. "To what do I owe the honor?" She didn't know how he did it, being so calm and composed, cocky even, in the face of the law he spurned so often.

"Cut the crap, Ranskahov." The officer replied with some resignation in his voice. Obviously, it was a game they played often. "Can I come in?"

"Do you have a warrant?" Was her lover's reply, said in such an innocent tone she had to stifle a laugh.

A long-suffering sigh answered it. Camille held back a smile. Her man was a pain in the ass. She could relate with the officer.

"A dozen of Irishmen were found hanging on lampposts around their street this morning. One was flayed beyond recognition. All but him were shot dead or had their throat slit before they were hanged. Any idea why is that?"

Camille shuddered, putting her toast back down, not hungry anymore. On mornings like these, she tended to forget: he was the most violent man she had ever met.

"I'd say they pissed off someone they shouldn't have." Was Vladimir's nonplussed answer.

"You don't seem surprised."

"I'm good at controlling my facial expression."

Plus he wasn't surprised at all. He had done it. Well, he probably had his men doing the hanging part since he had been with her last night. The flaying however, that was him. She'd bet her life on it. She didn't care though. Not really. The son of a bitch deserved death.

"Right." The cop replied, not believing him either. "Word on the street is that your fellow countrymen were roaming Hell's Kitchen two days ago, searching for a girl, kidnapped by the Irish. Wouldn't know anything about that either, do you?"

"Word on the street also was that the Mets would win their last game. We know how that went."

Another exasperated sigh echoed in the corridor. The cop was losing his time here.

"Come on, Ranskahov. My mum lives on that street you know. She is going to have nightmares about it for a while. Do you have any idea what it looks like, a corpse hanging by a noose made around his own slit throat?"

"I'd bet it's disgusting. Maybe your mum should change street. Word on my street is that these Irishmen were looking for trouble."

Camille concurred on that last point. She shrugged a little to put Vladimir's shirt back into place on her shoulders. He complained it was his favorite shirt. It would be hers too, up until it wouldn't smell like him anymore. Then, she'd steal his next favorite shirt.

"Okay, be that way then. See if I care. Where were you last night? Where was your brother?"

At this, Vladimir let a derisive snort out.

"Fuck if I know where Anatoly was. He is a grown man, you know. I was here, sleeping like a baby."

"You often do kickboxing while you sleep, Ranskahov? What happened to your face? And to your hip?"

"I fell down the stairs. Clumsy me." His voice was laced with disdain and mockery.

"Do you have an alibi for last night? If not, I'll have to take you down to the precinct, to my utter and unending sorrow." It might have been ironic, but he didn't sound pleased at all with the idea of bringing back the Russian menace with him.

"Sure I have. Camille," Vladimir called. "Love, can you come here please?"

She gulped. She knew this would happen eventually. She knew that, at some point, she would have to face the cops. And lie to their faces.

Shit.

"Sure." She replied anyway. What was she supposed to do? She made sure the shirt and her hair covered most of herself, particularly her worst injuries, like her side, neck and hand. The bruises on her face, she couldn't help.

As she arrived at the entryway, limping, the cop, a black man around Vladimir's age, stared at her with wide eyes. He recovered quickly thought.

"She fell down the stairs with you?" He asked the Russian, decidedly not happy to be taken for a fool.

"Yes. You know, sometime a wild ride is a little too wild. And we are both very clumsy."

Detective Mahoney ignored this last bout of sass to focus on Camille.

"Hello, miss... ?" He asked.

"Lagardère. Camille Lagardère." He clearly wondered what a French girl, obviously new here with such an accent, was doing with a Russian ruffian in the middle of Hell's Kitchen.

"Hello Miss Lagardère. May I ask you to confirm Mister Ranskahov's words about last night?"

"He was here." She nodded. "With me. He spent the whole night here, sleeping," she confirmed. It wasn't even a lie.

The cop sighed once again.

"Do you have anything to say about the hanged men on 45th?" He asked her.

"I didn't know anything about it until you told Vladimir."

And it wasn't even a lie either. She hadn't known he'd had them hanged. She'd just known he'd had them killed.

"Alright then, I'll leave you two to your..." He waved an exasperated hand in front of their bruised faces. "I'll be back, Ranskahov."

Then he was gone, Vladimir slamming the door at his back, muttering some kind of unpleasantness in Russian.

"Let's go to the clinic." He simply told her.

The clinic consultation went smoothly. Dr Meyers was a good doctor, gentle but thorough. After an X-Ray, he fixed the bones in her hand and set the cast. He did an X-Ray of her ribs too, just to be sure. Once he had reaffirmed that she should take it slow for the next week, he informed her he would come to see her in seven days before sending her on her way.

Back at Vladimir's, she made him write a list of things she needed from her place, small things mostly: phone charger, face cream, brushes, conditioner... Some other, more embarrassing things: underwear, tampons...

He smirked and she blushed. She gave him her keys and he was off, telling her that he might be gone for a while, some business to attend to. He had a meeting with Veles Taxi's managers at 6pm and he wasn't sure he would come by the apartment before then. Basically, she had a whole day alone to look forward to.

"Will you be okay on your own?" He asked as he brought her the sick day kit: a laptop, earbuds, her bag they had picked up at the garage on their way to the clinic, a blanket, pillows, the TV's controller and the PlayStation's one. She was not okay. She was already fed up with being stuck on a couch. Worse thing was, she couldn't text, she couldn't play video games. Basically, she couldn't do much with her good hand in a cast... She groaned.

"I'll manage." She said anyway. She wasn't a puppy, she was a grown ass woman. He laughed at her disgruntled face.

"If you need anything, call Piotr. His number is on your phone. He knows he is on babysitting duty." She groaned. Great, more men to know she was a fucking cripple!

Vladimir kissed her forehead and went for the door, grabbing his car key on his way out. She stared at his ass.

"Be careful out there." She said as goodbye, trying to scroll her contact list on her phone. She needed to call Alexei.

"I will. Oh", he stopped and turned around. "I forgot. Helena is coming this afternoon." Helena was his cleaning lady. "Don't shoot her."

She watched, aghast, as he got out the gun he always kept on the back of his belt and put it on the coffee table.

"Just in case." Was all he said before getting out the door.

She watched the gun, frowning. Morality aside, was he aware she didn't have the first clue on how to use it?

Well, it least she had it. Shrugging thoughts of the gun away, she called Alexei first. She'd guessed he knew not to count on her today but there were details she had to see with him.

"How are you, Cami?" Was his first question. She told him she was fine, sort of. She recited all her major injuries and explained she was stuck on the couch for the time being.

"The doctor said a week, maybe more. And my right hand is in a cast."

That was the main reason she called. Once the doctor would allow her to move, and she sure as hell hoped it wouldn't be in a month, would she be able to work with her cast? She was willing to try, sure she would get crazy if she had to stay home for a month. The main reason for her sudden need to move, she kept to herself. She was scared to go outside alone and she knew that, the more time passed, the harder it would be to do so.

When you fell down a horse, you better get right back on the saddle or risk never riding it again...

Alex, God blessed his caring soul, dowsed her hope right away.

"You're not working as long as you got this cast on, girl. One, because you'd be useless. Two, because I want you to rest and come back to me in perfect shape. Three, because we both know Vladimir will tie you to a chair himself before he'd let you come back in less than stellar health. I'll take an extra in the meantime, don't worry. Your job will still be waiting for you when you come back. If you want to."

After thanking him profusely, swearing up and down she'd do her best to get better fast, and assuring him she would indeed want the job back as soon as possible, she hung up. And sighed. She was already bored.

Time to call Mom, she guessed. That would get her busy for a few hours.

"Hi Mom," she greeted when the phone was answered.

"Hi honey!" Her mom exclaimed. "I'm so happy you called! How are you?"

"Fine," she replied out of habit. "Eerrr, sort of. I broke my right hand."

"What?!" She had to get the phone away from her hear. "How?" Her mom asked then, with less force.

"I..." Uh... She hadn't thought this trough. "I fell down the stairs." She had to refrain from hitting her own head. She was just as bad as Vladimir.

"Really?! Mimi..." She sighed. "You've got to watch your steps." The girl rolled her eyes. Yeah, mum, I'm still in need of a baby stroller... "Do you want me to call your aunt for help? How do you manage all alone?"

"No!" She exclaimed. Then, she tried again, quieter this time. "No, please don't bother Auntie. I'm fine."

"How can you be fine? How do you do your cleaning? How do you do your cooking?" A pause. "No, look Mimi, I know you're independent and tough as nails but you've got to get help. If not for yourself then do it for me. I won't rest easy until..." Camille cut the rant short, sighing.

"No, Mum. Look, I'm fine. I..." She hesitated, about to open a can of worms. She braced herself. "I'm not alone. I'm living at a friend's for now. Until I get better."

"A friend?" Her mum repeated, skeptical. "What friend?" She marked another pause. "Mimi, is it a boy?!" She squealed, excited now, like the gossip she was.

After she had lost Thomas, her mum had been devastated too. She had loved Thomas like a family member. Also, she was her mother. Her daughter's pain was her own. After a while, she had tried to talk to her, to tell her she was too young to stay alone for the rest of her life. That Thomas wouldn't have wanted it. She'd known it to be true but she hadn't been ready at the time. That's why she knew to prepare for an interrogation once she would answer that last question. She took a deep breath.

"Yes, Mom. It's a man." She couldn't, even for the sake of tranquility, qualify Vladimir as a boy. Her mother, being the perceptive, nosy gossip she was, noticed.

"A man," she repeated. After a few seconds she kept going, prudent. "Something you want to say to me, Mimi?"

"It's... complicated."

And wasn't that the understatement of the year?

Her relationship with Vladimir was easy in some way. Things flowed naturally between them. They didn't fight on every step of the way like she had with Thomas at the beginning. A lot of things went on the right path without words being needed. However, he was a Russian mobster king. And yes, that complicated things. Greatly.

"How exactly?" Her mother was starting to get that something was afoot here. She was worse than a hound once she had smelled something fishy.

"It's... Well, he is older for starters." She tried to go on the less slippery path for her and one of her mother pet-peeves.

"How much older, Mimi..."

That was it. She had her tone that said, spill the beans or else, there would be hell to pay.

"34."

"Ten years older?! Girl, one day I would like you to explain to me why none of my daughters ever chose the easy path... So, okay, he is older. What's his job?"

Fuck...

"Import-export?" she tried.

"Don't ask me, Mimi." Now, she could clearly hear reproach in her voice. She knew his job. She wasn't dating a complete stranger. She knew his fucking job. She just couldn't tell! That would be a freezing day in hell, the day she'd tell her mother: "Hey mom, you know what? I'm dating a gangster who has flayed a man alive." Right... She wasn't suicidal yet.

"Alright, he's leading a taxi company."

"You are lying to me but, okay, let's pretend I believe you."

"I'm not!" She wasn't. Not exactly. "Look, if I'm still involved with him by the time you come here, I'll..." She would what? Introduce him? The man had almost Russian Mafia written on his face... Now that she thought of it, it was actually written on his chest… Great… "We'll see. For now, let's stop at: I'm fine. He's taking care of me while my hand is healing and I don't need you to call Auntie."

God... She just realized... She hadn't thought about it, so happy she was that her family was coming here... Come December, her mum will realize she worked in a bar. She would want to see the place. The place in the seediest part of Hell's Kitchen filled with Russian mobsters... She was SO fucked... Why in the world her lies couldn't, just for once, not come back and bite her in the ass?

"Okay, okay. I yield. For now."

"Thanks, Mum."

"So does your hand hurt? Do you need me to send you some medicine?"