Page 18 of Wayward

“I have a friend who took care of that for me. He flew on my passport, so if I’m ever asked, I have all the proof I need.”

“How the hell does someone fly on your passport?”

The look I got, like I was an idiot, made me instantly feel like one.

“Maks, people do these things all the time. You need to get out more.”

Clearly.

“But really, believe me when I tell you it is handled.”

“Not that my father would ever even ask you where you were at any given time.”

“No. He would not,” Sava agreed.

Years ago, Sava’s brother had been close to death. At that time, my friend had made the decision to go see his sibling even though the two had been estranged for many years. When Sava made the trip, little did anyone know that the elder Chaban would rise like a phoenix from his deathbed.

Once Ivan Chaban was well—restored, many said, through Sava’s faith and determination alone—Ivan let my father know that his brother, who’d been cut off from the family, had been returned to the fold. This meant that Sava was free to do whatever he wanted. Basically, Sava didn’t have to work another day in his life. He was no longer on our payroll or anyone else’s. Through my taking care of his family when they needed it so Sava could show his brother his true love and devotion, he became free of everyone. He worked now because he got bored doing nothing, but it was understood that he was, without question, untouchable. As vicious and bloodthirsty as my father was, Ivan Chaban, a rich, terrifyingly connected oligarch, made him look like a saint.

“Stop worrying,” he ordered. “All is well with me.”

“Okay.”

“Ask me why I set the car on fire.”

“But I know why,” I said, exhaling deeply. “You did that to hide the evidence that I wasn’t dead.”

He nodded. “That’s right. It seemed reasonable that the crash could have led to a fire, so I went ahead and did that, stopping short of blowing it up.”

“Because an explosion would have gotten rid of all trace of the corpses.”

“Correct.”

“But even with a smoldering skeleton, what did you do about DNA? Or dental records?”

Sava rolled his eyes and groaned. “This is why, as I’ve told you a million times, getting rid of all the bodies is not something we do. You have to keep some so you have cadavers when you need them.”

“Of course,” I agreed, tired suddenly. “You’re always right.”

“There was enough blood on the bones that didn’t burn, that you could be identified.”

“How the hell did you do that?”

“Your shirt was soaked,” he explained. “I wrung it out and left quite a bit of blood.”

“What about my teeth, my bones?”

“This goes back to the cadavers,” Sava explained, squinting at me like I was slow. “And once people sign official documents, no matter what you see in the movies and on those ridiculous police shows my wife loves, things are not so easily questioned or overturned.”

“So you made me unimpeachably dead.”

His smile was smug. “I did. Yes.”

“So it would be good if I stayed that way.”

“Precisely,” he told me like I was a child. “You understand. Very good.”

I was quiet for a bit.