Chapter 21
21
Fiona
T ension's thick during the ride to Dante and Mom's penthouse. No one speaks, and I stare anxiously out the window, wondering what I'll say when Mom and I are alone.
We pull up to the building and into the garage. The SUV stops beside the elevator.
My stomach twists as Dante gets out. He reaches in for my mom, helps her out, and I follow.
The elevator doors open, and a man I've never seen before steps in front of us.
Dante pushes in front of Mom and me, sneering, "Who are you?"
A man with an Irish accent answers, "We're filling the holes."
Dante's face darkens.
The man holds out his hand. "I'm Patrick."
Dante glances at his hand, hesitating.
Patrick pulls it back. "Suit yourself. You can't go up there right now. We're pulling recording devices. "
Mom's face pales. "Recording devices?"
Dante seethes, "What is this nonsense? And how did you get into our home?"
Patrick crosses his arms. "You'll have to direct your questions at the boss. My job is to follow orders."
Dante snarls, "Let me guess, the boss is Kirill Petrov?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what are those orders?" Dante asks.
Patrick states, "To sweep your penthouse. So far, we've found four devices. We can't allow you to go up until we're assured there are no other threats."
Dante grinds his molars.
Patrick points to the SUV. "I suggest you return to the vehicle until we deem your penthouse clear."
Dante doesn't move.
Patrick turns toward me. "Ma'am, your husband wouldn't want you standing in the cold. Please get into the vehicle."
My stomach flips. Mom and Dante both shoot me disappointing looks.
Patrick points to the SUV, pleading, "Please. It's for your safety."
Horror fills Mom's expression. She blinks hard, muttering, "What have you gotten yourself into, Fiona?"
I don't answer. I open the door and slide across the seat.
She slides in next to me.
Dante shuts the door, remaining outside. He continues talking to Patrick .
Mom turns toward me. "Look at me, Fiona."
I take a deep breath, release it, then obey, stating, "I didn't do this to hurt you."
She scoffs. "Yet you knew it would and still went through with it. So, why?"
My heart races faster. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Her expression turns to anger. "Don't sit there and say nothing. I want answers. How do you end up marrying a Petrov? And not just any Petrov, but one so scarred up it's clear he's into dangerous things!"
"That's not fair," I retort.
"Don't you dare talk to me about fair! How long have you known you were going to marry him?" she questions.
My stomach flips.
"Well?" she pushes.
My mouth turns dry. "A few weeks. Not too long."
"Not too long? You've been dating a Petrov behind my back and knew you were going to marry him for a few weeks yet said nothing to me!" she accuses.
"Why? So you could try to convince me not to marry him?"
"Damn right! How could you do this?" she asks again.
I shut my mouth, realizing I'm only digging a deeper hole. Nothing I have said makes any sense to her, and it shouldn't. I can't tell her the truth, so I don't know how to navigate this.
Minutes pass, and it only makes her more infuriated. She lowers her voice, warning, "You've stepped into a snake pit. You cannot stay in it."
I don't answer. Turning toward the window, I try to figure out what I can and can't say to her so I don't break any Underworld rules .
"You're getting divorced," she insists. "I don't care what you think is between the two of you. This marriage is over."
I snap my head toward her, declaring, "I'm not getting a divorce!"
"You are!"
"I'm not!"
Dante flings the door open, sits next to Mom, and slams the door.
The hairs on my arms rise. I look back out the window, feeling like I can't breathe.
In a disappointed tone, he states, "I never thought you'd do something like this, Fiona."
I don't answer, keeping my focus on the glass, hating the position I'm in.
Fucking Sean. It figures he'd leave me high and dry after causing this situation.
Mom scolds, "Don't you dare ignore Dante!"
I blurt out, "It's none of his business."
"None of my business? You've married the devil, and now his men are pulling recording devices out of our home!" Dante booms.
"And whose fault is that, huh?" I hurl back.
"Fiona!" Mom reprimands.
I cross my arms, asserting, "No. I won't take the blame for this one. You have holes in your security. That's not on me. At least Kirill is telling you about them and fixing it. Maybe you should say thank you to him."
"Thank a Petrov?" Dante seethes.
"Yes. Thank my husband," I add, pissed at this entire situation. I'm not going to allow them to disrespect Kirill .
They glare more daggers at me, so I return to staring out the window.
Time passes slowly. There's finally a knock on the glass.
Dante opens the door.
Patrick informs us, "You're free to go upstairs."
"How many did you find?" Dante asks.
"Eight."
"Eight?" Mom frets.
Dante clenches his jaw, gets out, then reaches in for Mom. She takes his hand and slides out. I follow, and we get into the elevator.
The ride upstairs is just as tense. Relief hits me when the doors open. I brush past them, happy to be out of the small box, inhale the fresh air, and continue into the main living area.
Dante tells Mom, "I need to deal with security. I'll be back later." He kisses Mom on the cheek and then turns to me. "Fiona, as angry as I am with you, I need to ensure you're okay. Did he do anything to you? Did he..." Dante swallows hard.
Appalled, I claim, "No! Stop insinuating Kirill is a vile man. Just because he's a Petrov doesn't mean that he does the things that his family members do."
Dante's eyes narrow.
Mom puts her hand on his arm. "Go take care of security."
He hesitates.
She adds, "Please go. I need to speak with Fiona alone."
He gives me a disappointed look, shakes his head again, and disappears.
I go over to the window and cross my arms, staring out at the blinking lights of the city .
Mom steps next to me, repeating the same question. "How did this happen, Fiona?"
I close my eyes, wishing this were a bad dream I could wake up from. I knew it wouldn't be pretty, but this is worse than I imagined.
She pushes, her voice turning emotional again, "Fiona, how did you end up married to a Petrov?"
I open my eyes. "Mom, there are things I can't tell you. I wish I could, but I can't."
Her expression morphs from one of confusion and concern to one of anger. "Don't you dare use the same tired rhetoric Sean and Zara used on me."
I'm assaulted by another wave of guilt. When they initially got married and couldn't tell me anything, I was hurt like Mom. Now, things make sense, even though I still have a thousand questions running through my mind about The Underworld and the intricate workings of the secret organization my father created.
Mom warns, "I mean it, Fiona."
I spin away from her, feeling hot and needing space. I walk across the room, remove my coat, and put it on the couch. I slip into the kitchen and say, "I'm having a glass of wine. Do you want one?" even though I assume it's past midnight.
She doesn't answer.
"Yes or no?" I call out as I grab two glasses.
She paces the penthouse.
My stomach flips faster. I grab a bottle of red, fill both glasses, and go back into the main area. I hold a glass out to her. " Here. Let's have a drink."
Her eyes widen, and the color drains from her face .
A shiver runs down my spine. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Her gaze fixes on my neck. Her voice quivers when she asks, "Why do you have plastic wrap on your neck?"
My pulse skyrockets. I reach up and touch the plastic.
Mom's voice goes hollow. "Why would you do that to your neck?" She doesn't have to see it to know what's there. She knows what I did based on what Zara did to her own neck.
I swallow the lump in my throat, unsure how to respond.
She steps behind me and moves my hair, gasping. I don't have to look at her to know tears are falling from her eyes. She sobs, "What is with my children? Are you doing this to have your father haunt me? Is that what you want?"
I've never felt so bad in my life. I turn, replying, "No, Mom. Of course not."
"Then why would you, Sean, and Zara do this? I don't understand, and I want answers," she demands.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
She steps closer, closing the gap between us, and seethes, "Don't tell me you did this as a tribute to your father."
I lie. "I did. Just like Sean and Zara. Why is it such a big deal?"
Shocked at my response, she points out, "You were just as disgusted as I was when you saw what they did to themselves."
I shrug, attempting to play it off as not a big deal. "Yeah, but they healed. It looks cool on them."
"It does not," she cries out as more tears stain her cheeks.
I lift my chin and square my shoulders. "You can't blame us for wanting a permanent reminder of something our father created. "
"Like hell I can't," she shrieks.
I cross my arms. "It is what it is, Mom. Let it go."
She glares at me. "I don't understand this, Fiona. You, of all people—you're levelheaded. Why would you run off and marry a Petrov? And he's nothing like the type of guy you normally date! I don't understand any of this."
I hate that I can't tell her everything, but I know I can't.
Mom adds, "You have to get this marriage annulled tomorrow. I'll call Kora. She'll know what to do."
"No. I told you I'm not divorcing Kirill!" I cry out.
Disgust fills her expression. "What do you mean 'no'? You cannot be married to a Petrov. You know this."
"Mom, I'm not divorcing him. Not now or in the future," I insist.
"I don't get it, Fiona. What does he have over you?" she asks with concern.
"He doesn't have anything over me," I quickly reply.
"He has to. You would never date a man like him," she claims.
Angrily, I reply, "Don't ever speak ill of my husband again."
She glares at me.
I take a sip of wine and pace the room, trying to calm down, knowing this isn't my mom's fault. I would be confused and upset too if I were in her position, but I'm also not going to stand here while she talks badly about Kirill.
She says, "You married a man you can't even take anywhere."
"What does that mean?"
She scoffs. "He has a scar on his face. And why do you think that is, Fiona? "
I turn to face her, blurting out, "Because his own father and uncles sliced his face because he wouldn't rape a woman. That's why, Mom."
Her eyes widen and her face pales.
My heart races so fast that I feel ill.
Mom's shock glares hotter. Her lips tremble, and her face turns green. She puts her hand on her stomach.
The urge to protect Kirill overtakes me. I add, "Now you know what happened, but don't go spreading it around. It's not anyone's business but his, and now mine since I'm his wife," still angry that she dared talk about his scar.
She can barely speak. "His father and uncles did it to him?"
"Yes."
Her wineglass falls out of her hand. It shatters into shards on the floor.
"Mom!"
She steps over to the couch and sits down, staring at the floor, shaking harder.
New dread fills me. I sit next to her, asking, "What's wrong?"
She slowly looks at me, her voice quavering. "How old is he?"
I shrug. "I don't know. Forty-five, maybe."
I expect her to scold me for not knowing how old my own husband is, but she's too distraught. It's like I can see the wheels in her mind turning, so I wait.
Time drags and drags until she swallows hard. She grips her knees and then looks at me. "Your father had nightmares. They kept occurring and wouldn't stop. One night, he was drunk. He woke up from a nightmare and was still intoxicated. He was so upset. He told me about the Petrov boy whose family tried to destroy him. Did he really..." She swallows hard again, staring at me.
I quietly finish her sentence, "Did he really know Dad?"
She nods, her eyes overflowing with tears.
I try to think about whether I'm allowed to tell her, but I no longer care. I can't lie to her about everything. "Yes, Dad knew him. He was the one who saved him, Mom. So, he may have the Petrov name, but he's not like them. If he were, he wouldn't have lived his entire life since he was eighteen with scars all over his face and body."
She silently looks at me, as if she's seeing a ghost.
I finally beg, "Mom, say something, please." I put my hand on hers.
She looks at it. Then, a new shock fills her features.
The pit in my stomach grows.
She grabs my hand and examines my ring. "This can't be yours."
I yank my hand away, quickly stating, "Of course it is."
An ocean of tears streams down her face. She sobs, "How is it possible, Fiona?"
I hesitate to ask, "How is what possible?" My chest tightens.
Kirill told me she didn't know about the ring, so why is she telling me it's not mine?
She scrunches her face, as if in pain, declaring, "Your father designed a ring just like that. It was..." She looks away, and her entire body shakes.
Shame and guilt swirl so fast in me that I feel nauseous. I stay quiet, hating myself for allowing Kirill to give this to me but also not seeing how I couldn't have kept it .
She finishes, "Your father said he would make it for me when we renewed our vows." She grabs my hand again, and peers at it closer, adding, "It looks just like it, Fiona."
I open my mouth, and again, nothing comes out.
She stares at me with questions in her expression that I want to answer but can't. I finally offer, "I'm sorry this reminds you of the ring."
She insists, "It's exactly what he designed. I was in love with marquise-cut stones. I still am, but I swore I'd never wear one after your father died. And that ring is his design."
"It can't be," I lie, feeling more guilt and shame.
"I'll prove it to you." She gets up.
I rise. "Where are you going?"
"Just give me a minute," she says, entering her office.
I follow her.
She sits down behind the desk and turns on the computer. "I know that's the same ring he designed."
"Mom, you're being dramatic," I accuse, and immediately feel horrible for saying it.
Her computer boots up. She clicks the mouse a few times and then sits back. She points at the screen. "There. Look."
My hands go clammy. I cautiously step behind her, and it feels like my heart's squeezing. There's a photo of a drawing, and it looks exactly like my ring.
I ask, "Why is that on your computer?"
She admits, "This is the file of all your dad's drawings. I scanned the originals. Those are in the safe in New York. "
"Why did you scan them?" I question.
She shrugs. "I don't know, but I did. They were one of the few things I kept of your father's."
"What else is on there?" I ask.
Her face darkens. She clicks a button and turns off her computer.
"Nothing."
"Mom?"
"Nothing is on there that you need to know about. Some things are meant to be private between your dad and me, and that's how it'll stay. Understand?" she asserts.
I hold my hands up. "Okay. Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you further."
She rises and puts her hand on her hip, pointing at me. "I want to know how you got that ring."
"Kirill gave it to me."
Her eyes narrow. "Yes, I understand that, but how did he get it?"
"Mom, it's just a ring."
"It's not just a ring, Fiona."
I take it off, and my finger feels empty. It's the first time I've removed it since Kirill sent it to me. I hold it out to her. "Do you want it? You can have it if you need it that much."
She stares at it and then lifts her gaze back to my face.
More pain hits me. I hate doing this to her. In all reality, it is her ring, but I continue to push. "Take it, Mom. If you need it that badly and want it, then take it."
She stares at it one more time and then shakes her head. "No, I'm not taking your ring. But that's your father's design. "
Relieved she won't take it, I put it back on my finger, softening my voice and sincerely apologizing. "I'm sorry I've caused you pain."
"Caused me pain? Fiona, what did you think would happen? You married a Petrov. This isn't the same as Sean and Zara running off and getting married. That was bad enough, but this?" She shakes her head at me in disappointment.
"Mom—"
"No, Fiona. This isn't something you can just do and expect everyone to turn a blind eye at."
Kirill's Russian accent sounds from the doorway. "I think we owe you some answers, Bridget."
I spin toward him, and my heart pounds harder. I'm so relieved he's here.
He pins his gaze on Mom and declares, "I think it's best if we go sit down."
She hesitates, then brushes past him and enters the main room just as Dante walks through the door.
He booms, "How did you get in here?"
Kirill states, "You have holes in your security. I told you this."
"I thought your security was here to fill those holes," Dante accuses.
Kirill nods. "They are, and that's how I got in. And as I said, I'll ensure you understand where the holes in your security are, but not tonight. Right now, we need to discuss other matters."
Dante clenches his jaw with hatred in his dark eyes.
"We should get going," I say, feeling like I need a break from this conversation.
"No, he owes me answers," Mom seethes .
The anxiety in me grows.
Kirill motions to the couch. "Please, sit down. Everyone."
Mom sits, and Dante takes the seat beside her.
I sit on the love seat, and Kirill sits next to me. I put my hand on his thigh.
Mom's gaze shoots to my hand, then back at me.
The horrible feeling fills me again.
Kirill starts, "What I'm about to tell you needs to stay in this room, and until I have full agreement on that, I cannot disclose anything."
Mom nervously glances at Dante.
Kirill continues. "I mean it. No Moreno, O'Connor, O'Malley, or Ivanov can know what I will disclose to you. If you do share this information, your daughter's life will be at stake."
Mom gasps.
Dante warns, "Don't you dare sit in my house and threaten Fiona!"
"He's not!" I cry out.
Kirill squeezes my hand. "I will never harm your daughter. I will only protect her. But there will be times when there are threats. I won't do anything to intentionally put her in harm's way. So if you want answers, you need to promise me. Otherwise, tell me you don't want me to go further."
Tension builds again.
Dante finally grabs Mom's hand and says, "You have our word."
Kirill adds, "I don't even want you talking to Sean and Zara about this. You never know who's listening."
"This is my house. No one's listening now that the devices were removed. I will ensure it stays that way," Dante proclaims .
Kirill shakes his head. "With all due respect?—"
"You have holes, Dante. You don't know who's listening," I interject.
He grinds his molars, his cheeks turning red.
Kirill continues, "As of this moment, your place is private. So it's now or never. You can agree that what I tell you will never leave this room, and I can fill you in on a few things, or Fiona and I will get up and leave. It's up to you."
Blood pounds between my ears.
Mom lifts her chin, meeting Kirill's gaze. She vows, "You have my word. Now, tell me."