Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
~IVIE~
O nce across the street from Shane and the others, I snap my spine straight and clear my throat.
No hesitation. No nerves.
This is a long time coming, and I’m going to take advantage of it. It’s an opportunity I never thought to get. Just hours ago, I was thinking that I’d never have my mama with me to fluff my dress and giggle with my friends before I got married.
And it’s his fault.
I get to make him pay.
But before I do, I have a lot to say to the man I thought was dead. I won’t waste the moment.
I climb the small house’s rickety steps. He lives in a beautiful neighborhood, but his home is starting to crumble. It doesn’t surprise me. I wonder if the neighbors are pissed that he’s bringing their property values down.
Without knocking, I turn the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. I walk right in.
The space smells of him—tobacco and stale onions. I would never forget that smell. The air carries a light haze from cigarettes. There’s a TV on upstairs.
The furniture is old and has holes in the cushions. A photo of my mother on the wall has me seeing red.
How dare he?
“Hello?”
The man who sired me walks into the living room and stops cold, staring at me with surprised eyes.
“Have a seat,” I tell him with a hard voice.
“Laryssa.”
“Does not exist,” I reply calmly. “Sit the fuck down, Pavlov.”
His face turns red, and his eyes narrow. “You will not speak to me like that.”
“Oh, I’m gonna speak to you any way I see fit, you piece of trash. If you don’t want to sit, that’s fine. You can hear me just fine while standing.”
“How did you find me?”
“It doesn’t matter. I am going to do the talking, and I want the damn truth. Why did you kill my mother?”
He glances toward the photo on the wall.
“No, don’t you dare look at her. Why did you kill her? Cut her throat?”
“Because I was given an order to,” he says simply.
I stare at him, unblinking. This man that scared me so badly as a child, who hurt me on a whim, looks so old and frail now. I’m as tall as he is. His face is wrinkled, his eyes dull. He’s lost most of his dark hair.
He’s a shell of the man he once was.
“You were supposed to die,” he continues. His voice still carries the thick Bulgarian accent from my youth. “I spared you.”
“So I could do your dirty work.” I shake my head and prop my hands on my hips. “So I could steal and deliver shit that you didn’t want to be caught with. You spared me so gross, old men could ogle me—a child —and give you what you wanted.”
“And it worked. We were a good team, you and me, Laryssa.”
“I said Laryssa doesn’t fucking exist. I killed her and created someone new. Someone who doesn’t carry your name, who has nothing at all to do with you. And I’ve done a damn good job of making a nice life for myself.”
“In the mafia,” he says with a nasty sneer. “How appropriate.”
“So you knew where I was, after all. And you never came after me.”
“You started to have a mouth on you. I knew that you didn’t always deliver what I sent you to do, and that no matter how much I punished you, you wouldn’t fall in line. Just like your mother. It angered me when you ran away, but I had other problems to see to. Worrying about where you ended up was not a priority.”
I wanted the truth, and he was giving it to me.
There was a time when his words would have hurt me.
But not now.
“You’re a worthless piece of garbage,” I inform him.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Laryssa.”
I snarl, but then Igor’s words come back to me. Family isn’t always blood .
“I was never your daughter in any way that mattered. I was a tool. And I got out. I’m nothing like you.”
“Aren’t you? Are you telling me then that you’re not here to kill me?”
“Oh, I’m going to kill you,” I agree. “But not because I’m the same as you. No, I’m going to kill you because you slit my mother’s throat and left me motherless.”
“She was nothing.”
“Is that why you still have her photo hanging on your wall? Because she was nothing?”
He narrows his eyes, and his hands fist at his sides.
“I did not realize you’d let your daughter speak to you in such a disrespectful way.”
We turn as a man walks into the room from what must be the kitchen, gun in hand. He’s tall and lean with round, wire-rimmed glasses. He looks like Doc from Back to the Future.
And his accent is the same as my father’s.
“Both of you, sit,” he instructs us, pointing to the two chairs facing an empty television. I eye him, considering whether I can fight him for the gun, but he steps forward. “I said, sit.”
Pavlov sits, glaring at the man, and I sit next to him.
“I am Elian Pavlov.”
I scowl. “Pavlov?”
“That’s right. I’m your father’s brother. Your uncle. We’re just a big, happy family.”
“I’ll break out the photo albums. Oh, wait, we don’t have any. Because we aren’t a family.”
Elian doesn’t smile. “Your father’s past transgressions when he was still living in our homeland have caught up with him.”
“The transgressions from after he left Bulgaria have caught up with him, too.”
Suddenly, Elian starts speaking rapidly in Bulgarian and pacing the room as if a switch was flipped and something I said—or didn’t say—set off his temper.
“What are you saying?”
He doesn’t reply, just keeps going, pointing at me and then my father.
“What the fuck are you saying? I don’t speak Bulgarian!”
He stops and stares at Ivan. “You did not teach her?”
“He taught me how to be a son of a bitch, and that about covers it.”
“He is saying—” my father begins, but I cut him off by holding up my hand.
“No. I’ve said all I need to say to you, and I don’t want to hear another word from your lying mouth. You,”—I point to my uncle—“you talk.”
He pushes his face close to mine. “You may speak to your father like that, but I won’t allow it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t fucking know you. And, frankly, I don’t care who you are.”
I have no idea where this bravado is coming from, aside from the fact that I’m damn sick and tired of the men in my family being assholes.
Elian backhands me with the butt of his sidearm, making me see stars.
“You will speak with respect, the way a woman should.”
I glare at him.
My father shifts next to me.
And then I look at them, back and forth, as the situation starts to make sense.
“Have you been here this whole time?” I ask Elian.
“Of course.”
“You followed us.”
He smiles thinly. “You’re smarter than you look.”
“There’s a mole.” I shake my head. “There’s a mole in the Martinellis’ organization.”
“I’ve been watching you for a long time, Laryssa,” Elian says and then laughs. “I mean…Ivie. We finally had you in our grasp in New York, but you managed to wiggle your way out of that.”
“You were behind the kidnapping.”
“No,” my father says as he stands next to his brother. “I was.”
My mouth drops open. I stare at the two men and then narrow my eyes as pieces start to click into place. “Are you twins ?”
“Triplets, actually,” Elian says. “Our brother was hanged just over twelve years ago.”
I blink rapidly as the last of the puzzle fits together. “You killed your brother to hide your death, and then you let the Sergis hide you?”
“We used their money,” my father says. “Let them think they were the ones I was funneling information to. Let them believe they were in charge.”
“They were not,” Elian adds.
“What do I have to do with any of this?”
“You took the drive,” Ivan says with the shake of his head. “When you ran away, you took the information with you.”
“For fuck’s sake.” I sigh and shake my head slowly. “Something I didn’t even remember I had until two weeks ago is the reason you’ve wanted me dead?”
“Not dead, necessarily,” Elian says. “Just found. All this time, if you’d done what you were instructed to do in the first place, you could have gone on living your life, none the wiser. But you didn’t. Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Liar,” Ivan says and reaches for me, but I duck out of his grasp and move quickly away. “Where is it?”
“I certainly don’t have it on me,” I reply and evade him again.
Both Elian and Ivan start speaking in rapid Bulgarian, and I can’t understand them again.
Why didn’t I stay brushed up on the language?
“Stop moving.”
I look at Elian, his words spoken in English, and stare down the barrel of his weapon.
Before he can pull the trigger, a knife appears at this throat and slices deep, spattering blood everywhere.
“Jesus.”
My father is holding the knife and staring at me with hollow, dead eyes.
Shane bursts into the room, his weapon drawn, but I shake my head.
This is my fight.
“Tell me where the drive is, Laryssa.”
“I told you.” I stomp his foot, ram my knee into his crotch, and grab the knife from his hand, then drive it right into his heart. As his mouth gapes, and his eyes bulge, I lean into him. “My name is Ivie. ”
As he gurgles, I pull out the knife and rest the blade against his throat.
“And this is for my mama.”
Without hesitation, I slice from left to right and let him fall, next to his brother.
The blood is revolting. It covers everything. Me, the floor, the walls, and the furniture.
But I ignore it and walk to the wall to pluck the photo of my mother from the nail. I use my sleeve to wipe blood spatter from the glass.
“I’m taking you with me.” I kiss her and then turn to Shane. “Get me the hell out of here.”
“On it, baby.” He nods to the others, who flank me, and helps me out of the house and to the vehicle.
“I’m calling in cleanup,” Carmine says as we get settled in the vehicle, and he takes out his phone.
Rafe fires up the car, and we pull away from the curb and head back the way we came.
“Plane’s ready,” Rafe says.
“There were two of him,” Shane says, turning to me.
“His brother.” I tell them everything that happened after I walked into the house. “He had two brothers that I didn’t even know about.”
“None of us did,” Shane says. “It didn’t come up in the research.”
“They framed the Sergis,” Nadia says in surprise. “My God, who the fuck are they?”
“Bulgarian operatives,” Curt says, getting all our attention. “I recognized Elian’s name. But Pavlov is a common Bulgarian name, so I didn’t link him with Ivan. I’ve never seen a photo of him. He was a slimy, sneaky son of a bitch. He was on every hit list in the fucking world.”
“Well, he was hit.” My hands have started to shake. “By his own brother.”
“Are you hurt?” Shane asks me. “Tell me all this blood is theirs.”
“It’s theirs.” I swallow hard and feel sick to my stomach. Oh God, do not get sick here. Hold on. “I need a shower.”
“We have one on the plane,” Rafe says as he changes lanes. “I’ll have you there in ten minutes.”
It takes eight.
Shane helps me up the stairs where Igor and Carlo are waiting for us.
“Oh, little one,” Igor says, but I hold up my hand.
“Not yet.” I look up at him with pleading eyes. “I need to clean up and gather myself.”
“Of course.” Carlo points to the back of the plane. “Everything you need is back there, Ivie. Make yourself at home.”
“I’m coming with you,” Shane says, and I don’t argue. I need him now—more than I ever have before.
I manage to hold myself together while he starts the shower and helps me out of my ruined clothes.
“There isn’t enough room in there for both of us,” he says grimly.
“I’m shocked we’re in a plane,” I say. “It’s huge.”
“There’s soap, shampoo, and anything else you need.” He opens the glass door for me, but before I can step inside, he cups my face in his hands and kisses me gently. “Take your time, love. We won’t take off until you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” It’s a whisper. I climb into the shower and let the hot water beat on me, just soaking in the warmth.
I’m so cold. I can’t stop shaking.
Maybe this is shock.
Finally, I reach for the soap and start washing up. My hair is next. When I’m as clean as I can get, and as warm as I’m going to get for now, I open the shower door.
Shane is waiting with a big, fluffy towel.
“Come here.”
I step out to him, and he wraps me in that terrycloth and pulls me to him. I lose control and cling to him as I start sobbing. I’ve always thought that people who wail when they cry are just dramatic, but I get it now as I bawl against the strongest man I’ve ever met.
The man I love with all my heart and soul.
And grieve once more for the mother I loved so much, and the father I hated with everything in me.
When I’ve quieted to soft hiccups, Shane finishes drying me and wraps me in a white robe, then leads me out of the bathroom and into the bedroom with a queen-sized bed.
He pushes a button and speaks into a microphone.
“She’s out of the shower, and we’re safe in the bedroom. You’re cleared for takeoff.”
Shane pulls back the crisp, white linens, and we lie down, tangled in each other, just clinging to one another as we hear the engines come to life and feel the plane start making its way down the runway.
When we’re airborne, and my tears have stopped flowing, Shane turns my chin his way.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”
My chin wobbles, but I lick my lips and rub his nose with mine. “I wasn’t scared. I was just…mad. And when I killed him, I wasn’t sorry.”
“Yeah. I get that.”
“Does that make me an evil person?” I wonder aloud. “Does it make me like him that I was able to end his life with no remorse?”
“No.” His voice is firm as he urges me to look him in the eyes. “You’re not evil, Ivie, you’re human. It’s over now. He’s gone, and he can’t hurt you ever again. We’ll do some more digging to make sure that it ends with Ivan and Elian. I suspect it does, but we’ll cross every t and dot every i , just to be sure.”
I nod and blow out a breath. “It’s over.”
“Yes.”
My breath hitches. “Curt can go home, where he’s happiest.”
His lips twitch. “I’m so happy to hear that you’re worried about Curt.”
“What will you do?” I ask.
Shane’s eyes sober. His hand cups my cheek again, and just when I think he’s going to kiss me, he says, “I love you, Ivie. I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone. You’ve wound your way inside me, and I can’t let you go.
“So, to answer your question, I’m going to talk to the people I work for and set new parameters there. Because I refuse to ever leave you alone. I will not put myself into a position that might mean I never come home to you.”
A tear falls down my cheek, but it’s not because of my father. It’s from the hope that’s just set up residence in my belly.
“I love you, too.”
“Good.” He grins and kisses me lightly but then pulls back again. “I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart because I’d like to ask you a serious question now. I’d get on one knee, but this feels a little more intimate, and pretty much perfect for us since we haven’t done anything the traditional way since the day I met you.”
I bite my lip, waiting.
“Marry me, Ivie. Make me the luckiest man in the world. I know that my family is a lot to take on, and as crazy as they are, they will love and protect you until the day they die. You will never want for anything. You’ll never wonder for even one moment how much I love you, how devoted I am to you. Be my wife.”
“That sounded more like a command than a question.”
His lips twitch. “Well, I’m used to giving orders, so…”
I laugh and wrap my arms around him. “Yes, Shane Martinelli. I’ll be your wife. Under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You give me babies. I want lots of children. I might not come from the best of parents, but I know I’ll be a good mom.”
A slow smile spreads over his gorgeous face. “I’m on board with that. In fact—” He pushes the robe open and slides a talented hand inside. “Why don’t we get a head start on that?”
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
“That’s a first.”