Chapter 10
10
DARYA
I avoid thinking about Roman and the children by wandering the hills above Granada, gazing down at the peaceful gardens of the Alhambra, feeling the mountain breeze sharp on my face, tasting the traces of snow from the peaks above on the air. If I sit still, my mind plays horrible tricks. I need to be physically exhausted to get even a few hours of sleep.
It’s also harder to cry when I’m walking.
The rustling of the ancient olive trees and haunting cries of the mountain birds are the only things that even slightly calm my soul. I walk back down toward the city, along the road that runs past the Alhambra, accompanied by the rushing of water from old aqueducts and stone sculptures that have stood for centuries. I know I need to leave Granada tomorrow, but I can’t begin to think of where to go next. It’s exhausting even contemplating it.
As I approach my apartment, tension begins to steal back into my body, the ever-present fear of discovery. I walk cautiously, pausing in the shadows and watching carefully before proceeding, but I can’t see anything amiss. My windows are dark, and although I watch for a time, I can’t see or hear any sign of a visitor.
Still.
I take my time climbing the stairs, careful to make no sound.
I turn the key in the lock and step into the darkened room. A quick scan of the shadows shows nothing out of place. I walk out onto the terrace, inhaling deeply. I might sleep out here tonight. Something in me is reluctant to relinquish the breath of fresh air on my face.
Or maybe it’s just that I like being near the outside steps and an escape route.
I lean over the terrace and listen to the sounds of flamenco as the Granada night comes alive, trying to recapture the calm I felt on the mountain earlier.
“Darya.”
Roman’s voice comes from the shadows behind me.
I don’t have to wonder who the voice belongs to. It’s haunted my every moment, sleeping or awake, since the ball.
He must have been waiting out here, on the terrace.
Behind the door?
I think through the options with clinical detachment, automatically wondering where I went wrong, what mistake I made that led him to me.
But the truth is, I don’t actually care. There’s only one thing I care about, only one question that has tortured me from the moment I ran from that ballroom.
“The children.” I grip the terrace wall, staring out over the valley, unable to face him. “Tell me what happened to the children.”
“Mickey is here with me.” I almost collapse with relief, sagging against the wall. “Alive and well,” Roman continues, “and currently testing the limits of the Wi-Fi in a restaurant just up the road. He insisted on coming to bring you home.”
I bury my head in my arms, breathing deeply to brace myself for what he isn’t saying. “The girls.” My voice seems to come from very far away. “Tell me, Roman. Tell me they’re unharmed.”
His pause is too long. Far too long.
My heart seizes, then sinks. The dark nightmares that have tortured my every moment burst into terrifying technicolor. “No,” I whisper, the word barely audible. “Oh please, God, no.”
“They’re alive.” Roman’s voice is rough. “But they’re gone, Darya. Ofelia and Masha are gone. The Orlovs took them.”
“ No .” I grip the terracotta tiles hard enough to hurt my palms, my head shaking from side to side. I squeeze my eyes closed, as if I can block out the truth, as if when I open them the girls will be safely at home in their penthouse, instead of prisoners at the hands of the most sadistic bastard I’ve ever known. The merest thought of Vilnus Orlov touching Ofelia and Masha hits me with such horror that nausea threatens to engulf me entirely.
“It was Inger.” I can hear the deadly fury beneath Roman’s exhaustion. “She’s been working with the Orlovs, for some time now, it seems.”
“Inger!” I’m so surprised I turn around, which is a mistake. Roman in the flesh is more than I’m ready for. More than even my nighttime visions recalled.
He’s even taller and more imposing than my memories, his bulk more daunting given his two-day stubble and a dark suit that does nothing to lighten the deep shadows beneath his eyes or soften the hard line of his mouth. Going by his gaunt appearance, he’s slept even less than I have. His eyes are hard to read, but even in the dim light, I see them narrow when he notices my face.
“What the hell happened to you?” he snaps. “Who did that to your eye?”
My hand drifts up to touch the swelling I’d all but forgotten about. “I did it to myself. Battered wives tend to gain people’s trust easier than runaway girls.”
“No wonder your landlady looked at me as if I were the devil incarnate.” Despite his levity, there’s no humor in his voice, and he doesn’t move toward me. I want more than anything to throw myself into his arms. But despite my passionate relief at knowing the girls are actually alive, followed by my utter horror at the knowledge of who has them, I can’t quite lower my instinctive caution.
“How did you find me?” I wish I sounded more defiant. Instead, my voice has a quiet, defeated quality that makes me feel rather ashamed.
“You didn’t make it easy.” Roman folds his arms, leaning against the low wall, watching me. “Mickey found footage from the airport of you changing clothes with a Moroccan woman. It still took twenty-four hours and a hell of a lot of man power to track your movements.” The reluctant admiration in his voice does nothing to make me feel any better.
“If you found me, then the Orlovs can, too.” I’m astonished my voice still works.
“They won’t if you come home with me.”
Home.
Being in Roman’s bed. Cooking in the kitchen with the children.
The children who aren’t there.
Who are gone.
Because of me.
Longing snags painfully in my throat. “I thought that would be the last thing you’d want.”
“Christ, Darya.” For the first time I hear the exhausted rasp in his voice. “I was wrong, okay? I got it wrong. I never should have said the things I did. I never should have threatened you like that.” He closes his mouth, abruptly cutting himself off.
Alexei’s warning about Roman runs through my mind on a megaphone: “The Orlovs will take the children. How long do you think Roman will hold out when they start carving up those kids? How long will you ?”
Roman isn’t here for me.
He’s here because I’m the only trade he can make that will get his children back. Any apologies are only to make me go with him.
You don’t have to convince me , I think dully.
As if I could ever rest while I know the Orlovs have the girls. Alexei knew that. It was why he wanted me to run.
Roman doesn’t need the contents of that vault. And there’s nothing he won’t do to save those girls, I know that. He’ll open the vault for the Orlovs. The question is what will happen to me after he does.
Not that there’s any point in asking him. Right now, he’ll say anything, make any promise he needs to, in order to gain my cooperation.
But like I said, there’s no need to convince me.
“We should probably get on with it, then.” I try to keep my voice steady. I try even harder not to think about little Borovsky. That’s one secret I will have to keep to myself. I’m not making this any more complicated than it already is.
Roman frowns. “Get on with what?”
“Whatever deal you’ve made with the Orlovs. I assume they want the vault opened in exchange for the girls’ lives?”
Roman is still frowning. “I think it’s safe to assume that is going to be one of their requests. They haven’t actually made any demands yet.”
“They will.” I force myself to meet his eyes, trying to ignore the thud of connection when I do. “You and I both know what they’re capable of. We need to open that vault. Give them what they’re asking for.”
Roman takes a step toward me, then halts. “Why run, if you were always planning to give in to their demands?”
“I was hoping that if I ran, they wouldn’t have a chance to make demands.” I hold his eyes, determined to say at least this much, even if he doesn’t believe me. “I had no idea what they were planning, Roman. None. Alexei came to the ball. He told me the Orlovs were there. He said that if I wanted to keep the children safe, I had to run. I thought that if I did what he said, I’d remove any incentive the Orlovs had to take the children.”
“I know.” His answer is flat, his face unchanging except for a faint tick in his jaw. “I know you ran because you thought you’d keep them safe. But it turns out the Orlovs knew more than either of us could have imagined. They’d have taken the children whether you ran or not, Darya.” He looks away, breaking eye contact. It’s like being released from an invisible tie, both a relief and a strange feeling of being cut adrift. He rubs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Did you read my letter?”
It’s such an odd change of pace that I’m momentarily taken aback. “Yes. I read it.”
Only a hundred times or so, but hey, who’s counting?
“Your brother told you my real name, didn’t he? You discovered who I am—not, as you said at the ball, because of the Borovsky safe in my apartment, but because Alexei told you.”
I nod.
“Alexei also told you that I have the missing key to the vault at your home in Miami.” It isn’t a question. His eyes bore into me, stripping away the flimsy defenses I’ve been trying to muster since I ran from the ballroom. Roman lied to me. Even after he told me he loved me, he lied to me. And despite all that’s happened, that still hurts.
“Do you have the key?” I want to throw the words at him, but they’re little more than a whisper. “You suggested as much in your letter. You said the Orlovs hunted for you because they believed you could open the vault.”
He frowns. “And so you think that I kept you in my home because I want to open the vault and take the contents for myself?”
“I did, at first.”
“ Blyat .” His response is uncharacteristically harsh. Seeing my surprise, his mouth thins. “It’s the second time today I’ve been accused of holding you to open that vault. Mickey came to the same conclusion.” Before I have a chance to ask how Mickey knows about any of this, he goes on: “You said you thought that at first. What changed your opinion?”
The horrifying days of darkness when I thought I’d never see you again.
The truth is that believing I had lost Roman forever lent my thoughts the detachment of regret, causing me to read the situation without the overlay of my emotional investment.
“I know your wealth is vast enough that you have no need of what is inside the vault. After reading your letter, I think I understand why you didn’t confide in me.”
“Then why—” His voice cracks, and he spins away from me. His hands are on his hips, his shoulders rising and falling in deep breaths as if he’s struggling to calm himself. “Why didn’t you talk to me?” He remains turned away from me, his voice low and raw. “Or warn me? Divided loyalties I can understand, Darya. I knew you would want to help your brother. But the fact that you didn’t try to warn me? About a bomb? ”
“I didn’t know about that!” I reel as if I’ve been struck. “How could you possibly think I knew the Orlovs were going to set off a bomb? Don’t you know I’d have done anything— anything —to save the children, if I’d known?”
He still has his back to me.
He doesn’t trust me, any more than I trust him.
The realization is as shocking as it is painful.
“Why do you think I’m here, and not on the plane my brother booked for me?” I force myself to speak past the emotion choking my throat. “Do you think I could ever trust Alexei again, after what happened? I love my brother, Roman. I always will. But if it comes down to helping him regain our family legacy or saving the children’s lives, there’s no choice. My God.” I shake my head, utterly bewildered. “How could you ever, even for a moment, believe that I would risk their lives?”
He turns halfway through my speech, his face still shadowed as he watches me. “Alexei didn’t tell you about the bomb?”
“Of course he didn’t tell me!” I’m so appalled I feel sick. “Alexei told me that the Orlovs knew who you were and that you had the missing key to the vault. They already have Alexei captive. With you and me in one place, Alexei said the Orlovs would have all the pieces they need to open the vault. All they needed was leverage, a way to ensure we all cooperated. I ran because Alexei told me that the Orlovs were planning to take the children and use them as that leverage.”
Roman doesn’t speak.
“Alexei never said anything about a bomb.” My voice is weak. I’m finding it hard to speak at all. “Or about Inger. He just told me that running was the only way I could save the children.” My voice starts to shake, the sudden burst of adrenaline fading, leaving me shocked and utterly distraught.
Roman crosses the terrace in one stride, and when he reaches for me, I have no thought of refusing. He pulls me close, and I fall against the wall of his chest, inhaling his familiar scent, clinging to him as if he were the only solid rock amid a tornado. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, holding my head against his chest, stroking my hair as his other hand pulls me close to him. “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you the truth about who I am. And I’m more sorry than you can ever know that I ever suspected you of endangering the children. I said terrible things, Darya, things I can’t ever take back.”
“I don’t care.” I shake my head against his chest, the tears I’ve been trying to hold back all day streaming down my face, dampening his shirt. “None of it matters, Roman, not now.” I pull back to say more, but before I do his mouth finds mine, and in that moment of connection I can feel all the pain and longing and fear that is haunting him, the regret and the long years of secrecy he’s been forced to live. I hold his face as his lips move on my own, feeling the heat between us, but it’s far more than that. This kiss isn’t about passion or desire. It’s a reminder to us both that we are home, that this thing between us, however strange and complicated, is the one real, strong foundation we can rely on. That no matter what is coming for us now, we have this. We have each other.
When Roman finally lifts his mouth from mine, I truly see for the first time the grim exhaustion in his face, the shadow of horror behind his eyes.
“The Orlovs have already won,” I whisper. “They have the girls.” I stare up at him. “Nothing is worth risking their lives. We can seek justice later. For now, we need to do whatever it takes to get Ofelia and Masha back. Give the Orlovs what they want. We have to open that vault, Roman, and we have to do it as soon as possible.”
“I agree.” His voice is husky with exhaustion. “There’s only one problem.”
“What?” I frown. I can’t imagine what could possibly matter, when both of the girls are gone.
Roman’s mouth twists. “I don’t have the key to open that vault.”