Chapter 20
20
ROMAN
B y the time we leave the lab, shock has solidified into an ice-cold killing fury that consumes every cell of my body.
I sent Dimitry to the warehouse to speak to Nikolai. At this stage, I’ll take any information I can get, even if it comes from that little fuck. I need some space.
From Dimitry. From the tech kids. From Mickey’s devastated eyes.
I don’t need anyone telling me just how bad this is.
Darya is silent in the passenger seat. The dark horror in her eyes only makes it worse. I’m not sure what broke her more: seeing the girls in that place, the fact that it’s her brother who is standing guard over them, or the brightly colored Orlov tattoo on Alexei’s hand.
I know she wanted to believe that Alexei is an ally. That he used that code knowing she would crack it.
Maybe part of her still wants to believe that.
I don’t share her faith.
Alexei’s sparrow isn’t the broken-winged mark of a runaway. It’s a full-blooded sparrow, eyes bright and beak closed.
A sparrow that has drunk blood. One that sees everything, but says nothing.
The Orlovs only give that tattoo to their closest, most trusted vor . To men who’ve killed for them.
Whatever Alexei Petrovsky once was, he’s an Orlov now.
And he’s holding my daughters inside a locked room that is wired to explode the minute anyone breaks into it.
Alexei Petrovsky is a fucking dead man. Whether he gives me the key to the vault or not.
For all I care, the vault can blow sky fucking high.
Let’s be honest. Darya’s brother or not, I’ve known since before the ball that it was only a matter of time before I put a bullet through that prick’s head.
Watching Darya relive the years she spent as the Orlovs’ prisoner in that fucking compound almost drove me mad. It’s bad enough knowing how she got the scars on her shoulder. Seeing the place where it happened—not to mention seeing my own girls in that same goddamn room—ripped my heart out.
That missing doorknob in her bedroom, the realization that Orlov had access to her at any time of the day or night, sends me into a cold-blooded ocean of rage I can barely contain. The mere thought of that first escape attempt, of her wheeling Sergei’s unconscious body out of the compound and trying to run with Orlov’s men following her, is worse than any nightmare. I thought she’d been tattooed with the broken-winged sparrow as a warning. That was bad enough. Knowing it was carved as a punishment is even worse.
How the fuck did she survive that?
The endless years of constant fear, of never knowing when they were going to invade her bedroom, come for her?
I can’t prevent the shudder of icy fear that goes through me even imagining it. My years on the streets were hard, the nights lonely and full of fear.
But whatever I endured pales in comparison to what Darya lived through.
No death can ever avenge what those fuckers did to her. What they’re doing to my girls now.
I grip the steering wheel hard enough to break the fucking thing. I wish I was on my MTT. Right now I crave the mindless escape of speed and wind.
I need to plan.
I’m not a man who likes waiting. We’ve got the layout of the compound now, got the codes to the tunnels, and I know where the girls are. Waiting until Makari arrives tomorrow is going to be the longest fucking night of my life.
I’m almost relieved when the phone rings. I hit the answer button. “You’re on speaker in the car,” I snap at Dimitry. “Darya’s with me.”
I don’t want to risk him saying anything that will upset her any more than she already is.
“I was hoping you might have time to meet me at the warehouse.” The careful way he words his request puts my teeth on edge.
Fucking Nikolai. I forgot all about the prick. I feel a flash of irritation.
“I thought I told you to handle it.”
“This is me doing that.” Dimitry’s flat tone is its own message.
“Fine. I’ll take Darya home, then come.” There’s a small sound from Darya beside me. I turn to her, trying to soften my face.
“Abby,” she whispers, and that one word is so full of quiet desolation it needs no other explanation.
I lean toward the phone. “Your girlfriend needs to come to the penthouse.” I give it to him in a clipped tone that should communicate that I’m not fucking about. “Tell her to pack a bag so she can stay a few days.”
“I can keep Abby safe—”
“I don’t give a fuck about Abby’s safety.” I hear the savagery in my voice, but right now I just don’t care. “Darya needs her, so tell her to come.”
Dimitry pauses just long enough to let me know I’ve trodden very close to a dangerous line. I can’t blame him. I also can’t fucking help it, not at the moment. “Boss,” he says eventually. He hangs up without waiting for me to end the call.
Fuck. I grind my teeth. I’ll need to fix that straight away. Dimitry deserves better from me.
They all do.
Darya touches my shoulder softly. “We’ll get the girls back, Roman. I know we will.”
I cover her hand with my own, try and fail to smile. “Of course we will.”
But even if we manage to get Ofelia and Masha back in one piece—which, given the fucking arsenal Vilnus has guarding that basement, is no certainty—in what condition will we find them?
With how many bloody knife cuts scarring their bodies? With how much emotional damage that can’t be undone?
Every minute we wait, Vilnus could be sharpening his knives. And why is there still no ransom demand? What the fuck is he waiting for?
We remain silent for the entire drive back to the penthouse, our interlinked hands at least some form of comfort. It hurts me to leave Darya at the penthouse. Right now I don’t want her out of my sight, not even when she’s safely in my fortress. I don’t like not being able to see her, to touch her.
I ride the elevator to the penthouse, checking it myself before I allow her through the door. I wrap my arms around her, trying not to let my tension show. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, okay?”
She nods against my chest, clinging to me in a way that makes me curse Nikolai, Dimitry, and even Abby to the lowest hell.
The elevator dings, and I spin around, my hand going straight to the holster under my jacket. Then Abby steps out, her face pale and drawn. With an inarticulate cry, Darya runs to her friend, and Abby holds on to her like she’s a buoy on a stormy sea.
I leave the two friends wrapped in each other’s arms and go to find out what the fuck Nikolai has to say.
The warehouse is right at the end of the industrial port, with the sea on one side and a vacant block on the other. It’s stacked high with rusted old shipping containers that do a good job of concealing it from view. The warehouse is isolated enough that it doesn’t matter how loud anyone screams, and is easy to escape by boat if the authorities get too curious.
Dimitry is waiting outside it, and by his stiff stance and grim face, I’m lucky I’m still walking after what I said about Abby.
Men like us don’t joke about the safety of our women. It was wrong, and I know it.
“Abby’s safe.” I greet him with my hand out.
After a brief pause, he takes it.
I grip his shoulder, hard enough to leave marks.
He nods.
Thank fuck for that.
At least one thing in my life is uncomplicated.
We turn toward the warehouse. “Nikolai?” I make the name a question.
“I ripped the fucker up as much as I could without making him lose consciousness.” Dimitry shakes his head. “He said he’s only allowed to deliver his message to you. Someone obviously scared him enough to make him actually hold out until I agreed.”
“He’d better make it quick. I have a bullet with his name on it just itching to be fired.” I rip back the sliding wooden door on the warehouse with enough force to almost take it off the rollers.
Nikolai is sitting in the middle of the vast concrete floor, although sitting might not be the correct term. His naked body hangs from chains suspended from an overhead steel strut, his wrists dripping blood where the steel has cut through the flesh. His torso is a sea of red, evidence that Dimitry has indeed ripped him with fist and knife to the point where he’s barely able to lift his head.
Dimitry is more of a blunt-punch kind of man, and this kind of torture isn’t usually his style. Not that I’m complaining. I couldn’t give a single fuck.
Nikolai is a dead man regardless of what he has to say. And the more he suffers before that bullet comes, the better.
“Put some pants on him,” I snap at one of my men. I have no desire to interrogate Nikolai while his dick is hanging out. Even the thought of it being inside Inger makes me physically sick. The two of them disgust me to the core.
Nikolai’s head rises slightly as he’s forced back into the bloodstained suit pants he must have been wearing ever since the night of the ball. I take a closer look at the marks on his body. Not all of the wounds are fresh. I remember that Abby found him beaten almost senseless outside Pillars. Close up, I can see she wasn’t exaggerating. Dimitry might have opened a few of the cuts with his fists, but most of the knife wounds are crusted over, days old, and the rainbow bruises on every part of his body have clearly been building up for some time.
“Cut him loose and sit him down.” I kick a chair across the floor, and Nikolai slumps into it, rubbing his lacerated wrists. I throw him a plastic bottle of water, and he gulps it greedily.
I wait until he’s had a few good mouthfuls, then knock the bottle out of his hands.
“This is as good as the next few hours are going to get, Nikolai, so make the fucking most of it.”
His bloodshot, exhausted eyes are full of resentment when he raises them to me. “I didn’t know about the bomb, Roman. Neither did Inger. We just wanted to run away together, with Masha. I thought she was my daughter.” He scowls. “Inger told me she was.”
I look at the men standing around the edges of the warehouse. I don’t want witnesses to the rest of this conversation.
“Everyone out,” I order curtly. The men file out without a second look, except for Dimitry. He knows the order didn’t apply to him.
I wait until the door has closed before turning back to Nikolai. “You thought Masha was your daughter, so you decided to fucking kidnap her?” I only just resist the urge to add to his bruises. “Way to start your journey into fatherhood, Nikolai. Risk Masha’s life, not to mention Mickey’s and Ofelia’s, by blowing up the ballroom, then hand two innocent children over to the most sadistic bastard in Miami. What the fuck were you thinking?”
He’s shaking his head. “It was supposed to be just Masha, but Ofelia was with her when the bomb went off. We didn’t know about the bomb, Roman, I swear it. Inger and I planned to take Masha and get straight on the Guapa . Orlov told us he’d bought it for us as a present. He said he’d help us get it to Miami, but after the explosion, he said there had been a change of plans.”
“And you believed this shit?” I’m so dumbstruck I’m almost speechless. “Why the fuck would Orlov help you and Inger?”
“Because he’s an old friend of our family.” Nikolai scowls at me. “And because, like a lot of Papa’s old friends, he doesn’t like what happened to the Stevanovsky clan after you took over.”
A friend of the family?
Dimitry and I exchange a silent look. This is fucking news to me. I’ve never spoken about the Orlovs to Yuri, but I know most of his contacts. If that name had ever come up, I’d have fucking remembered it.
“Since when are the Orlovs old family friends?” My eyes narrow on Nikolai like a laser.
“I don’t know.” He tries to shrug, winces. “Always, I guess, not that we had Christmas together or anything. I don’t think Inger was lying about Masha,” he adds, like I could give a single fuck. “She believed Orlov’s promises too.”
I actually laugh out loud at that. “You’re an idiot if you believe that, Nikolai. Inger has been fucking Orlov for years.” He flinches as if he’s been hit, and I go on, taking a perverse pleasure in twisting the emotional dagger. “She’s probably fucking him right now and laughing at how stupid you were to help her.”
Nikolai shakes his head. “No, Roman. You’re wrong.” He tilts his head toward the torn, bloody suit jacket lying on the floor nearby. “Look in the pocket.”
I nod at Dimitry, who picks the jacket up and shakes it out. A small bundle falls out, tumbling to the concrete floor with an audible thud. He picks it up and begins to unravel it, but we both already know what we’re about to see.
Inger’s red-nailed finger falls onto a nearby table, still wearing the enormous diamond ring Mikhail gave her on their engagement.
“He made us watch.” Nikolai’s voice cracks. “The girls and me. Inger was crying, screaming for him to stop.”
He made them watch their mother scream in pain.
I might loathe and despise Inger, but that doesn’t lessen my horror at the girls being subjected to her suffering.
“Whatever attack you’re planning, Roman, don’t.” His voice is hoarse and broken. “Orlov is expecting you. He’s got an army guarding that underground bunker. And the whole thing is wired to blow.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.” I resist the urge to add to Nikolai’s scars. I don’t have time for this shit. “Just tell me what the fucker wants. You said you would only talk to me. So talk.”
“Orlov gave me a message for you.” He spits out a glob of blood and mucus, eyeing me sullenly. “He wants the vault open. He said to come to Miami with your key and Darya Petrovsky, or he’ll kill the girls.” Nikolai swallows painfully. “If you try anything, anything at all, he will kill them. Starting with Ofelia.” He squints up at me. “He said you know why he’s going to kill Ofelia first.”
The instant flash of rage I feel is so lethal I almost kill Nikolai then and there, just to murder something. Someone.
He has my daughters. I don’t give a fuck what the DNA test says. They are both my girls. The fact that Orlov thinks it matters to me which of them he threatens tells me exactly how lacking in conscience he is.
His demands are nothing less than what I expected. And yet hearing them affects me more than I thought it would.
He will kill the girls.
I don’t have the luxury of believing Orlov might be bluffing. I know what he’s capable of. And he’s been waiting for this a long time.
Rage and a sickening fear churn like acid inside me.
Nikolai’s face swims back into focus.
“Where was Orlov holding you?” I snarl. None of the camera feeds, underground or above, showed any sign of Nikolai or Inger. “Where does he have Inger hidden?” I rap the questions out hard and fast.
I need to know everything Nikolai can tell me before I put a bullet in his head.
He eyes me resentfully. “At first they took us all to the compound. Vilnus made me take a good look at it, showed me how he’d wired it up to blow. That’s where they did... that.” He nods at Inger’s finger on the floor without looking at it, his face pasty. “It was that psychotic fucker Alexei Petrovsky who did it.” Nikolai’s mouth tightens. “He’s a sadistic bastard. The other guards call him Vilnus’s rabid dog. The mad mudak beat me unconscious.”
For the first time, I almost feel kindly disposed toward Darya’s brother.
“You said at first . What happened after the compound?”
“Vilnus took Inger and me away, to some house out by the Everglades. He left the girls in the underground bunker, guarded by Alexei Petrovsky and an entire fucking army.”
“What house out by the Everglades? Who owns it?”
His face screws up in confusion. “How should I fucking know? It was big, that’s all I remember, at the end of a long driveway.” He scowls at me. “We weren’t exactly making small talk while I was getting beaten half to death. You need to get me to a doctor, Roman.”
Dimitry and I exchange an incredulous look.
Does Nikolai actually think he’s getting out of here alive?
It beggars belief.
I fold my arms. “Then why don’t you tell us what you do know, Nikolai?”
“Orlov knows Ofelia is your daughter. There was some DNA test that got flagged.”
“I’m aware.” I fold my arms, glaring at him.
He spits again and gives me a spiteful look. “Did my brother know he wasn’t Ofelia’s father?”
Oh, I’m going to enjoy killing you, Nikolai.
“Of course he didn’t fucking know. None of us did until Mickey ran those damned tests.”
His mouth twists. “Not that Mikhail would have cared anyway. He always loved you more than he did Inger. No wonder she ran to me.” A spasm of something contorts his face. “I thought Masha was my daughter, right up until they showed me that test. Inger... told me she was.”
“Bullshit.” I stare him down. “Mickey told me that you and Inger argued about her being at parties with Orlov. And you’ve been taking photos of Masha for months. You clearly suspected she wasn’t yours.”
“Inger promised me she was.” He looks as pathetic as he sounds. “And she wouldn’t get a paternity test. She said it would only cause problems if people knew. It was only after... what happened at the compound that she told me the truth.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your love life, Nikolai.” I’m getting impatient.
But he seems intent on finishing his sorry tale. The only reason I don’t stop him is because there might be something helpful amid the bullshit.
“Orlov raped her.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, he did, Nikolai. Jesus.” I shake my head. “Even you can’t be stupid enough to believe that.”
“It’s true.” He shoots me a resentful look. “She was flirting with Orlov that summer, true enough, and we did argue about it. But you know what Inger is like. She flirts with everyone. Apparently one night Orlov wouldn’t take no for an answer. She told me that he slipped something in her drink. When she woke up the next morning, she was too embarrassed to make a fuss, so she never told anyone, even when she found out she was pregnant with Masha.”
Sadly, I can actually believe that. Inger has never known when to back off. And I vaguely recall her being extra hysterical that year. I put it down to her trying to screw a bigger settlement out of Mikhail.
Fuck it. I don’t want to feel sorry for Inger.
“Even if that story is true, then why the fuck would Inger ever trust him? Why would she think he’d buy her a yacht?”
Nikolai’s swollen eyes meet mine. “That’s exactly why she believed him. Orlov claimed he’d always felt bad about what happened, that he’d always regretted that night. He said that buying the Guapa , helping Inger and me run away together with Masha, was his way of making good. He even offered me a place in his organization.” The hint of defiance in his voice almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
“And you actually believed all this?” I’m incredulous. “You honestly thought you were such a fucking prize that Vilnus Orlov would offer you a job? More to the point, was that all it took for you to betray your entire family? To betray Mikhail’s legacy and everything your father built?”
“You kept secrets from me!” The words explode from Nikolai, and for the first time, I catch a glimpse of real anger. “Lance Ryder told me all about you. About how your father was the one who built the Petrovsky vault. I didn’t believe him at first. I even asked you outright, that day at the parade. You could have told me the truth then, but you didn’t. Orlov believed it, though. I met him with Miguel when I was in Miami with Cádiz FC. He does business with the Colombians that invested in Cádiz. That was when he offered to help Inger and me.” His face turns petulant. “Orlov said that if Ryder’s stories were true, you’d used our name to hide, to build a legacy for yourself, while all this time, you’ve been plotting to open that vault and take what’s inside it. He said you betrayed our family, used our resources to start whatever the fuck it is you’re doing up in that research facility.” Nicky gives me a look I imagine he thinks is cunning. “Orlov plans to steal whatever you’ve got going on up there as well, you know. I heard him talking to Inger about it.”
Dimitry makes a hard noise, takes his gun out, but I shake my head. Let Nicky talk. The more the dumb fuck says, the better, as far as I’m concerned.
“He said you and Darya Petrovsky are working together.” Nikolai throws the words at me as if I’m going to actually explain myself to him. “What I want to know is if that’s why my brother died, too. Did Mikhail work out what your game was, Roman? Was it you who planted that bomb in his car? Was that bullet you took for Mikhail even real? Or did you set that up too, just so you could win my father’s favor and steal from us?”
I’m too fucking flabbergasted to do anything other than stare at him in silence. Nikolai’s chest is heaving, his eyes flashing with pain and rage.
“You caused all of this,” he says. He spits again, his eyes not leaving mine. “Ofelia and Masha were kidnapped because Orlov wants you and Darya to open that vault. I was beaten almost to death just to send you a message, and the woman I love is probably being raped at this minute, all because of your greed. You stand there and accuse me of endangering the children as if you’re some kind of hero, like you follow some fucking code of honor that makes you better than everyone else. But the truth is that if you want someone to blame for what’s happened, Roman, you should look in the fucking mirror.”
His rasping breath is the only audible sound in the silence that follows his diatribe. His face is a picture of disconsolate anger, like a toddler after a tantrum.
A huge part of me wants to simply kill him and be done with it.
But another part of me knows Nikolai is right.
Not about everything, obviously. His accusations about Mikhail are next-level fantasy. But the part about this being my fault?
Yeah.
Yeah, that’s fair.
Not that it’s going to stop me from killing him.
I slow clap. “Looks like you’ve got it all figured out, Nikolai.”
He scowls and spits on the floor.
“So I guess you want in on the vault, huh, Nicky? And the research facility?”
He eyes me suspiciously. “I think I deserve that much, after everything that’s happened.”
“Sure.” I nod like I’m actually agreeing, then hold up a finger. “Just one last question. You’re doing good, Nicky.”
Dumb fuck actually looks relieved, as if he genuinely believes he’s going to walk out of here alive.
“Did Orlov ask you about the research facility? Did Alexei?”
“Seriously?” He looks at me incredulously. “Even now, that’s the shit you care about? Of course Orlov asked about it. He asked on that first day, when we were in the compound. But it’s not like I had anything to tell him. It’s not like you’ve ever taken me up there, is it?”
There’s no faking the indignation in his face. Nikolai truly has no idea about Mercura, it’s obvious.
“And there isn’t anything else you’ve left out of this story? Nothing more you can tell me about the compound that might help us get the girls back?”
“No.” His face sinks back into sullen petulance. “I’ve told you everything I know.” It’s the whiny voice again, Nicky the victim, and it does my head in. “I want to talk to my father. I’m not your lackey, Roman. I’m Yuri Stevanovsky’s son, his true heir. I bled in that room. I nearly fucking died. And then you bring me in here and beat me all over again. My father is going to finish you when he finds out what you’ve done.”
That’s it.
Whatever final hesitation was holding me back, whatever faint sense of guilt or family allegiance I might have felt, slips away.
I cross the floor in three paces. Squatting down, I use my gun to tilt Nikolai’s chin up so he’s facing me. “Tell me, Nicky,” I say in a conversational tone. “When did you first fuck your brother’s wife?”
His eyes shift left and right, searching for an escape that’s never going to happen. He licks his lips nervously. “I was fifteen,” he says finally.
“Fifteen!” I tilt my head in mock respect. “How did a fifteen-year-old pimply little fuck get Inger’s legs open?”
He visibly squirms. “I caught her,” he mutters eventually. “Sleeping with the pool boy. I promised her I wouldn’t tell Mikhail about it—”
“If she fucked you as well,” I finish for him. I shake my head slowly. “Jesus, Nicky. You really are a piece of shit, aren’t you?” I get my face right up into his, close enough that I can smell the blood and rancid sweat coming off him, the rottenness at the core of the little mudak .
“Mikhail Stevanovsky was a brother to me,” I say softly, staring right into Nikolai’s bloodshot eyes. “I took a bullet for him, not just once, but many times during the war. I never once counted the scars. I’d willingly take a thousand more bullets if it would give Mikhail one more day on this fucking earth. I’d do it not because of your father, and not because of anything he could offer me, but because I fucking loved Mikhail, and always will.
“It was Mikhail, not me, who made the decision to keep you out of Hale. Because despite the fact that you were his brother, he didn’t trust you at all. Even so, he gave you Pillars and a chance to prove yourself. But that wasn’t enough for you, Nicky, was it? Nothing this world can give you will ever be enough.
“Not Inger, not even the pakhan ’s chair you think you deserve—nothing will ever satisfy you. Do you know why that is?”
He doesn’t answer, just watches me. His eyes have grown increasingly wide and more fearful as I’ve spoken. He’s starting to understand what’s going to happen.
“Because you’re a cockroach, Nikolai. You creep around in dark places and feed on anything you can find. You don’t build anything. You don’t create anything. You just sit inside houses other people build for you and eat until there’s nothing left. Then when you fall down, you lie on your back with your legs waving in the air, because you’re too useless to pick yourself up and too fucking stupid to learn from your mistakes.
“I don’t mind cockroaches, Nicky. I’ve always held the opinion that there’s room in this world for all kinds of creatures.”
I stand up and nod at Dimitry.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t step on the fuckers when they’re living in my goddamn kitchen.”
We put more bullets in Nikolai than is strictly necessary to end his life.
I don’t regret a single one of them.