Chapter 30
30
ROMAN
P art of me can’t help but look around the bank as we make our way to the exit.
If Sergei was telling the truth, and in this, at least, I believe he was, then Rosa— my mother —has some way of being alerted when I access the safety deposit box.
I hate myself for wanting to find her here.
You’ve already done this.
The last time I stood here, I was in my early twenties. The scars on my hands were fresh then, still raw from the blood they seemed permanently drenched in back in those days. I was deep in Yuri’s wars, unaware that they’d only just really begun. I hadn’t even been sure I was going to come here at all.
I was in Zurich with Mikhail. We’d met with several bankers, searching for financial backing, ostensibly for Hale, but really for Mercura. Yuri wanted nothing to do with our ideas. He was entrenched in the old way of doing business. Mikhail and I dreamed of a different way, a cleaner way.
Nobody was interested, of course, not back then. We were two young upstart criminals, bearing a family name that was suspicious at best. Mikhail and I had been turned away with scorn from every door. We’d headed to one of the seedier bars in the edgy Langstrasse district to drown our sorrows.
When Mikhail slipped upstairs with two very expensive hookers, I’d slipped out and come here.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe I felt like I had nothing to lose. Or maybe I was just sick of running from the past.
What I remember most is standing here, in the marble foyer, staring around in vain for a mother who never came.
I didn’t expect it to hit me like this again.
To feel this heart-wrenching disappointment a second time.
I thought myself immune to it, or at least so occupied with bigger things that I wouldn’t get sidetracked by emotions.
Yet here I am, my gut churning like the engine of my goddamn MTT and my nerves more knotted than one of Fabergé’s fucking locks.
“Is she here?” Darya’s hand slips into mine, and I grip it like it’s a lifeline. I’ll never know how she does that, how she seems to know just when I need the silken warmth of her touch. For all my objections to her accompanying me on this little excursion, I’m suddenly passionately grateful she’s with me.
“No.” I shake my head curtly. “No, she’s not.”
“Okay.” She squeezes my hand, resting her head briefly against my shoulder. “Then we’re done here.”
I stride out of the stale air and gulp the fresh day gratefully. Darya’s presence at my side is both strength and comfort. Dimitry is standing by the limo, eyes scanning the street.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I growl as we approach him. “I never want to see this goddamn place again.”
“Then it’s fortunate I made it in time.”
The voice coming from behind us jerks me to a halt faster than a bullet to the head.
My breath chokes in my throat, my heartbeat slowing to a dull, sick thud.
It can’t be.
Dimitry stiffens, reaching for his gun. I’m trying to find my voice, but it’s gone.
In the sudden strange fog that surrounds me, I’m dimly aware that bullets are about to disrupt the peaceful Zurich morning.
Thankfully, Darya finds her voice when I can’t. “Wait, Dimitry.”
He must hear the urgency in her voice, because he actually does as she says.
Darya turns around, and I follow her hand like it’s a lodestone, both hoping and dreading what I’m going to see.
“Roman.”
The woman standing in front of us is smaller than I remember, but then I was only eight the last time I saw her. Her black hair has been dyed blond, a short bob in place of the smooth chignon I remember. Large dark sunglasses hide her eyes. But even after more than twenty years, her face is as familiar to me as if I saw it yesterday.
“We can’t talk here.” Some long-standing instinct kicks into place inside me, cutting through the mental shock. “It isn’t safe.” I wrench open the limo door, and Darya, taking one look at my face, hurries inside without any argument.
I nod at the woman on the pavement, her face unreadable behind the glasses. “Get in.” I close the door behind her.
Dimitry’s hand is still on his gun, but he’s watching me, eyes narrow. “Friend of yours?”
“Something like that.” I meet his eyes, my heart suddenly racing in my chest. “She’s my mother, Rosa.”
“Roman.”
It’s the second time Rosa has said my name since we met on the street, but my ability to answer her hasn’t improved. Nor can I think of her as Mama . I find it hard to look at her. She’s sitting beside Darya, and I’m on the seat opposite. I stare blankly at a point on the black leather seat between them, taking in my mother’s figure in my peripheral vision.
Rosa may well be smaller than my child’s eyes remembered, but she matches Darya’s five foot ten. She’s wearing brown low-heeled boots and dark suede pants with a cream knit sweater and subtle diamond studs in her ears. Carrying a suede Hermès bag and with an elegant French manicure, she looks like any upper-middle-class wife out for a day’s shopping in downtown Zurich.
“I’ve been staying in a room just off Oberdorfstrasse for weeks, hoping you would come.” Rosa’s voice is low and slightly unsteady. “My contact called when you collected the key to the safety deposit box. I came straight away.”
“That’s a risk.” I still can’t look at her, but in a weird instinct, my logical brain continues to run with detached efficiency. “Are you certain you weren’t seen?”
Darya’s foot slides between mine, both warning and reassurance. I know my voice sounds hard, but it’s an effort to speak at all, let alone to moderate my tone.
“I’ve managed to evade sight for over twenty years, Roman. No, I wasn’t followed.” There’s no boast in her words, only quiet resignation. “I don’t believe there is anyone watching the bank. Or at least there wasn’t, before today.”
“Why would that change today?” I seize on her final comment.
“You’re in a limousine, Roman. Traveling in your own plane, I imagine, since we are en route to the private airport. These things are easy to track.”
When I don’t immediately answer, she shifts in her seat, turning sideways. “You must be Darya.” I hear the slight catch in her voice, note the effort she takes to breathe in and steady herself. “I am so very happy to finally meet you.”
“And you are Rosa Borovsky.” Darya takes the proffered hand, smiling.
My mother’s mouth twists at the corners. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me that.”
“Would you prefer us to use a different name?” Darya’s smile is understanding. “I know how... hard it can be, living two lives.”
“I know you do.” Rosa presses her hand, then releases it and turns back to me. “I know you both do. Rosa is fine. It’s probably best that you don’t know the name I’m using now.”
I give a rather hard laugh. “I take it this is just a fleeting visit, then. Not planning to stick around?”
Darya frowns at me. “Roman—”
“It’s fine.” Rosa interrupts her. She folds her hands in her lap and watches me across the limo. “You have every right to be angry, Roman.”
“Good to know.” My fingers itch for the Scotch bottle, but today alcohol is not an option. I meet her eyes briefly, but my own slide away. Even that fleeting glimpse is enough to jolt me to the core.
For so long, I’ve seen her eyes only in my dreams.
It’s been years since I allowed myself the luxury of actually remembering them.
Those memories are too painful.
Liquid brown eyes, laughing into my own as she held my hands and danced with me.
Eyes soft with love as she read me to sleep.
Memories like that undo a man. Break the walls I needed to build in order to survive.
And today, of all days, isn’t the time to take that fortress down.
My anger makes no sense, after so many years of longing to see my mother again. But it’s there, as uncontrollable as it is savage. I’m not proud of it, but nor am I capable of processing it.
Not today.
“Look, Rosa.”
She flinches when I use her first name, but it’s the best I can do. I force myself to meet her eyes, taming the sudden rush of adrenaline with the discipline of long practice. “This isn’t the day for a family reunion.” I take a card from my shirt pocket and hold it out to her. “This is my number. Feel free to call it the next time you’re in Spain.” I knock on the window, and Dimitry lowers it. “Tell Bryce to pull in at the next truck stop. Our passenger won’t be traveling with us.”
He wisely doesn’t argue, just nods and raises the window again.
“Roman!” Darya is glaring at me. “We can make time—”
“No.” Rosa cuts her off in a subdued tone. “After what has happened, our conversation can wait.”
My inner tension ratchets up even further. The limo turns into a service road, but I’m no longer paying attention. “What do you mean, ‘after what has happened’?” I fix on my mother’s face, any hesitation I previously felt about looking at her dropping away. “What do you know?”
“I know that Vilnus Orlov has kidnapped your goddaughters.” She meets my eyes steadily. “That he’s holding them in Miami.”
“And how, exactly, do you know this, Rosa? Who are you talking to?” I clasp my hands between my knees, pinning her to the seat with my eyes. “Or should I say—who is talking to you?”
Darya is very still. Her smile has faded, and her eyes on Rosa are narrow and wary. It hurts me to see her like this, and that does nothing to alleviate the churning anger inside me, anger I neither understand nor, at the present moment, have any wish to examine.
“Sergei sent me a message. But I knew before that. Alexei, he—”
“Alexei is talking to you. Of course he is.” Darya’s voice is hard. Her eyes shift to mine as the limo glides to a halt. “I agree with your son, Rosa. I think this is a good place for us to part ways.”
“Not a chance,” I interrupt her. “Not if she’s talking to Alexei.”
Darya frowns, but she doesn’t argue with me.
“I’m sorry, Rosa, but for now, I’d prefer it if you remained under my protection. Darya is flying back to Spain today. You will travel with her.”
Rosa stares between us both, her bewilderment apparent. “That isn’t wise, Roman. Darya will need to be in Zurich anyway, when—”
“When what, Rosa?” I cut her off, my rage rising faster than I think I’m going to be able to control. “When you call her brother, so he can betray her again? Or her father, so Sergei can lie to her again? No.” I shake my head, my fists balling tightly as I stare her down. “I won’t allow anything to put my family at risk, Rosa. Not even you.”
Her face pales. “I am your family, Roman. I would never do anything to put you at risk.”
“Really.” I almost spit the word. “You’ll have to forgive me if I find that rather difficult to believe.” Leaving Darya inside the limo, I open the door without waiting for an answer, pulling Rosa out with me. Dimitry and Bryce step out of the limo, eyeing me warily.
“Pat her down. I want her phone and any other device.” Holding her elbow tightly, I take the bag from her shoulder.
“This isn’t necessary, Roman.” Her voice is quiet, almost defeated, as Dimitry starts patting her down. “You have this wrong. My phone is in my bag,” she adds. I find it, a basic model Nokia, and hand it to her.
“Unlock it.”
“The code is 0627.”
The twenty-seventh of June.
The date she left Papa and me.
I don’t react, just unlock it. The messages are empty, as is the call log.
“Is anyone expecting your call?” I snap.
“No.”
“Will anyone call, expecting you to answer?”
“I don’t know. I don’t make calls, I only answer them.” She stands unmoving as Dimitry searches her thoroughly.
“Tell me what they know,” I say as he pats her down.
She frowns, shaking her head. “What who knows?”
I click my tongue impatiently. “Are the Orlovs expecting an attack? What has Alexei told you?”
“Nothing.” Rosa looks genuinely bewildered. “He never said anything about an attack. I only know that he was expecting Darya in Zurich days ago.”
“Yes, well, Darya isn’t following her brother’s orders anymore. Wait.” It’s my turn to frown. “If it was Darya who he was expecting, why were you waiting near the bank?”
“Hoping.” For the first time since I pulled her out of the limo, Rosa’s eyes cloud over with unshed tears, her voice trembling. “I hoped that when Darya came, you might come after her. Alexei said you... might.”
I ignore that. “Why would you know if Darya had arrived in Zurich?”
“I only knew I would be contacted as soon as she reached Alexei’s safe house in Zurich.”
Khuy. Cold horror washes through my body in a sickening wave. That’s how close we came. To Darya, pregnant and alone, being back in the hands of Vilnus Orlov.
I can’t look at my mother anymore. I can barely see for my fury.
“She rides in the front seat with you.” I push Rosa toward Dimitry, waiting until he has hold of her arm before I let go. “Get us to the fucking airport. If she so much as moves between now and then, do whatever you have to.” I slam the door behind her. “Bryce—in the back.”
I take a series of deep breaths before I open the door and climb back in next to Darya. She grips my hand wordlessly, and my fingers close over hers like they’re a goddamn lifeline.
“Change of plan.” My voice is still hard with tension. “My mother— Rosa —will travel with Darya. But to London, not to Malaga.”
Bryce frowns. “Our security team is waiting in Spain.”
“Rosa has been talking to Alexei. We need to assume the Orlovs know we’re in Zurich and are expecting Darya to fly back to Malaga.”
Bryce blanches.
“Change the flight plan to London. Contact Vera, Yuri’s wife. Her London house is just as safe as my penthouse. I did the security myself when the children stayed there. Contact our London people, have them clear the house immediately, then get our own team out there. Once in London, Rosa gets her own dedicated guard. And she doesn’t speak to a single fucking soul I don’t personally clear from this moment on.”
“Copy that, boss.” Bryce is already on his phone.
Darya squeezes my hand reassuringly as I punch out Pavel’s number. He answers on the first ring. “Boss.”
I explain the situation briefly. “I don’t want their arrival in London to make the slightest fucking blip on anyone’s radar. That means customs, air control—any damn thing. I don’t give a fuck who you have to hack, bribe, or kill to make that happen. From Zurich, Darya’s jet is invisible. You got it?”
“Got it, boss.”
“Let me know when it’s done.” I press end on the call, adrenaline coursing through my body. Bryce is on the phone in the other corner of the limo.
I turn to Darya. Her eyes are wide and pained, her body stiff with tension, and her tremulous smile breaks my fucking heart. I touch her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You did the right thing, Roman. Even if Rosa means well, Alexei...” Her voice breaks off, and she shakes her head. “You did the right thing.”
I raise her hand and press my lips to it, holding them there for a long time, just inhaling the sweet scent of her, the silk comfort of her skin against mine. Right now I need her nearness like a dying man needs water.
“Vera isn’t the best company,” I say as we enter the airport gates, “but I’ll make sure she stays out of your way. I don’t need to warn you not to speak about any of this to her.”
Darya nods, her eyes not leaving mine. “Roman—I want to talk to your mother. She might know something that can help us. Help you.”
When I don’t answer, she leans into me, her lips grazing my cheek. “I know you don’t trust her. Neither do I, not until this is over. But if there’s anything at all that she knows and we don’t—surely we should find out?”
I don’t like the idea of Darya anywhere near Rosa. I’m still haunted by how close she came to being in Alexei’s hands in Zurich. “Do you remember when you told me about your brother’s letter? You said he gave you an address in Zurich.”
She nods.
“My mother was the contact you were meant to meet.”
Her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes widening as the implication settles in. “Oh, God.”
I nod grimly. “Talk to her if you like. I won’t stop you. But you need to be fucking careful, Darya. There’ll be time after all this is over to work out who is and isn’t innocent, who knew what. But for now, until we have the girls back, I don’t trust anyone. Not even when they’re under lock and key in my own house.”
She’s already nodding. “I’ll be careful, I promise.” Her brow crinkles. “What about Fedorov? Do you think I should ask her about him?”
“No.” I answer immediately. “I don’t want anyone outside our immediate circle so much as hearing that fucker’s name, let alone that we’re coming for him.”
“I understand.”
The limo slows to a halt beside the plane. Bryce exits, diplomatically leaving us alone. Darya looks up at me, her eyes wide and luminous. “This is it, isn’t it,” she says quietly. “The last time I see you before you do this.”
“Yes.” I pull her onto my lap, desperate to feel her close. I’ve been dreading this, the moment before we part. Dreading the questions I don’t want to answer and the emotions I can’t handle.
But instead of questions or emotions, Darya just takes my face in her hands and kisses me.
Fire.
Her mouth is hot and fierce and says more than any words ever could. She puts into that kiss every night we’ve spent together, all the love and pain and life we’ve somehow found in these past months. Her kiss is comfort and savage force, a surge of energy through my body that I know is meant to carry me into war.
And I take it. I take every moment of it, thrusting the sweet heat of her into my every cell.
When she finally pulls away, the knotted tension in my body has been transformed, changed to steady, sure purpose, honed and fierce as any ancient blade.
“Go, pakhan ,” she whispers, her eyes holding mine as her hands hold my face. “Go and get our babies back.”