Chapter 34
34
ROMAN
“ R oman Borovsky.”
Vilnus Orlov’s bloated face stares out of the screen in front of me.
The years have not been kind to him.
He’s fatter than I remember, his eyes narrow slits, and smoke from a cigarette coils up from a hand that is out of sight of the camera.
“Put the girls on.” I don’t bother acknowledging his greeting. The fucker knows why we’re here.
Orlov’s fat lips curl in an unpleasant smile. “Your daughter is safe, as is mine.”
I ignore that. Masha might be his blood, but she’s my family, now and always.
“That white screen behind you won’t help, you know.” His voice is conversational. “There isn’t an inch of this city where I don’t have eyes.”
“Show me the girls, Orlov, or this call is done.”
He takes a drag of his cigarette, the red sparrow on his hand vivid on-screen, and blows the smoke toward the camera. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re the same cold blue I remember from the night he murdered my father.
He nods at someone off-screen, and the camera flickers as it changes view.
“Roman!” Ofelia’s pale face and wide, stark eyes come into view. Her arm is tightly around Masha, who looks defiant and tearstained as she clings to her sister.
It takes everything I have not to put my fist through the screen.
“ Umnyashka .” I force myself to smile at Ofelia. “ Myshka ,” I say, shifting my smile to Masha. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t like it here.” Masha sniffs, glaring at someone off camera.
My fingers clench beneath the table. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
“We’re okay.” Ofelia stares directly at the camera with a hard wariness that breaks my heart. She turns to Masha, revealing a vivid red mark down one side of her face.
“What happened to your face?” There’s nothing I can do to disguise the fury in my voice.
“It happened when the bomb went off.” Her eyes flicker up to whoever is standing behind the camera. “I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
But you’ll have that scar for the rest of your life. As if the scars inside weren’t enough.
Inhale. Exhale.
“This will be over soon, I promise.”
Ofelia nods her head slightly. “I know.” Her tremulous smile breaks my fucking heart.
Thank God I made sure Mickey isn’t watching this.
“That’s enough.” The camera moves again, back to Orlov’s sneering face. “They’re alive, as you can see. Open the vault for me, and you can take them home.”
“We will be at the compound in an hour.” My voice is calm and measured, and nothing like the vicious killing rage racing through my body.
“Only one car. No weapons. And don’t even think about trying anything, Borovsky. You know what will happen if you do.”
The camera switches back to Ofelia’s pale, set face and Masha’s defiant glare. I stare directly into Ofelia’s midnight eyes, wondering how I never saw myself in them. “I’ll be there soon, okay?”
Be ready.
Ofelia gives the barest nod of her head, her lips pressed hard together. Masha hiccups.
Orlov’s face fills the camera again.
You will be dead soon, you fat fuck.
“One hour, Borovsky.”
The screen goes black.
“Mother fucker! ” I push the chair back so hard it flies across the floor. I grip the edge of the table in front of me, battling for control. Nobody speaks. They know there’s nothing they can say that will make this better.
“It’s go time,” I say tightly, staring at the schematics in front of me.
Mak nods. “Bravo Team, we’re on the clock,” he says into his headpiece. He nods at me. “I’ll keep you posted.”
I stalk out to the armored limo flanked by Dimitry and four members of Alpha Team, but all I can see are the two small, terrified faces of my daughters.
Mickey glances up from his position by the door as I pass. His eyes narrow when he sees my face.
“They’re okay,” I snarl, wrenching the limo door open.
He stands up and walks over, putting his hand out. I ignore it and pull him into a brief, hard embrace.
“I’ll bring them home, Mickey.”
He meets my eyes steadily. “I know.”
He watches us enter the limo, but he turns away before the car even starts moving, opening his laptop again, his face a mask of concentration.
I know he’d only be a liability on the ground, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing I could take him. If anyone has earned the right to be there when the girls are found, it’s Mickey.
The freeway glides by. Nobody speaks. We’re all counting minutes.
Almost thirty of them have gone by when my earpiece crackles to life.
“Everglades secure.”
Mak delivers the news without embellishment. My initial rush of relief fades when he continues, “No sign of either target anywhere on the premises.”
“What the fuck?” I stare at Dimitry across the limo. “We’ve had men watching the place for days. What do they mean, there’s no sign of Inger or Fedorov?”
“They knew we were watching.” Mak’s voice is tight and controlled, but I can hear the tension beneath it. “The guard outside was heavy enough, but inside the place was deserted. Barely so much as a skeleton crew—and one man who is clearly a stand-in for Fedorov himself. Dressed the same, similar height, age, features.”
“Jesus.” I pass a hand over my face. “He was expecting us.”
“That, or he deliberately runs a dupe system in case anyone is watching.”
“No.” Unease trickles down my spine. “He’s up to something.”
“We still going ahead?” Dimitry eyes me across the vehicle. We’re ten miles from the Coconut Grove compound.
“I think we have to.” I focus on the earpiece. “Mak?”
“I don’t like it at all, but I agree. If we hesitate now, we risk losing our only chance. But we need to assume we’re walking into an ambush. If Fedorov wasn’t at the Everglades, then he’s either in the Coconut Grove compound or somewhere close. I’ve got people on the water now, and covering every angle, but there’s no sign of him yet.”
“Goddammit.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Every instinct is screaming at me that something is wrong.
I pull out my phone and dial London. “Bryce. We’ve lost Fedorov. Is the house secure?”
“Yes.” His answer comes immediately. “There’s no problem there. We’re watching every corner.”
“Good. I want every man we have on it, and I don’t want Darya and Rosa out of your sight for a moment. Any sign of trouble, get them both into the safe room. Where’s Vera?”
“Right now, she’s in the kitchen. Boss.” Bryce pauses, just long enough to make my unease ratchet up a notch.
“What is it?”
“Vera. She’s not at all happy about me taking her phone or monitoring the line here. And—well, she’s asking about Nikolai. She wants to talk to him.”
Fuck.
Amid everything else that’s going on, I’ve neglected to mention to Vera that her remaining son is no longer with us. Or that I was the one who put the bullet through his head. I’m not saying I forgot to tell her; I just didn’t.
“Head her off for the next hour or so. I’ll call as soon as this is done and deal with her.”
“Copy that.” Bryce hesitates. “She’s being particularly unpleasant. With Darya.”
“ Khuy .” Christ, Vera is a fucking nightmare. “Tell Darya and Rosa to be ready. We’ll get them out of there as soon as I can. And stay fucking vigilant, Bryce. Nobody, and I do mean nobody, goes in or out of that house until I give you the go-ahead. Shit’s about to go down.”
“Copy that.”
I end the call with my gut churning, and not just because Fedorov is missing. “I never should have put Darya in that fucking house.”
“It isn’t like you had a whole lot of options.” Dimitry looks as tense as I feel. “And at least we know it’s secure.”
“Vera’s being a cunt.”
He snorts. “What else is new?”
“I should have moved her out.”
“No.” Dimitry shakes his head. “Not worth the risk. Good thing you got Bryce to take her phone, too. She’d already be complaining in Yuri’s ear, and that’s the last thing we need, on top of everything else.”
I know he’s right, but I hate the thought of Darya anywhere near Vera. The woman was always toxic, even before Yuri went to jail. She never approved of Yuri adopting me, not that I cared. Mikhail and I lived in our own place, and if we showed up for Sunday lunch, it was usually with crippling hangovers and dark sunglasses. I’ve always been astonished that Vera’s bitter anger and Yuri’s boastfulness could have produced a son as warm and generous as Mikhail. I never particularly liked the children spending time with Vera, but Inger and she were always close, and it seemed a small act of kindness given all Vera has lost.
Still, I’ll breathe easier when Darya is out of that house, secure though it might be.
I glance at my phone, mentally doing the math. It’s one a.m. in London.
I know Darya won’t be sleeping, will be staring at her phone, waiting for my call.
My fingers tap my leg impatiently. I know Mak’s men will be waiting with weapons inside the hidden tunnels as we speak. But I’ve never itched to feel steel in my hand more than right now.
I feel naked without it.
The miles inch by, my tension ratcheting up with every one.
We pull up at the tall iron gates, and our driver hits the intercom. The gates open, and we head down the wide approach to the circular driveway around a fountain at the entrance. Orlov isn’t trying to be subtle about the force he has guarding the place. There are combat suits and dark glasses hidden behind every fucking shrub on the way to the front door.
Our lone vehicle, with barely half a dozen men, looks pitiful by comparison. Then again, we are supposedly here to trade, not to fight.
The open vault in exchange for my daughters.
We step out, gravel crunching beneath our shoes, and submit to being patted down by Orlov’s men. Loathing crawls down my spine as I watch hands tattooed with red sparrows touch my body.
I remember hands just like those around my father’s neck. Torturing people across Miami in their search for me.
Hands like those carved lines into Darya’s flesh.
The killing fury simmers just under the surface, white-hot but carefully restrained. There’ll be time for killing, soon enough. Until then, I have to play the game.
We are led through the wide marble corridors toward what I know, from studying the schematic, was once Sergei’s study. Darya told us that is where Orlov would make the meet.
“It’s where Papa always met his men,” she said. “Vilnus loves that room. Sitting in my father’s chair makes him feel powerful.”
Sure enough, heavy doors open to a bookshelf-lined room with rich leather couches set around low coffee tables. A wide, heavy wooden desk stands at one end, beneath an exquisite painting I recognize as a Natalia Goncharova, a pre-revolutionary Russian artist. It’s a family portrait, set in the Russian countryside. There’s something poignant in it, a sense of nostalgia edged with darkness, as if the artist painted a world she already knew was about to disappear.
It’s an odd thing to fix on, given why I am here. But for some reason it gives me strength.
I can imagine Sergei there, in that painting. My father.
The world they were born to was stolen from us all, and a lethal legacy has been left in its place.
Or perhaps I just don’t want to look at the motherfucker in the chair beneath that painting.
“Roman Stevanovsky.” Vilnus Orlov doesn’t stand up. He sprawls in the leather armchair, cigarette in hand, watching me approach. The bloated fat of his face is even more obvious in person, the narrow blue eyes gleaming maliciously.
“Orlov.” I nod coldly. The last time I saw him he was in his prime, a barrel-chested wall of muscle, if an unattractive one.
Now the barrel chest is more fat than muscle, his jowls thick with drink and good food, face red veined. His fingers are stained with nicotine, and his eyes dart furtively around the room, as if to reassure himself of his own guard. By the way his nose is running, and his constant licking of lips, I’d say he’s been sampling way too much of the product produced by his Colombian allies.
After so many years of living with my hatred and fear, standing in front of him now, Vilnus seems strangely inconsequential. I’ve squashed better men than him with my bare hands. It’s like seeing a childhood nightmare in the daylight, reduced to nothing more than flesh and bone.
Flesh that I’m only minutes away from destroying.
“Your cell phones, if you don’t mind.” Vilnus gives us a shit-eating grin. He’s clearly enjoying his moment of power.
We hand them over. I notice my screen is showing a missed call from Spain. Odd, given how late it is there. But Darya is in London, so there’s nothing in Spain that can’t wait.
“I expected Darya Petrovsky.” Vilnus sucks on his cigarette, still smiling. “I was looking forward to seeing her again. It’s been too long since we spent time together.”
I smile coldly. “You won’t ever see Darya again, Orlov.” I throw the gel imprint down on the table. “Her fingerprints are the only part of her you will ever lay eyes on in this life.”
“Strange time to make threats, Borovsky.” His smile has faded. “Gel imprints of the fingerprints haven’t worked in the past.”
“And you know as well as I do that is because you need three sets, not two, or you wouldn’t be holding my children. The imprints will work.” I give him a hard smile. “Or do you think I don’t know how to open my father’s vault?”
His eyes narrow even further. “They’d better work, Borovsky. Because if this is some kind of trick, you’re a dead man.”
“Are we going to do this?” I look around the room. “I don’t see Alexei Petrovsky’s face among your goons.”
Vilnus’s lips curl. “You don’t need to worry about Petrovsky. I brought him to heel long ago.” His smirk becomes unpleasant. “He’s been enjoying getting to know your daughter. I let him practice his knife skills on her. She has more in common with Darya than you might imagine. I think Ofelia enjoys the touch of a blade almost as much as Darya used to.”
The blood pulses slowly through my brain. I almost relish the spread of red fury through my body.
Vilnus Orlov is going to die. Very soon.
Followed by Alexei Petrovsky.
But not until I have everything I came for.
“If you’re done playing games, I have a plane to catch.”
Vilnus’s expression grows sour. He clearly expected me to take his bait.
He thinks he can anger me, throw me off-balance. If I wasn’t so coldly furious, I’d find it insulting.
He nods to the men behind us, and I feel the cold muzzle of a machine gun in the base of my spine. “Walk,” he barks. “And don’t even think about trying anything.”
“Really, Vilnus?” I give him a contemptuous smile. “We’re in your house, with your guns all over us, and you’re still worried?” I shake my head in mock disappointment. “Then again, you always have liked to stack the odds. How many men were there the night you came for my father? Half a dozen, wasn’t it—against one old man and a little boy?”
Vilnus stares at me. “You were there,” he says flatly.
“I was there.” I almost enjoy his shock. “Watching through the kitchen window. And afterward, I was in Miami the whole time. Did you know that, Vilnus? All the years you searched for me, I was right under your nose. What was it you said—that there isn’t an inch of the city you don’t have eyes on? Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.”
The first flicker of unease crosses his face. Maybe I shouldn’t taunt him. But now that I’m here, standing in front of him, any trace of trepidation is gone. He can’t hurt the girls, not anymore. I have too many men here, too many guns trained on every corner of this property. All we’re doing now is playing the game, just long enough to smoke Fedorov out.
“Walk,” he says again, but this time there’s a slight tremor in his voice, and the way he looks around warily doesn’t escape me.
If Fedorov is here, I’m guessing Vilnus is starting to wish he’d show himself.
He’s not the only one.
We walk through the long corridors and pass through several heavy coded doors. There are too many of us for the elevator, so we take the stairs down to the basement.
It smells dank, the air close and unpleasant. Low light glares from stone walls, and our footsteps echo against them. It sickens me to think of the girls down here.
To think of Darya down here.
We round a corner into the most heavily guarded corridor we’ve been in yet. The men are clustered around a closed door, beside which is a darkened window. Vilnus halts in front of it, grinning evilly. “Feast your eyes, Borovsky.”
It takes all my restraint not to smash through the window the moment I see Ofelia and Masha. They are huddled against the back wall, their faces white with fear. Ofelia has her arms around Masha, hugging her sister close to her chest. She’s still wearing the ball gown she was in the night she was taken, but now it’s torn and dirty, hanging in bare rags from her body.
The guard with his back to us has his machine gun pointing directly into their faces.
“Dima!” Vilnus bangs on the door, and the guard turns around. I’m oddly relieved to see it isn’t Alexei Petrovsky. “Get Petrovsky,” Vilnus orders. The man slips through the door, closing it behind him before I have a chance to get inside the room.
“Alexei spent several days getting to know your daughter before I took him off guard duty.” Vilnus is clearly enjoying himself. “He took a great deal of pleasure in cutting that dress away, piece by piece.”
“Keep him talking.” Mak’s voice crackles in my ear. “We still don’t have Fedorov.”
“Fatherhood doesn’t suit you, Vilnus.” My voice is as cold and hard as the concrete walls. Not a chance I’m showing this fucker the barest twitch of emotion. “Does Inger know you’re trading your own daughter for the vault?”
“I should think so. It was her idea.” His smile stretches wider. “And I have plenty of daughters, Borovsky. You’re welcome to that little hellcat. But until that vault is open, both of them stay exactly where they are.”
“That’s not going to work, Orlov. The vault isn’t opening until the girls are safely out of here.”
“No.” Vilnus wags his finger in front of my face. “You can go inside and check the girls yourself, but only briefly. In a moment, my man will bring Petrovsky here. He can look at this imprint of yours. If he agrees it will open the vault, you will be permitted to station one of your own men inside the room with the girls until we open the vault together. When the door is open, and only then, you can leave.”
“Fine.” My mind is racing, but my voice is calm and even. “Open the fucking door.”
He punches in a code, and the door to the girls’ cell clicks as it unlocks.
I step inside.