Chapter 38
38
OFELIA
I ’m lying on the floor of the hangar on a makeshift stretcher, the doctor bent over my broken leg. Masha sits on one side of me, clinging to my hand, Mickey on the other.
The tall man Roman introduced to us as Mak strides across the floor of the warehouse, holding up his phone. “She’s okay. Darya’s okay.”
Roman slumps to the concrete floor beside Mickey, his face white. “Thank Christ for that.”
Dimitry grips his shoulder in silent comfort.
Mickey puts his head in his hands.
Masha turns into me, burying her face in my neck, her breath hot and rapid against my skin. “It’s okay, myshka ,” I murmur, kissing her forehead as Mak talks in a fast undertone with Roman. “It’s all going to be okay.”
I watch Alexei over her shoulder. He’s standing at a distance to our small group, watching Roman and Mak talk, as still and unmoving as he was in the cell. His jaw is hard as glass, his lips pressed together in a hard line, but the long hours we spent locked in that cell together have taught me to read the small changes in his expression. I can see the passionate relief beneath the cold mask he wears, can feel how hard he’s fighting not to show any emotion at the news. When there’s a break in the conversation, he speaks for the first time since our arrival.
“Fedorov?” His rasped word is a question.
Roman glares at him. “Dead,” he says curtly. “Your father shot him, apparently.”
Alexei doesn’t say a word. But I don’t miss the way his hands spasm into fists, or the fleeting expression of savage triumph that blazes in his face before he assumes his customary deadpan expression. By the way Roman’s eyes narrow, he hasn’t missed it either.
He and Alexei have yet to talk. Both of them waved the doctor away when we arrived, insisting he examine me instead. They’ve stayed at opposite sides of the warehouse, both patching themselves up rather than submitting to medical attention. But where Roman pulled his shirt off immediately to wash out his wounds, I can’t help but notice the way Alexei turned away from the others and patched himself beneath his clothes. Knowing what I do of Orlov’s work, I can only imagine the scars he carries. I understand he’d rather not advertise them.
I wince as the doctor presses my leg.
“Her tibia is broken.” The doctor frowns as he looks up at Roman. “She really shouldn’t be flying.”
An airport crew is going through last-minute plane checks. There are so many men with guns surrounding us it feels like a war zone.
We just came from a war zone.
I shiver, trying not to look at where Vilnus Orlov, bloodied and unconscious, is lying bound and gagged in the far corner, out of earshot.
The doctor is still telling Roman why I should stay in Miami.
“I’m fine.” I interrupt him and meet Roman’s eyes. “They can drug me, can’t they? I want to come with you.”
He turns to the doctor, who nods reluctantly. “Yes, I can drug her. But only to London. Then she needs to stay there until the swelling goes down and we can operate.”
“Fine.” Roman nods curtly. “Do it.”
“Wait.” I push away the doctor’s needle and look at Mickey. “What about Alexei? Is he coming with us?”
“For Chrissakes,” Roman answers before Mickey can even open his mouth. He looks ready to explode. “That bastard kidnapped you, kept you captive for days, and used his knife on you too, from what Orlov said. He got off two shots that saved my life, which is the only reason I didn’t put a bullet through him back at the shoreline, but that doesn’t make up for what he’s done. Now let the doctor give you that injection.”
“I’m fine.” I push it away a second time, glaring at the doctor, who looks like he’s about to grab me and forcibly give me a shot. “Alexei didn’t kidnap us. He saved us.” I force myself to speak calmly, to try to make Roman understand. “He made sure Vilnus didn’t hurt Masha and me. He did everything he could to help us, even though he knew you’d probably kill him.” I can’t help the accusing note in my voice, even though I can see Roman’s surprise and hurt. I turn to Mickey. “Alexei got a message to you, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” Mickey nods, wincing as the movement opens a cut on his neck. “Wait,” he says warningly to Roman, who has opened his mouth to start arguing.
To my surprise, Roman actually closes his mouth again, though his expression is absolutely mutinous.
“Ofelia is right,” Mickey says tersely. “Alexei is an ally. We wouldn’t have got you out of there alive without him and his men.”
“We’ll see.” Roman’s voice is cold enough to freeze the Miami humidity. “He’s got a hell of a lot of hard questions to answer.”
“And he will, but not right now.” Mickey faces Roman down with remarkable calm. “He has to go back to secure the compound. Mak’s offered to send in a team to help him. I think you should let him.”
“Jesus.” Roman comes to his feet, looking stratospherically furious. “Now we’re helping that bastard?”
Who saved our lives , I think. No matter how much my leg hurts, how much I want to fade out into a painkiller fog, I need Roman to understand the truth. I’m aware of Alexei, still and tense, on the periphery, just out of earshot. Going by the look on Roman’s face, Alexei is more likely to leave here in a body bag than with armed assistance, no matter what Mickey says.
I struggle to sit upright. “Please, Papa.”
That stops them both. Mickey’s eyes narrow at my use of the word. Roman kneels down, blood still surging from the wound at his side, and grips my leg. “Don’t try to talk, darling,” he says gently. “Just rest.”
“No. You need to understand what I’m saying to you.” I put my hand over his. “Alexei isn’t your enemy. And he’s suffered more at Vilnus Orlov’s hands than anyone else. You have to trust him.” I point to the cut on my cheek. “One of the men who took us from the airport did this. If Alexei hadn’t turned up when he did, the man would have done a whole lot worse. Alexei killed him before he got a chance to hurt us. He made sure we were safe. Then he risked his life by lying to Orlov about it.”
“Petrovsky knew about that goddamn bomb,” Roman says coldly, staring across the warehouse with murder in his eyes. “He could have killed you all.”
“No.” I shake my head. “He didn’t know about the bomb, Papa, I swear it. He and Vilnus argued about it. Orlov set off the bomb because he didn’t trust Alexei to help him open the vault. He and Inger kidnapped us because Orlov wanted more leverage , as he called it. And because Inger wanted money.”
That part should hurt to say, but for some reason, it doesn’t. I’m not sure it will ever hurt again to talk about Inger. When I think about her now I feel nothing, only a cold, hard anger. And looking at Mickey’s face, I suspect he feels the same.
“You need to listen to your kids, Roman,” Mak interrupts us, his voice quietly authoritative. “Petrovsky’s not your enemy.”
“I haven’t thanked you, Mak.” Roman reins in whatever fury he looks about to unleash with a visible effort. He puts his hand out, though he’s still watching Alexei, his eyes hard. “We wouldn’t have made it out of there without you.”
“Or without Petrovsky.” Mak grips his hand briefly. “And don’t thank me.” He nods at Mickey. “It was the kid who worked it out. We’d have been dead men without him. I’d advise you to hear him out—hear them both out—before you go off half-cocked.”
He reaches past Roman and takes Mickey’s hand. “Good job,” he says. He’s not talking to Mickey like he’s a kid. He’s talking to him like he would Roman.
Mickey turns a fierce shade of red. “I got lucky,” he mutters.
“Bullshit.” Mak twists his head in a negative. “You used your brain, and then you acted fast. You ever get sick of taking shit from this one”—he grins in Roman’s direction—“you’re welcome on my team anytime.”
He turns to Roman. “Your plane is ready as soon as you want to board. My team will meet you in London.” He nods toward Alexei. “I’m mobilizing a team to go back to the compound with Petrovsky, then Dimitry and I will take a different flight to Spain, work out what happened there. Okay?”
Roman doesn’t answer. His eyes are moving between Alexei and Vilnus, bound and gagged in the corner.
“You need to leave Orlov here, with Petrovsky,” Mak says quietly. “The man won’t breathe again, I can promise you that. But you can’t take him with you.”
I can see Roman struggling with this. He’s staring at Orlov with an expression of old, twisted pain that hurts me to see. “That fucker killed my father,” he says, the words rasping from his chest. “And he hurt Darya.”
I think of the scars on Alexei’s face. Of the casual brutality and cold contempt with which Orlov treated him.
“He hurt Alexei more.” My voice is sharper than I intend.
Roman looks at me, frowning.
“I didn’t know that Orlov killed your father,” I say quietly, trying to take the edge out of my tone. “I’m sorry he did. But I do know what Orlov did to Alexei. Terrible things, Roman. For years. He tortured him over and over, and then he made him torture other people for his amusement. Whatever revenge you think you have a right to, believe me, Alexei has more.”
Mak nods. “She’s right, Roman. From what I can make out, Petrovsky has spent a decade being cut to ribbons by Orlov’s knives. He’s earned the right to murder the bastard. And he’s still got a war on his hands to get that compound under control. His men need to see him take Orlov down, or they’ll never properly respect him.”
But Roman isn’t listening. He’s staring at me, his eyes narrowed. “You said Orlov made Alexei torture other people for his amusement.” His voice is deceptively calm, but I can hear the lethal edge beneath it. “Were you one of those people, Ofelia?”
I thought Alexei was out of hearing range. But I can see him in my peripheral vision, very still, his lone eye moving between Roman and me. His mouth tightens, and he braces himself as if he’s about to speak.
Somehow I know he’s about to take responsibility for what happened in that room, for what Orlov forced him to do.
No.
I won’t let him take the blame for Orlov’s evil.
“Alexei never hurt me.” I resist the urge to cross my fingers at the lie. I can still feel the thin lines made by Alexei’s knife. But they’re not deep. I can fix them myself. I’m never telling anyone what Vilnus Orlov made Alexei do to me.
Not ever.
It’s a promise I made myself before I ever left that cell. I won’t be the reason Alexei suffers. I know what I owe him. I won’t ever let anyone hurt him because of something I say.
Alexei tenses, his lone eye darkening. His mouth opens. I know he’s about to speak, to tell Roman the truth.
And I know that if he does, he will die here. Probably right in front of me.
“Vilnus tried to make him hurt me.” I speak before he gets a chance, forcing myself to meet Roman’s eyes steadily. “But Alexei fooled him instead.”
Alexei’s eye bores into mine, his fists clenched at his side. I shake my head slightly, a tiny movement unnoticed by anyone else. Don’t do it , I pray silently. Please, please don’t do it.
Fortunately, Masha chooses that moment to pull her thumb out of her mouth. “Lexi and ’Felia secret.”
“Secret what?” Roman’s voice is lethally dangerous.
Masha turns to me. “Pretend,” she says solemnly, watching me. “Lexi made ’Felia pretend, didn’t he, ’Felia?”
“That’s right, myshka .” I force myself to smile. “It was a game, wasn’t it?”
“A game?” Roman’s eyes narrow. “What sort of sick game—”
“Alexei had to pretend to hurt me.”
I can see Alexei from the corner of my eye, his face white as chalk, mouth a hard line, lone eye blazing with dark arctic fire.
I have to keep talking, have to make sure he doesn’t speak up and sign his own death warrant.
“We had to make it convincing enough for Orlov to believe. I screamed and cried, but Alexei never touched me.” I meet Alexei’s eye and force myself to smile, willing him to stay silent. “He protected me.” I hug Masha tight. “Us,” I say quietly, holding his gaze. “He protected us.”
I don’t want to think about how easy it is to lie to Roman, or about why I know it’s the right thing to do. I just know that if Roman ever even suspects what Orlov forced Alexei to do to me, there’s no way he will survive. I might have spent my life up until now in nice boarding schools, kept away from the blood and bullets, but I know what my family is. What Roman is. I know he has to be ruthless, just as Alexei had to be to keep us alive.
I won’t let Alexei die for protecting me.
Roman stares at me narrowly for a long moment. Then he glances at Mickey. “Explain why you think he’s an ally,” he says curtly. “The CliffsNotes version.”
Mickey nods. “It was after I saw the numbers on your foot,” he says. “The series of numbers I’d been seeing repeatedly in the trojan was the same kind of code. Then Andersson sent another trojan, just as you left the hangar. This one had a more obvious message. One word embedded in it, repeated over and over.”
“Poppins.” I interrupt him, my heart lurching. “That was it, wasn’t it?”
Mickey nods, grinning.
I turn to Roman. “Alexei asked us if there was any word we knew that Mickey would recognize was from us. We told him to use Poppins .”
Roman frowns for a moment, then comprehension dawns. “Darya,” he says slowly. “That first day in the kitchen. You were singing songs from that movie.”
Mickey and I nod.
“Poppins!” Masha bounces up and down excitedly.
Roman glances away briefly. It takes a moment for me to realize he’s struggling to compose himself.
“Anyway.” Mickey picks up the story again. “After that, I got in touch with Lars Andersson directly.” He grins. “He wasn’t happy about that at all. Apparently he and Alexei have gone to crazy lengths to keep their communication a secret from Orlov and his men. But then I gave the phone to Mak, who managed to communicate the... urgency of our situation.”
The pilot is gesturing to us to board. Roman circles his finger in the air, indicating to Mickey to hurry up. He’s still watching Alexei grimly.
“Turns out Lars was in Switzerland,” Mickey says hastily. “He’s been there all this time, waiting for Darya to come. The code he’d been sending was for a safety deposit box in the same bank as yours. Alexei had put the Fabergé egg with the key to the vault inside it, along with his fingerprints.”
“Wait.” Roman looks startled. “What do you mean, he put the key in there?” He glances at Mak, who lifts a shoulder, half smiling.
“I told you to hear him out.”
Roman looks between Masha, Mickey, and me, then to Dimitry, who gives him a subtle nod.
He turns to Alexei. “You,” he says curtly. “I need to talk to you.”
Alexei moves slowly toward us, every muscle in his body tense and alert, his lone eye taking in everyone at once.
“At the vault,” Roman says as Alexei nears us. He’s frowning, his eyes still dangerous. “That key you gave me was a fake.”
Alexei doesn’t try to deny it. He just nods.
“You gambled with my daughters’ lives.” Roman’s voice is hard. “What if I hadn’t had an army waiting to break in? What if Orlov had called your bluff?”
Alexei meets his eyes evenly. “Then you would not have been the man I believed you to be, Roman.” Something fierce flashes in his eye. “And I would have died before I let Orlov lay a single finger on either of your daughters. As would every one of my men.”
There’s something so lethal in his voice it makes even me shiver.
Roman’s eyes narrow. “How long have you known that my father’s key was in Switzerland?”
“Since Rosa told me several months ago.” Alexei stares back at Roman with almost as much hostility as Roman has shown him. “Papa never even mentioned the existence of a key before that. No offense, but if I’d known where it was while they were torturing my sister, I’d have sold you out without a moment’s hesitation.”
Roman stares at him for a long time, his eyes hard and assessing. Then, finally, and to my great relief, he puts his hand out.
After a moment, Alexei takes it.
It’s a bit like watching two boxers shake hands in the ring.
“Thank Christ,” Mak mutters from behind me.
“I understand you’ve still got a battle on your hands at that compound,” Roman says as he releases his hand. “Mak will make sure you have a team of men, and anything else you need, to take it back.”
Alexei inclines his head briefly. “Thank you.” His eyes slide to Orlov, his face darkening.
Roman takes a hard breath. “Orlov is yours,” he says harshly.
Alexei’s head snaps back to Roman, his face pale. His fists clench, his lone eye narrow and glittering. “Are you sure?”
“Make sure the bastard pays.” Roman’s voice is rough. “For all of it.”
“Oh, he’ll pay.” Alexei’s voice is utterly lethal. His eye flickers to me, so briefly I could almost have imagined it. “You have my word.”
Roman nods. “You saved my life,” he says slowly. “I won’t forget that. But most of all, I owe you my deepest gratitude for protecting my daughters.” He puts his hand out again.
This time, however, Alexei doesn’t take it. He steps back, a fleeting look of something like revulsion crossing his eyes, there and gone so fast it might have been a shadow. “Don’t ever thank me for that.” He grinds the words out. Again, his eye touches my face, sliding away like a shadow, but not before I register the same flash of dark emotion in it. “Not ever.”
Before the moment becomes awkward, Alexei turns smoothly to Mak, his face a mask once more. “We need to hurry.” He nods at Roman. “We’ll talk when you’re back in London?”
“London,” Roman agrees. He doesn’t seem to have noticed the repressed savagery in Alexei’s tone. Nobody has.
Then again, they haven’t spent the past few days attuned to every slight nuance in his body and voice. It’s like we have a secret language that only we two know and hear.
And from the look on his face, he doesn’t seem keen to ever speak that language again.
Alexei walks away, with Mak at his side. My heart twists sickeningly in my chest. I fight the urge to scream his name, to demand that he look at me, but I know that I can’t.
You’ll see him again , I tell myself. There’ll be another time to talk.
But I have a hard time believing my own internal assurances. The intimacy of the cell is like a dream, a strange twilight that no longer seems quite real. And something tells me that by the way Alexei turned away from me, talking to me is the last thing he wants to do.
I mask my expression as Roman turns to us, smiling, and rests his hand on my head. “Ready, sweetheart?”
“Can I give her the shot now?” the doctor asks. He’s been trying to inject me for the last half hour, and he looks extremely annoyed.
Roman raises his eyebrows at me, then rolls his eyes when I shake my head. “Of course you don’t want a shot,” he mutters.
“I’m sorry.” I take his hand. “I just want to hear the whole story from Mickey before they knock me out, if that’s okay.”
“Christ, you’re stubborn.” But his hand tightens on mine.
I smile despite the splintering pain in my leg. “I guess I get that from my father.”
Roman goes very still, his eyes drilling into mine. Finally he nods slowly, his mouth stretching into a reluctant smile.
“I guess you do, umnyashka ,” he says quietly. “I guess you do.”