Chapter Thirty-Four
In which there is A Night at the Opera.
Alexsey…
There's something deeply satisfying in helping tidy up my wife after I've taken her apart.
I straighten her dress and watch her touch up the mess I've made of her makeup.
She's still giggling, our heads close together as I escort her into the Metropolitan Opera House, quickly straightening the twisted strap of her gown before Mother spots us.
"Traffic was heavy, I assume?" she asks, her sharp eyes landing on what I suspect is a bite mark just above my collar.
"Very." I smile blandly, accepting glasses of champagne for Liria and me. I see my father, Roman and Dmitri all managed to snag a decent glass of vodka. Roman smirks, raising his glass to me before taking a taunting sip.
Our cousins Nikandr and Andrey stroll over, looking strikingly alike, even though they're not identical.
It's easy to recognize Andrey, though, because he has the icy blue eyes of something inhuman.
I suspect he sold his soul to the devil in exchange for a legal career where he essentially terrifies other attorneys and judges for a living.
Nikandr is escorting a blonde who would probably be considered beautiful, though she fades in comparison to my wife.
"About time you showed up," Nikandr says, slapping me on the back. "Aunt Ella was threatening to put us in the front row of the private box if you arrived any later."
"We all prefer the back seats, out of public view where we can slip out and drink enough to get through the rest of the performance," I agree.
"No, really, this is a wonderful opera," Liria protests. "Roberto Alagna performing tonight, his voice is magical. You'll feel it, I promise."
Nikandr looks at her with new interest, his gaze traveling over my arm wrapped tightly around her waist. "Then I must take your word for it, Mrs. Morozova."
"No, no!" Ava strolls over with Dmitri. "We're not doing the Mrs. Morozova thing again. We nearly gave Ella's butler a stroke when he tried to address all of us at a party last week."
"We ran into an old friend," Andrey says with a clinical smile. "Marc, it's been a while, hasn't it?"
Marc Canton steps around my towering cousin and gives us a nod and a smile. His suit is pressed and his hair perfectly groomed, but there's a feverish glitter in his eye. Maybe he's been trying out the product. Never a thing I recommend to distributors.
Liria turns to stone under the curve of my arm. I'm not sure she even draws a breath.
"The newlyweds," Marc says, shaking my hand. "I see married life is treating you well." He smiles at Liria, who doesn't smile back. There's a slight twitch at the corner of her lips, like she's trying to. "Liria, you've been missed in the Boston social scene."
Nikandr and his date have turned to Dmitri and Ava, talking about a board meeting next week. Andrey, though, is watching Marc. His gaze moves briefly to Liria when Marc addresses her.
"Oh." Her lips are shaping words that aren't quite coming out. "Well. Boston…"
We all wait, but apparently, she can't force another word past her lips.
Andrey speaks up. "Liria, I'd like your opinion on this tapestry that the Metropolitan Opera just procured.
It's on display here in the lobby. I'm sure these two have business to discuss.
" He smiles at me with the same chilly, professional twist of the lips he gives everyone, family, or strangers.
"I'll have your lovely bride back in five minutes Alexsey, yes? "
There's something off here. No one is saying the thing that's on the tip of their tongue. All of us, frozen in position. I smile at Liria. "If it's all right with my wife."
My wife. I think that's the first time I've said that in front of others, claiming her as mine. The feeling is more powerful than I expected. Liria gives me a jerky sort of nod, like a marionette, and moves away as Andrey carefully guides her. His hand hovers over her back without touching her.
Marc watches them walk away before turning to me. "You look happy, my friend."
I'm not his friend. He's a client. Have I always disliked him or is this new?
"Have you been tempted to tie the knot?" I ask politely.
"Not right now," he says, the corners of his smile turning brittle. "Too much to do to think about women."
"Understood." My gaze moves over his shoulder to where Andrey is standing in front of the tapestry with Liria.
Her hand is moving, pointing to a pattern and she looks better, the color is back in her face.
Andrey is standing a polite distance from her, but I still want to shove him into the flower arrangement because he is closer to her than I am.
The lights dim in the lobby, giving a five-minute warning. "I must take my wife back from Andrey and get her seated," I say. "Perhaps we'll see you at intermission."
"Perhaps," Marc says, giving me a smile with too many teeth.
Frowning, I watch him walk away before I stride across the lobby to collect my wife.
"Are you all right?" I lean in, giving her a kiss.
"Yes, of course." Her smile is bright, and fake.
I've lived with Liria long enough to categorize all of her smiles.
The one she uses when something isn't actually funny.
The smile that lights up her entire face when she was laughing with her friend Caroline.
The sly one that makes her eyes narrow in the sexiest fucking way when she likes what she's hearing. This smile is more of a grimace.
Mother did punish us for arriving late by putting us in the front row of our private box where we were essentially on display for the audience. This is not the time to have a deep conversation about what just made my wife shut down, but we will be having it.
Liria has come back to life, perfectly happy to be front and center, looking around with a huge smile and leaning in to share some detail with me.
When the stage comes alive with a crackle of energy and a fanfare of music, she puts one hand on my thigh and leans forward, waiting for the music to take her.
I spend the first act watching her, her rapt enjoyment, the occasional sway when a vocalist hit a high note or a perfect trill. As the stage darkens for the next act, she suddenly turns to me, grabbing my arm. "Oh, you're going to love this part this is –"
There’s a high whine and a thud. I know that sound well. But I waste a precious second, refusing to connect sniper fire to this place. It's unimaginable that there's a bullet hole in the back of Liria's seat, right where she had been seconds earlier before she turned to me.
"Get down!" I shout at the top of my lungs. There's a shrill scatter of screams from the audience, and our bodyguards flood the box, guns out. I press Liria face down on my lap as I search for the shooter.
There. Across the theater, the side lighting booth. I see the glint of metal as the rifle barrel is pulled up. I pull my Nighthawk, but I know I can't reach him from this distance, goddamnit. He's already gone, I see the black curtain close behind him, his shadow disappears.
Roan and Danyl step in front of Liria, blocking her from sight.
"The lighting booth, stage left," I tell the guards.
"Cover the exits, use everyone we have." Rurik, one of Dmitri's bodyguards, is already speaking urgently into his headset, rounding up in-house security and sending them in that direction.
Whirling back to Liria, I cup the back of her head. "Are you hurt? Any blood or pain?" Her lips are a slash of crimson from her lipstick, vivid against her sheet-white face as she looks at me, and then the hole embedded in the back of her chair.
"That would have gone right through my heart, wouldn't it?" she says, shockingly calm.
"Let's get you out of here, sweetheart." I swing her up in my arms, sprinting up a few stairs to the dark safety of the back of the box, where the women surround her.
"It's okay, dear. It's okay," Mother says, wrapping Liria in her arms. The overhead lights are up and there's a roar of voices, people rising in their seats, turning around, not certain what to look for.
I hear Liria whisper two words to Mother. My vision whites out in fury. Grabbing Danyl by the jacket, I hiss, "Marc Canton. Find him. Shoot any security protecting him if you have to, but get him alive."
***
The surprise is not that our security team catches Marc, it's how surprisingly quick it was in a building this massive. The manager hurries up to us, speaking in a low voice. "Help yourself to my office, I'll clear the hall."
"Thank you, Jonathan." Father shakes his hand, and the man almost gives him a bow before hurrying down the hall. "Dmitri is handling law enforcement," Father says, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Liria's with your mother."
"Thank you," I say, throat tight. The adrenaline tearing through me makes my hand shake.
He nods. "Have your security take Liria to our place. Your mother will ride with her, she'll feel more secure until you can get there."
"Yes, that's good." My hand keeps reaching for my gun, back in its holster. "This motherfucker tried to kill my wife."
Father tightens his grip on my shoulder, I can feel the strength there. "I know. Go handle it."
Marc Canton is almost unrecognizable. His jacket and shirt are ripped, likely when my men took him, with a bloody scrape across his neck. He’s laughing.
I backhand him, hard, the right side of his face, then the left. His knees buckle, Rurik and Demid haul him back up.
"You tried to murder my wife." I'm screaming inside, but my voice is calm. "You're too fucking pathetic to do it. Where's the shooter?" He grins at me and I knee him in the stomach, I can hear a rib crunch as he doubles over, spit dripping out of his mouth.
Canton keeps laughing, high and hysterical. "That wasn’t me," he cackles.
"Danyl," I say, still staring at Canton's glittering eyes. "Go get the car and take Liria to my parent's home."
For some reason this sets Canton off in another round of laughter, an odd, rhythmic series of giggles. "Let's try this again." I punch him, crushing his nose.
Just minutes later, I hear it.
An explosion powerful enough to make the office wall bulge, glass shattering, more screaming. "Now, that one's mine!" Canton cackles through bloody teeth. Throwing him at the guards, I run. Tearing through the building to the private entrance I knew they’d be using to pick up Liria.
"She can’t, she can’t, not her!" I’m screaming it by the time I get to the doors.
The glass is shattered out of one of them, the metal frame warped.
I stare at what's left of my Bentley. It’s an inferno, the cars around it are melting like butter.
The light is brutal, almost blinding and I put my hand up, squinting desperately, trying to look through the flames. I can’t see anyone in the seats.
“Liria! Liria!" I'm roaring her name, mindlessly, over and over.
“Here!” Her voice is shaky, but loud. “I’m here, honey. I’m over here!” I spin around, Roan and Danyl have her backed up against the stone facade, their guns out and scanning the area.
Grabbing Roan by the jacket, I shout, "Who started the fucking car who’s-"
He shakes his head, eyes cold and controlled. "Danyl used the remote start,” he says. "It's a hot night. He wanted to make sure the air conditioning was on for Miss Liria."
I grab my wife, pulling her toward me, my arms wrapping around her. Trying to absorb her into me as if I could protect her if she crawled inside my body. "I'm sorry, moya lyubov.' I’m sorry I wasn’t here."
"You're here." Her voice is muffled, her face buried in my chest. "You're here now."
***
moya lyubov' - Russian for my love.