Chapter 28
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Luna
I shake my head. I probably look like a bobblehead, but it can't be. Roman doesn't have a twin brother. I've searched everything public about him, and nowhere does it mention a twin brother.
Maybe he doesn't trust you enough to tell you such a secret.
"Does Roman know?" I ask, looking him straight in the eyes.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman who fixed my shoulder approach him. She has ebony hair, hanging down to her lower back, and almond-shaped eyes. Her olive skin is sprinkled with freckles across her cheeks, just like mine.
"That I exist?" he asks,and his voice brings me back to why my neurons are having an existential crisis right now.
I nod and continue assessing him. If Roman were the leader of a motorcycle gang, this is how I would have imagined him. If my boyfriend has that finesse and aristocracy that covers up his violent side, the man in front of me has no mask.
With him, the demon is in every reflection of his gaze, in every strand of hair hanging across his forehead, and clearly in the way that his grin spreads across his face while he studies me. This is how I think deer feel when they enter a panther's radar.
"No, although I sense the long-awaited meeting will be soon," he tells me and gestures for me to sit on a couch.
"I'd prefer to stand and to know why the hell I'm here," I say, and somehow my voice is more impatient, more confident.
I don't know if my brain saw those gray eyes and instantly relaxed or if I simply have a death wish, but I feel anger and I can't control it.
I was run off the road, I don't know if Sergey is still alive, I think I have a fractured rib, and my shoulder was at a completely unnatural angle thirty minutes ago. I have reasons to be fuming, if you ask me.
"Max, you're wasting time," the woman tells him as she sits at a computer and starts typing rapidly.
"How much time?" he asks, his gaze still fixed on me.
"Maximum two hours, I'd say," she answers, and I look toward her. What the hell are they discussing here?
"Luna, I need your help, and I won’t take no for an answer."
His whole face and tone have changed. His voice is softer, more charismatic, and he tries to make his features appear relaxed, but just like with Roman, I see every twitch of the demon on his face.
When he sees he's getting no response from me, he frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. The corner of his lips turns slightly upward, a sign that I amuse him.
"At your former job, you worked for ErestonLabs, correct?" he says, and the question is more of a statement, so I nod affirmatively.
"I need you to get into their system and deactivate a device." He says it as if he hasn’t just proposed I kill someone right now.
ErestonLabs deals with internal cardiac defibrillators. Basically, when the patient's heart rhythm is irregular and the device senses the patient might suffer a heart attack, it intervenes through an electric shock.
"I don't work there anymore," I tell him, trying to avoid the fact that I haven't said no to his idea from the start.
If I went to a therapist, I'm sure it would take them time, after several sessions, to recover. The truth is few things shock me anymore, and that's a sad realization. The Luna from a few years ago would be appalled by how many things now seem normal to me that once would have freaked me out.
"No, but your digital signature is in the system," he tells me, and I try to understand how he knows this.
When an employee leaves the company, ErestonLabs doesn't delete signatures permanently. They do what we call a soft delete, meaning they're moved to a separate database table but they still exist.
When an operation like a deactivation is attempted, my fingerprint is necessary.
"That's why you need me," I exhale, and the realization drops like a lead ball in my stomach. "You can't add signatures to the system, but you can use existing ones. But the problem is digital traces will remain. They'll know it was me," I say, trying to state the situation as calmly as I can.
"Julia will take care of cleaning up after you. Nobody will know it was you, but I need your fingerprint for authentication, and more importantly, to modify the correct code lines so someone won't have that device active anymore."
God, it's annoying how similar their voices are. If it weren't for the fact that Max's voice is raspier, like someone who smokes heavily, I could never distinguish them.
"Who is this person and why do they have to die?" I ask because I'm not naive.
ErestonLabs’ clientele are fairly elite people with terminal cases, so this person will die anyway. I'll just be the one signing their death sentence.
I don't know how, but deep down I know this man has his reasons. The problem is I still have a trace of lucidity, and I can't deactivate that device until I at least find out why he wants them dead.
If I had felt for a moment that Max wanted to kill an innocent person, I would have told him to go to hell. I've made many bad decisions in my life, but this is where I draw the line. If he wants to kill me, there's nothing I can do. I can't have this on my conscience too.
"Someone who should have been in hell for many years already, but apparently even Satan doesn't want to breathe his air," he says, and I see a vein in his neck tensing and his fists clenching.
"I need more than that."
At that moment I see his demon baring its fangs as he throws a keyboard against the wall, aggressively stalking toward me. His hand grips my throat, and I have to repeat in my head "Not Roman, Not Roman" because I know my subconscious will store these images and project them back to me later.
"I don't think I made myself clear, Luna. This isn't a request. You will modify those code lines even if it has to be with a gun shoved down your throat. Clear?" he declares, and the fury he emanates is palpable in the air.
"I won't kill someone until you tell me what they did," I manage to choke out, considering he's barely letting me breathe with his hand squeezing my throat.
"Maksim, what the hell are you doing?" shouts the woman, who I assume is Julia.
She moves to his side, putting a hand on his arm.
It's fascinating to watch the lava melting from his gaze. It's as if someone poured a bucket of ice water over him. The reaction is downright visceral.
The next moment, Max releases me and takes a few steps back.
"My adoptive father."
This is the answer he gives me, and although he's still angry at my refusal, I see a trace of humanity. I don't think he realizes he's showing it, but it's there, like a window in the corner of a room. I see its weak light somewhere in his gaze.
When he sees he still doesn't have an affirmative answer from me, he starts breathing heavily through his nose again and stalking toward me, but at that moment Julia intervenes between us and takes over the discussion.
"This man traffics people, Luna. And by people I mean five- to six-year-old girls who end up being sold to the most depraved minds. Boys who are beaten and starved until their entire soul breaks and they can be molded however they want."
Her words hit me worse than the car impact because, when I raise my gaze to Maksim, I realize how the man came to be his adoptive father.
It's all over his face. The abuse, violence, pain, screams heard by no one, and without meaning to, tears gather in my eyes. I try with all my willpower to pull them back, because although I don't know this man,I can see a gray-eyed, black-haired little boy beaten daily, crying every evening from hunger.
"I don't need…," he starts in a threatening tone.
"Why haven't you done it yourself?" is the question eating at me.
It's obvious this man knows how to handle a gun. It's pretty clear to anyone who sees him that he's no stranger to violence and, above all, he has a fucking army of men. If I looked out the window right now, I’d see soldiers patrolling with various weapons hanging around their necks.
I see him weighing his words and whether it's worth explaining to me. In the end I'm not a guest here, as he very clearly reminded me.
"That monster runs one of the largest multinational companies in Russia and Eastern Europe. He has branches in oil, gas, and weapons. If he dies, I'm his only heir," he says, and I see how much he hates that word.
Because being someone's heir means that person cares about you in some way, and if what I saw earlier on his face is even partially true, I understand why the word ‘heir’ causes him revulsion.
"But not if you kill him," I finish for him.
"I could do it and no one could prove it, but the old hyena isn't stupid. His will clearly states everything comes to me only if his death is natural."
I wonder what kind of world these people live in that they need to specify such things in a will.
"Only one person handles his food, so poisoning is complicated because that man is completely loyal to the maniac. He's had the same doctor for thirty years, equally hard to replace, and believe me, I've tried to infiltrate his inner circle."
But he failed. He doesn't need to say it aloud because I see it in his eyes.
"Max, did he ever abuse you?" It's barely a whisper, but I know he heard it.
My eyes are fixed on the floor. It's a question I already know the answer to in my soul, but I need confirmation to cross that moral barrier.
He doesn't respond, but his breathing becomes more ragged and that’s my answer. I regret asking. The rational Luna in me needed another reason, another excuse that what I'm about to do is somehow right.
"I'll do it. Give me the name," I tell him, my voice trembling with the emotion caught in my throat. No tears fall down my cheeks, yet I see how much the idea of being pitied bothers him.
"You have my word—which might not mean much to you, but it's all I can offer—that this man deserves to die," Julia tells me as she turns to the laptop and gestures for me to sit at the computer.
I move toward her while Maksim stays several feet behind us. His face remains frowning, and the air around him feels somehow charged, oppressive.
"You'll have ten minutes to erase my trail. After I modify the application, a notification will be sent to a department manager. It's their standard procedure," I say and get to work.
I need to clone the code and find the service containing the lines of code I need.
"I'll need his name," I tell Julia.
"Ivan Rastovski," Maksim answers, every syllable dripping with venom.
The name sounds familiar, but I ignore that thought and focus on what I need to do.
In a few seconds, I've found his device ID in the database and copied it to put in the code. I realize I need to help Julia cover up somehow, so I reformat all the code. When they realize someone has tampered with it, they'll try to find the differences, and I can buy us some time if the entire code is reformatted. It will simply appear as if all the code was modified, and maybe they'll miss the few lines I added.
"You know they'll eventually catch on, so you don't have much time," I say, and I can tell they both understand what I mean.
Whatever they plan to do to give that monster a heart attack needs to happen quickly if they want the device to stay deactivated long enough.
"I have someone on standby," Maksim tells me, and when I look at him he seems calmer, more composed, though I can still feel fury seeping from every pore.
Outside it's almost evening, and although I should focus on this godforsaken code, I can only hear Roman's voice when I called him after the car flipped.
I miss him.
Julia opens multiple terminals, and it reminds me I still need to reformat the code before wrapping it with a bow. I talk through my strategy with Julia as I make the modifications and explain what each line of code does because, without time for testing, there's a chance the whole application could crash if we have any logic errors. After many minutes pass, we're both sure we have the final version, and I send it to her.
"Message Akim," Julia tells Maksim after the application reaches production.
Oh God. I just signed someone's death warrant.
And although the panic attack starts to creep up, when I raise my eyes and see Maksim messaging whoever waits to carry this mission to completion, I remember why this man deserves to die.
I can't imagine how terrified those children must be, waking up in hell every day. I was already an adult when I went through my experience with Aidan and it still scarred me for life, but to spend weeks, months, years waiting for someone to rescue you, only to realize no one is coming, seems so cruel.
"Done," he says and exhales, sounding like a weight has been lifted from his chest.
Julia leans back in her chair, closing her eyes and smiling, a full smile that makes her face shine, and a small smile appears on my lips too.
When she opens her eyes, I see tears on the verge of falling, and her palm settles over my hand.
"You have no idea what kind of monster you helped remove from this world, Luna."
I don't know everything this man has done, but I see relief in her, a glimmer of peace settling in her gaze.
That's when I allow myself to breathe freely. Someone will die tonight, and I just hope it brings some calm to those gray eyes fixed on me.
Several minutes pass while Julia and Max discuss something in a corner of the room. I'm aware I could try to run, but either that therapy session won't help me much anymore or I actually trust I'm safe here.
Max seems capable of ripping my head off if I anger him, but when I look at him and Julia, I realize she represents for him what Roman represents for me: an anchor. A refuge that helps me center myself when darkness consumes my mind.
Without thinking, I take out Sergey's switchblade, wondering if he made it. I know for sure it was the Irish mafia who ran us off the road, based on the accent of the guy who wanted me "whole." I can only hope Sergey is alive.
"The driver is fine," I hear Max say, and only then do I notice he's no longer with Julia but instead stands a few feet from me.
"And the other one?"
For a second I feel guilty that I only thought of Sergey when Vlad was there too.
"No."
Just hearing his answer makes my throat tight. Someone died today - died protecting me from the bastards who tried to grab me. Every muscle aches from tension while guilt eats me alive.
You'd think after dealing with the Polish mafia, a stalker ex, and now being attacked in broad daylight, I'd be more prepared mentally for these kinds of moments.
"You care about them." It’s a statement, not a question, but I somehow feel the interrogative note in his voice.
I don't think a man like him could understand the idea of caring about people even if you aren’t close to them. But that’s how I've always been. Maybe it came from my attempt to please everyone even if it meant trampling myself. The fact is, I've always cared about others' well-being over my own.
And look how much trouble that's gotten you into.
"They were there because I wanted to have coffee with Victoria outside the house. It's normal to care and feel guilty," I say, trying to keep any emotion out of my words, knowing it wouldn't help in this conversation.
I turn the switchblade in my hand, fascinated by its handle. The fact that I feel comfortable with it when Igor used the same type of blade on my back should alarm me.
Maybe it's the mental threshold I crossed when I shut down the device keeping a man's heart beating, or maybe it's the last few days showing me how vulnerable we are. Right now I feel tired. Tired of this whole situation I'm in, of how much I deplete myself trying somehow to calm my thoughts. I could sleep for twenty-four hours straight.
When I raise my eyes to Max, it hits me that Roman is probably desperate to find me, so I try to find the energy to get up even though the room's warmth and the couch's comfort pull me toward sleep.
"Can I leave now?" I ask, that being the only thing that interests me.
I did what he wanted. I don't see what else he could want from me, and if I can spare Roman a few minutes or hours of worry, I want to do it.
Just then, a man with a two-way radio and a knife strapped to his leg enters through the door and, with a wary look, whispers something in Max's ear. I see the vein in his neck tensing, a sign the news isn't exactly good, and when those gray eyes fix on me, I already know what it is.
Roman found me.
I don't know at what moment I stood up or when I reached the door, but I reach to open it. I sense Max right behind me, and unlike with Roman, it's a full-body warning. Before going outside, I pause, my head still facing forward. I don't want to take my eyes off my path to freedom and the road Roman will arrive on.
"Will you stay here when he comes?" I ask and hope he says yes.
I don't know how it will be for the Borisov family to learn of his existence, but I've seen how united they are. And that's something I'm sure Max never had. A family. An idea of what it means to not be alone in this world.
"I've never hidden from him, Luna."
I open the door, and the cold November air revives me instantly. I immediately smell wet grass and earth combined with cedar. I wrap my arms around myself to generate some warmth and notice two soldiers coming toward me, but when they see Max behind me they resume their patrol.
"Never thought I'd see him this soft for anyone," he says, crossing his arms over his chest as we wait. "He's completely gone over you."
"Have you kept up with everything that's happened to him?"
I don't understand how Roman never found out about him. Though if I consider that Max grew up in Russia, while Roman and his family were in Chicago, the chances of them crossing paths were zero.
"Of course."
There’s something in his tone, something I don't think even he realizes is there. A note of protectiveness. As if keeping up with what happens to his brother is something normal, natural. A twin brother who has no idea you exist. For thirty-two years.
"I was hoping for an opportunity to catch you alone and ask for your help, but when I saw those cars running you off the road, Julia was already loading the machine gun," he says, and I turn toward him.
It's a confession I didn't ask for and that he offered willingly, so I nod for him to continue.
"Julia says that in my subconscious I chose you precisely because of the connection you have with him, and I suppose she's right."
"Why haven't you tried to contact him until now?"
I understand that in adolescence he didn't have resources, but now he clearly does, and if I had to guess, he's had them for a long time. You can see these people are loyal to him, and that's not won in a few months, but over years.
When he looks at me now, in the sunset light, I see every nuance and feature of his face. Full, slightly pink lips, light gray eyes accented by a small scar, raven-black hair falling in short waves over his forehead.
The same features I've studied for minutes each morning in bed with Roman before starting our day.
And yet, if I ever thought what I have with Roman is just physical attraction, Max's presence has clarified the situation.
I feel absolutely nothing when I'm near him. He's an attractive man, but somehow my heart knows he's not my attractive man. He has the same eyes in my favorite shade of gray, but they don't make my knees weak. And the way he looks at me now, with a half-empty gaze, provokes unwanted emotions in my chest because just the thought of Roman looking at me like that, with a cold gaze, seems inconceivable.
"You're staring," he tells me, and I notice his smile.
It's not a complete smile, but I think for this man it's the equivalent of laughing.
"I'm thinking about how identical you are yet so fundamentally different."
My answer seems to make him think.
In the distance, tires crunching over gravel and leaves can be heard, and my heart starts beating faster. I know I saw Roman this morning, but the whole experience of the last few hours has made me feel like a lifetime has passed since I was with him.
I see a large gate about five hundred feet from the house, and Max signals his men to open it. A black SUV nearly takes the gate off at the speed it's coming, and I'm sure a soldier said a prayer in the background. I smile as if seeing Santa Claus, and the car barely stops before I rush to the driver's side. The moment Roman opens the door, I take him in my arms and hold him so tightly I practically merge with him.
He smells of oranges and something woody. I don't want to lift my nose from his neck, but his hands cradle my face and I see those gray eyes, my gray eyes, assessing me, looking for even the smallest sign of injury. I nod slowly and I know he understands the message. I'm okay. Now I'm okay.
I'm still in his arms when I notice Niko, who stares straight ahead with an expression as if he's seen a ghost. The next second, I feel Roman's body suddenly tensing. When I look up at his face, I see him frowning at the man in front of us - his carbon copy dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, who fixes us with the same neutral gaze.
Julia comes out of the house just as Roman speaks.
"Who the fuck are you?"