Chapter 12
ANDREY
Istand at the desk, my fingers resting on the carved lid of the jewelry box, and turn back to face Mariya.
She's still sitting on the edge of the bed, her green eyes fixed on the box like it's a bomb about to explode.
The panic I saw flash across her face when I first brought it in hasn't completely faded.
It's still there, lurking beneath the surface, making her shoulders tense and her breathing shallow.
What the hell is in this box that has her so worried?
I've already gone through it once, back at her apartment.
I looked at every piece of jewelry inside, searching for anything that might be connected to my family's missing heirlooms. But there was nothing, just a collection of modest pieces that looked like they'd been passed down through generations.
Sentimental value, sure, but nothing worth the kind of fear I'm seeing in her eyes right now.
"About this jewelry box," I say again, watching her carefully.
She stands, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "Give it back."
"Not until you tell me why you're so worried about it."
"It's mine. It belonged to my mother. That's all you need to know."
I study her face, looking for any sign that she's hiding something. Her jaw is tight, her lips pressed into a thin line, and she won't quite meet my eyes, but she doesn't look like she's hiding anything.
"Nothing. It's just jewelry," she says. "Family pieces that mean something to me." She takes a step toward me, then stops, like she's afraid to get too close. "Please. Just give it back. It's all I have of my old life, of my mother."
The desperation in her voice almost makes me reconsider. Almost. I open the lid and dump the contents onto the bed.
Jewelry scatters across the burgundy comforter. A necklace with a small pendant. A pair of earrings. Several rings. A bracelet. And a brooch that looks old, tarnished with age. I pick up each piece slowly, examining them while watching Mariya's reaction out of the corner of my eye.
She's trying to keep her expression neutral, but I can see the tension in her body. But she doesn't show more emotion for any particular item. No sudden gasps or attempts to grab something from my hands, just that constant, underlying panic that seems to radiate from her.
I'm about to give up, about to admit that maybe there really is nothing here, when something catches my attention.
The brooch. It's an old piece, ornate but worn, with a design that looks vaguely familiar.
But what draws my eye is the way the metal sits.
It looks slightly off, like it was once broken and someone glued it back together.
I pick it up, turning it over in my fingers.
She reaches out as if to take it from me, then drops her hand.
I turn away from her, holding the brooch up to the light.
The seam where it was repaired is more obvious now, a thin line running along the edge.
My fingers find a small catch on the side, and when I press it, the brooch opens.
A small piece of paper slips out and flutters to the floor.
Mariya gasps, and I can't tell if she's as surprised as I am or if she's upset that I found it. Whatever it is.
I bend down and pick up the paper, unfolding it carefully. It's old, yellowed with age, and there's only one word written on it in faded ink.
Bayou
I stare at the word, my mind racing through possibilities. Bayou? What the fuck does that mean? There aren't any bayous in this state. Not anywhere near here that I know of. And certainly not in Russia, at least not where we're from.
Mariya peeks around me, and for once, she doesn't seem cautious about getting too close. Her shoulder brushes against my arm as she leans in to look at the paper. "What's that?"
I glance down at her, surprised by the genuine confusion in her voice. "You don't know?"
"No." She reaches for the paper, but I pull it away. "I've never seen that before. I didn't even know the brooch opened."
I believe her. The shock on her face is too real to be faked. Which means her father hid this without telling her. But why? What does "bayou" mean?
"Could it be a code?" Mariya asks, her brow furrowing as she thinks. "Maybe it's not actually referring to a bayou. Maybe it's… I don't know, an acronym or something?"
"Maybe." I turn the paper over, but the back is blank. Just that one word on the front. "Or it could be a location. Somewhere your father went or planned to go."
"But there aren't any bayous around here." She's still standing close, close enough that I can smell her shampoo again. That floral scent has been driving me crazy. "And I can't think of anywhere in Russia that would fit, either."
We stand there in silence for a moment, both of us staring at the paper like it might suddenly reveal its secrets. My mind works through possibilities, trying to connect this single word to everything I know about Yegor Pushkin and the missing heirlooms.
Could it be a meeting place? A safehouse? A location where he hid something valuable?
"What about Louisiana?" Mariya suggests suddenly. "There are bayous there. Lots of them."
"That's miles away." I shake my head. "Why would your father hide something that far from here?"
"I don't know. But if he was trying to keep it safe, maybe distance was the point.
" She looks up at me, and those green eyes are bright with something that looks almost like hope.
"Maybe he hid your family's heirlooms somewhere no one would think to look.
" She frowns. "If he really took them, like you accused. "
It's possible. Pushkin was smart, careful. If he wanted to hide something valuable, he'd put it somewhere unexpected. Somewhere that would take years to find, if anyone found it at all.
But Louisiana? That seems too obvious. Too easy.
"I need to think about this," I say, folding the paper and slipping it into my pocket. "Figure out what this means."
"Can I have the brooch back?" Mariya asks quietly.
I look down at the piece in my hand, then at her face. The desperation is back, but it's different now. Softer. More vulnerable. She just wants this piece of her mother back.
I hand it to her, and her fingers close around it immediately, clutching it to her chest like it's the most precious thing in the world. The thought makes something twist in my chest, but I push it away. I can't afford to feel sorry for her. I can't afford to let sympathy cloud my judgment.
"Thank you," she whispers.
I nod once, then turn and head for the door. I need to talk to Matvey, figure out what "bayou" means, and whether it's actually a lead or just a dead end.
As I reach for the handle, Mariya speaks again. "Andrey?"
I pause, looking back at her.
"I really didn't know about that paper." Her voice is soft, almost pleading. "I'm not trying to hide anything from you. I want to help. I want this to be over."
"Then let's hope this actually leads somewhere," I say and walk out.
The lock engages behind me with that familiar click, and I make my way through the hallways to my office. Matvey is already there, standing by the window with his arms crossed over his massive chest. He turns when I enter, his dark eyes immediately going to my face.
"Nose okay?" he asks.
I touch my nose gingerly. It's still tender, but the bleeding stopped a while ago. "I'll live. She's got a hell of a right hook, though."
His lips twitch in what might be amusement. "Warned you."
"Yeah, well, I wasn't expecting her to punch me the second I walked in." I move to my desk and pull out the paper, spreading it flat on the surface. "Look at this."
Matvey crosses the room in three long strides and leans over to examine the paper. His expression doesn't change, but I see his eyes narrow slightly as he reads the single word.
"Found it in a brooch," I explain. "In a hidden compartment. Mariya didn't even know it was there."
"Believe her?"
"Yeah. She was as surprised as I was." I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. "But I don't know what it means. Bayou. Could be a location, could be a code. Could be nothing."
Matvey picks up the paper, holding it up to the light. He studies it for a long moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then something shifts in his expression.
"Old field," he says.
I sit up straighter. "What?"
"There used to be a meeting place on the outskirts of the city, remember?" He sets the paper down, his finger tapping against the word.
I search my memory, trying to recall anything about an old field on the outskirts of town. Vague images surface. Stories I heard when I was younger, about how the Bratva used to meet in secret locations before they had the power and influence to operate more openly.
"There's still a shack there," Matvey continues. "Or it used to be there. It's been abandoned for years, though."
"And you think 'bayou' refers to that?" I ask, skeptical.
He shrugs. "Old-timers called it that. The field. Always wet and muddy, like a swamp. They joked that it was their own bayou."
The pieces start to click together in my mind. If Pushkin knew about that old meeting place, if he'd heard the same stories and jokes, he might have used it as a hiding spot. It's remote, abandoned, and most people have forgotten it even exists.
It's exactly the kind of place someone would hide something they didn't want found.
"We need to check it out," I say, already standing.
Matvey nods. "Tonight?"
"No. Let’s wait until tomorrow, when it’s light and we can see better." My mind races ahead to what we might find. The heirlooms? Documents? Something else entirely?
A sudden impulse hits me and I hope I don’t regret it later.
"We’ll bring Mariya," I say.