Chapter 14
ANDREY
Iwatch Mariya's face as she stares at the metal lockbox, and I see it. Recognition. It flashes across her features so clearly that there's no mistaking it. Her green eyes widen, her lips part slightly, and her hand reaches out toward the box before she catches herself and pulls back.
She knows this box.
Excitement builds inside me, hot and urgent. This box belonged to her father. I'm certain of it. After all this time, all the dead ends and false leads, we've finally found something real. Something that might actually give me the answers I need.
"You recognize it," I say, my voice rough with anticipation.
She nods slowly, her gaze still fixed on the box. "It was my father's. He kept it in his study. I saw it a few times when I was younger, but he never told me what was inside."
I pick up the box, feeling the weight of it in my hands. It's heavier than I expected, solid metal that's held up well despite being buried in this underground room. The lock is rusted but intact, and I know there's no way we're getting it open without breaking it.
"Stand back," I tell Mariya.
She moves away, and I look around the small space until I find what I need. A large rock, probably part of the foundation that crumbled away years ago. I pick it up, testing its weight, then bring it down hard on the lock.
The sound echoes through the underground room, loud and violent. Once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth strike, the lock gives way with a satisfying crack, and pieces of rusted metal scatter across the dirt floor.
My heart pounds as I set down the rock and reach for the lid. My hands are steady as I lift the lid, but inside, I'm fucking vibrating with anticipation. The lid opens with a creak of protesting hinges and I stare at the contents, my excitement draining away like water through a sieve.
What the fuck?
Inside the box are pieces. Dozens of them.
They look handmade, cut from what appears to be photographs or documents, each one irregular in shape and size.
They're arranged in layers, separated by thin pieces of cloth, and when I pick one up, I see it's thick, like it's been laminated or sealed somehow.
"What is this?" I mutter, turning the piece over in my fingers.
Mariya moves closer, peering into the box. Her brow furrows as she examines the contents. "I don't know. They look like puzzle pieces."
"Puzzle pieces?" I pick up another one, then another. She's right. They're shaped like puzzle pieces, with interlocking edges that suggest they fit together somehow.
"Did your father ever mention anything like this?" I ask, my frustration building. "Any kind of code or puzzle?"
She shakes her head, her blonde hair falling forward as she leans in to get a better look. "No. I've never seen anything like this before."
I believe her. The confusion on her face is too genuine to be faked. She's as baffled by this as I am.
I carefully lift out the top layer of pieces, setting them aside on the cloth, then examine the next layer. More of the same. Dozens of pieces, maybe hundreds, all carefully cut and preserved. Someone spent a lot of time making this. A lot of effort went into creating whatever the fuck this is.
But why? What's the point?
"Maybe they form a map," Mariya suggests quietly. "Or instructions for finding something."
It's possible. Pushkin was smart, careful. If he wanted to hide information, creating a puzzle that only he could solve would be one way to do it. But that doesn't help me. I don't have time to sit around putting together some elaborate fucking puzzle while the Bratva closes in on Mariya.
I close the box carefully, making sure all the pieces are secure. "We're taking this back to the estate."
Mariya nods, and I can see the disappointment in her eyes. She was hoping for answers too, hoping this box would contain something that would explain what her father did, where he went, and why he abandoned her.
Instead, we have more questions.
Matvey helps us climb back up through the hole in the floor, and we make our way out of the shack. The sunlight is almost blinding after the darkness of the underground room, and I have to blink several times before my eyes adjust.
The drive back to the estate is quiet. Mariya stares out the window, lost in thought, while I hold the box on my lap. My mind races through possibilities, trying to figure out what these pieces mean and how they fit into everything else.
When we pull through the gates of my estate, I immediately notice the car parked in the circular driveway, a sleek black sedan that I recognize instantly.
Fuck.
Bogdan Belyaev is here.
Matvey sees it too. His jaw tightens, and his hands grip the steering wheel a little harder. He knows what this means. Bogdan doesn't make social calls. If he's here, it's because he wants something.
We park, and I turn to Mariya. "Go straight to your room. Don't talk to anyone. Matvey will escort you."
She looks at me, questions in her green eyes, but she doesn't argue. Smart girl.
I hand the box to Matvey. "Take this to my office. Don't let anyone see it."
He nods once, understanding immediately. If Bogdan sees this box, he'll want to know what's inside. He'll want to be part of whatever we've found. And I'm not ready to share this information with anyone yet.
I climb out of the SUV and head toward the front entrance. Before I even reach the door, it opens, and there's Bogdan Belyaev, standing in my fucking foyer like he owns the place.
He's sixty years old, thin and wiry, with gray-brown hair and a short beard that's more gray than brown these days. His gray eyes are sharp, calculating, and they immediately move past me to where Mariya is getting out of the SUV.
I see the way he looks at her. The way his gaze lingers on her face, her body, like he's cataloging every detail. My hands clench into fists at my sides.
"Andrey," he says, his voice smooth and pleasant. "I hope you don't mind. Your staff let us in."
Of course they did. Bogdan Belyaev is a Pakhan, and my staff know better than to turn away someone of his status. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.
"Bogdan," I reply, keeping my voice neutral. "This is unexpected."
"I was in the area. Thought I'd stop by." His eyes are still on Mariya as Matvey guides her past us and toward the stairs. "Who's the girl?"
"A guest," I say shortly.
"She's very pretty." He finally looks at me, and there's something in his expression that makes my skin crawl. "Russian?"
"That's none of your concern."
He raises an eyebrow. "Everything that happens in this city is my concern, Andrey. You know that."
I force myself to relax my hands, to keep my expression calm. Bogdan watches Mariya and Matvey as they climb the stairs toward her room, his gaze following Mariya until she disappears around the corner. Then he turns back to me with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"We have some business to discuss," he says.
Before I can respond, Sophia appears from the direction of the living room. She's wearing a modest pale blue dress, her long black hair styled perfectly, and she looks uncomfortable. Like she doesn't want to be here any more than I want her here.
"Sophia," Bogdan says without looking at her. "Go wait in the library."
I bristle at the command. This is my house, and he's ordering people around like he's the one in charge. But I don't argue. I need to find out what he wants first.
Sophia meets my eyes briefly, and I see an apology there before she turns and walks away. Her heels click against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the foyer until she's gone.
"Shall we?" Bogdan gestures toward my office.
I lead the way, my mind already working through strategies. Whatever he wants, whatever he's heard, I need to control this conversation. I need to make sure he doesn't get any information I'm not willing to give.
My office is exactly as I left it this morning. The desk is clear except for my laptop and a few files. The chairs are positioned across from each other, and the windows overlook the grounds. It's my space, my territory, and I need to use that to my advantage.
Bogdan settles into one of the chairs without waiting for an invitation. He crosses one leg over the other, completely at ease, and studies me with those calculating gray eyes.
"So," he says. "Let's talk about the girl."
I take my seat behind the desk, putting the solid wood between us. "What about her?"
"I've heard rumors." He leans back, his fingers steepled under his chin. "Interesting rumors about a certain librarian who disappeared from her job. About how she bears a striking resemblance to someone we all thought was long gone."
My stomach tightens, but I keep my expression neutral. "Rumors are just rumors."
"Are they?" He tilts his head. "Is she really Yegor Pushkin's daughter?"
The question hangs in the air between us. I could lie. I could tell him he's mistaken, that Mariya is just some woman I'm seeing. But Bogdan didn't get to where he is by being stupid. If he's asking, it's because he already knows the answer.
"Yes," I say.
His eyes light up with satisfaction. "I thought so. The resemblance is remarkable. She has his eyes."
"What do you want, Bogdan?"
"Want?" He spreads his hands innocently. "I'm simply concerned. If word is spreading about the girl, that means others know too. Others who might want to use her to get to Pushkin. Or to get to whatever he stole."
"I can protect her."
"Can you?" He leans forward, his expression serious now. "How many people know she's here? How many have seen her? The Bratva has eyes everywhere, Andrey. You know that."
I do know that. And the fact that Bogdan is here, asking these questions, means the information is spreading faster than I thought. Faster than I can control.
"What are you suggesting?" I ask.
"I'm suggesting that you need to be very careful." His voice drops lower. "There are people who would pay a fortune for information about Pushkin's daughter. People who would do anything to get their hands on her."
The unease that's been building since he arrived intensifies. He's right. If word is spreading this fast, Mariya is in more danger than I realized. And keeping her here, in my estate, might not be enough to protect her.