Page 63 of Disguised as Love

“Damien said he was going to see you in St. Petersburg. Did you run into him yesterday?” he asked Raisa.

If I hadn’t just spent the last few days examining her every movement, I would have missed the beat of hesitation she gave before she answered. “No. Antonne and I were doing all the touristy things. I doubt he would have found that entertaining.”

I glanced at Volkov, and my stomach twisted, hoping he hadn’t seen the hesitation as I had. He turned to me, hands going to his pockets, and he rocked a little on his feet. He tilted his head, indicating I should follow him, and I did. In the hall, he turned toward me.

“My son is missing,” he said quietly.

I didn’t react. “Have you checked the dump? Someone as trashy as him is sure to turn up there.”

Volkov’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t rise to my bait. Instead, he demanded, “He went to see her. We both know you wouldn’t like that. So, what happened?”

“We didn’t see your son,” I told him. I met his gaze with a steely one. I didn’t glance away once.

He stepped closer. “If I find out you’ve done something to him, I’ll make sure she is cut from neck to toe while you watch.”

I wanted to do the same thing to him that I’d done to his son for threatening her. I wanted to slam him up against the wall, choke him until he passed out, and then tie him up with chains so thick you couldn’t cut through them without special tools. I wanted to bloody his perfect nose and knock some of the too-white teeth from his mouth. Instead, I tucked my hands under my armpits and simply responded, “I’ll repeat it to make sure you understand. We didn’t see your son. Ask Malik, Yano, Ilia, or the dozen other bodyguards Malik has following him.”

Volkov’s eyes narrowed, and we continued to stare each other down before he turned on his heel and walked away. If Volkov had the tech people at his disposal that we thought he did, it would only be a matter of hours before he was tracing the GPS on Damien’s phone. Last night, it had looked like Damien had the GPS turned off, but there was no guarantee, and it was quite likely Volkov could and would follow his son’s path to the Leskov’s apartment building. Ilia had taken the phone and thrown it into the Neva River down a couple of blocks before we’d taken Damien to the CIA safehouse, but there were people who would easily give up the information of Damien’s whereabouts for cash. The doorman, the waiter, a bartender, or any of the residents who’d been on the roof and who’d seen us drag Damien away, acting as if he was drunk.

I went back into the study and stood beside Raisa at the bookshelf she was going through. I started to reach for her hand and caught myself just before I touched her. I couldn’t risk it. We were too combustible.

“Stop,” I said quietly. “We have to be smarter than this. You knew your father. Put yourself in his shoes, think like he thinks. What would he have done with it?”

Her eyes trailed to the hand I’d stuffed into my pocket after almost touching her. Then, she closed her eyes for a moment before they popped back open. “He wouldn’t have left it in Russia.”

My breath caught. Fuck.

“We have a beach house in Hawaii,” she said quietly.

“I’ll send a team,” I said, pulling out my phone.

She didn’t respond, and I took her silence as permission.

Liola came rushing into the room, flustered and anxious. “It’s Mrs. Leskov. She…she’s?”

Raisa dropped the book in her hand and fled.

Dread filled me, hoping that Manya hadn’t killed herself in her despair.

Raisa ran up the stairs with Liola on her heels, and Ilia and I were right behind them. As we reached Manya’s room, the noise from inside it echoed down the hall. Glass shattering. Wood groaning. Yelling that was unintelligible.

Raisa opened the door just as a ceramic bowl hit the wall beside it, shattering and sending glass fragments everywhere. Raisa gasped as one sliced through the sweater she was wearing, but she ignored it, running into the room. Manya was in a negligee, her eyes were wild, her hair was a tangled knot, and she held a knife she was now dragging down the bed curtains.

“Mama!” Raisa wrapped an arm around her mother’s waist, and Manya didn’t even seem to notice it. She pushed Raisa away with surprising force.

Manya was talking, but it was a gobble of words no one could understand. She continued to cut at the curtains and then stabbed at the mattress. I stepped into the room, twisted her wrist while trying to cause as little pain as possible, but she still cried out and then screamed bloody murder, clawing at me. I folded her arms against her body and held her struggling frame.

She fought it, but I didn’t let go. Raisa approached again, both hands going to her mother’s face. “Mamochka, it’s me, Raechka. Please stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Manya shook her head from side to side, dislodging her daughter’s tender grip before her head fell to her chest and sobs coursed through her. “It is all over, Raechka. It’s all gone. Destroy it, burn it down. I won’t let Rurik have it or me or you.”

My breath caught. I wasn’t sure what Volkov had told her while Raisa and I had gallivanted around St. Petersburg, but it was enough to lead her to believe he’d claimed them all.

“He won’t have us, Mama. He can’t. We’re leaving. After the funeral, we’re leaving,” Raisa said. It was a promise I heard in every inch of her tone. One I didn’t know how she planned on keeping. I’d promised her a way out for Manya if she helped me, but State hadn’t gotten back to Nolan. It was hard to know which way they’d fall with Manya’s history.

“You are leaving,” Manya said between heavy sobs. “I will be here. But he cannot have me. He cannot have the home your father loved. I will burn it to the ground!”

“It’s just a building, Mama. It isn’t our memories of Papa. It isn’t us. Let him have it. We’ll leave him with it, but he won’t have us.”

---