Page 177 of Dance of Deception

“Yeah, she could have.” The Stag’s voice sharpens. “But she didn’t. At least nowhere where I can find it recorded. Also, the medical examiner who signed off on Arkadi’s death?” The Stag continues, his voice relentless. “Killed himself a week after Arkadi died. Prescription pain meds overdose.”

I inhale deeply, forcing my tone to stay even despite the slow, sharp chill slithering down my spine.

“That’s…one hell of a coincidence.”

“It becomes even less of one when you find out he was under investigation for taking money from the Nikolayev Bratva,” he mutters. “And it gets better. Vera only visited Arkadi in prisononce, years before his death, when he got into a fight with some Aryan Brotherhood assholes and needed a blood transfusion. They brought her in because she had the right blood type. O-negative."

I exhale slowly as I step into Lyra’s room and start scanning it for anything that might tell me where the hell she is.

My eyes land on a small vanity by the window and the photo tucked into the mirror's frame. I step closer, peering at it. A young woman smiles back at me, holding a baby with red hair.

The woman is wearing the same necklace I’m holding in my palm.

A memory comes swirling back from weeks ago. I had asked Lyra about her ballet slipper pendant—the one I bloodied when I got it back from Grigori Popov and his men—and she said it came from her Aunt Alison. I guess that's her.

“How’d they manage to convince Vera to give Arkadi blood?” Vera was famously outspoken against her husband after everything blew up.

I walk out of Lyra’s room and into Vera’s. Instantly, the scent of stale cigarette smoke and cheap perfume slams into me. The place is a mess—dirty clothes piled in a corner, unmade bed, empty booze bottles littering the nightstand.

I frown as I stop and glance down at a big box of mail against the wall, mostly junk or sales offers, and rifle through some of it.

“They didn’t,” The Stag replies. “Theycompelledher. Arkadi was a possible witness in some other mafia case. So the State of New York needed him alive, and she was the key to that with their matching O-negative blood and it being an emergency . State prosecutors got a special judge’s order forcing Vera to donate blood to Arkadi. But I think you’re missing the point.”

I frown. “Which is?”

“Your wife has type AB blood.”

I stop moving, instantly. The world goes still, and a ringing sound begins to whine in my ears.

Holy. Fucking.Fuck.

Type O is recessive. Arkadi’s offspring couldonlyhave the same.

The whining in my ears crescendos to a roar as the realization slams into me.

“Arkadi wasn’t her father,” I say quietly.

The Stag’s voice darkens. “Given what you just told me about Lyra being under threat, and presumably with Vera, I’d bemuch more concerned right now that it means Vera categorically cannot be her mother.”

My breath stills.

Oh fuck.

“Do you haveanyidea where they might have gone?”

My gaze snaps back to the box of mail.

Something itches at the back of my mind, something I didn’t fully process before.

I crouch, grabbing a handful of envelopes from the top, rifling through them with shaking fingers. There are some sent from a legal firm, a few medical bills, some opened ones that seem like they probably contained Vera’s disability checks. Then suddenly, my eyes land on two offers from some shitty used car dealership promising zero percent down.

…A shitty used car dealership inKingston, New York, two hours north of the city.

That’s where Lyra grew up.

My eyes drop to the mailing address, and everything goes sideways.

They’re addressed to Lyra’s childhood house.

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