Page 10 of Lethal Alliance

“It’s Nikolai.” Dimitry covers the phone with his hand. “Inger’s badly injured. He’s going with her to the hospital.”

“Go, go.” I wave my assent, focused on the carnage in front of me. The explosion has taken out one entire side of the ballroom, leaving a gaping hole in the wall and a mass of rubble on the floor. The worst of the victims have already been pulled from it, many by my own hands.

I needed to know for myself that Ofelia and Masha weren’t among them.

Inger was standing somewhere near here, last time I saw her, before the bomb. I close my eyes briefly.

Before the bomb.

After the bomb.

My life is divided into two parts now, and forever more. The life I had before, and the shattered remnants of it now that everything I trusted has been blown to shreds.

I’m glad Nikolai is with Inger. No matter the bad blood between us, I would never wish her harm. But nor do I have the time, or emotional head space, to deal with Inger right now.

And I have no idea how to tell her the girls are gone.

Darya’s face passes through my mind, white and stricken. I thrust it away with ruthless determination.

I don’t even want tothinkabout Darya Petrovsky. Ever again.

“Bryce has Mickey,” Dimitry says. “I told him to get the boy out of here, like you said. He’s got half a dozen good men with him.”

“Good.” I’m even less equipped to deal with Mickey right now. I just want him safe, and I want him the fuck away from here. “Are you fucking sure the Orlovs have the girls?” I ask Dimitry in an undertone, eyeing the rubble with a sickening feeling in my gut. “Because if they’re somehow still under there—”

“They’re not.” Dimitry shakes his head curtly. “We’ve turned over every stone. You might want to ask him.” He nods at Boris Obolensky, who’s staring blankly at the rubble, his face ashen. “His grandson, Matvei, was dancing with Ofelia, right next to the blast. Boris got to him immediately after the explosion. Matvei was badly wounded, but he was also alone. And it seems Boris actually recognized the man who took the girls. But go easy,” he adds, lowering his voice. “Boris’s limo left for the hospital with Matvei inside it, minutes after the blast. The boy is in a bad way.”

Christ.

“Find out what those useless fucks know.” I snap my head toward the police, who’ve only just arrived. “Give them whatever they need, but make it clear I want to know every fucking thing they do. We’ve got men inside their ranks—use them.”

“Done.” Dimitry nods.

I approach Boris Obolensky’s swaying figure with caution. Boris may be old, but he’s always been tough. And watching his oldest grandchild get blown half to pieces in an attack that he surely knows is my fault isn’t exactly a good footing for the conversation I’m about to have.

“Your grandson,” I say in greeting. “I believe he’s wounded. Is there anything I can do?”

Obolensky shakes his head slowly. His face is covered in white dust, his eyes red rimmed and distant with shock. “My wife.” His voice cracks. “She was only inches away. She fell. I thought she was—” He takes a shuddering breath and passes a hand over his face, composing himself. “She’s fine,” he says, as if trying to reassure himself. “She’s gone to the hospital with Matvei.” His voice cracks again. Another breath. “There’s nothing you can do,” he says simply, looking directly at me for the first time. “He will live, or he will die.” He speaks the last line in Russian, as if his native tongue can give him the strength he needs.

Perhaps it can.

Russia is built for this bullshit, inhales death as it does life. It’s the world we were both born to, one it seems Russians can never escape, no matter how many seas we cross.

I grip his shoulder. “Ne atchaivaisya.”Don’t despair.

I wonder who I’m saying it to, Boris or myself.

He nods slowly, then turns to me. “Before the blast,” he says, still speaking Russian, “I saw a face I know. Two years ago he blew up a gaming room that belonged to a friend of mine. He is a specialist in these things.” His face twists in distaste. “I was asked to track this man down and kill him. But he was a nephew of Vilnus Orlov, and at the time I deemed it too... controversial. Now I wish I had.”

“My friend told me you believe this man took my daughters.” I would usually be more diplomatic, but there’s no time.

There’s no fucking time.

“He was watching when your daughter danced with Matvei. I saw this man. I noticed him. He was standing by the sound equipment, over there.” He nods at a corner just off the stage. It’s a perfect hiding place, somewhere anyone could pass unnoticed, assumed to be part of the sound team. “I was coming to tell you, but then...” His voice trails off as he waves at the chaos in front of us.

“Is there any other reason you think this man took the girls, apart from the fact that he was watching Ofelia?”

“Masha was with her mother seconds before the blast, and they were standing very close to the sound equipment. After the blast I saw Inger in the rubble, with her friend leaning over her, but there was no trace of Masha or the man.” He meets my eyes. “Ofelia was dancing with Matvei only moments before that blast, very close to where her mother and sister were. But when we found Matvei’s... body, Ofelia was nowhere to be found. I am sorry, my friend.” It’s his turn to grip my shoulder. “I wish I had protected her better.”

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