Page 13 of Lethal Alliance

I open a pack of firelighters and crumble them into a bowl on the table in front of me. I wait until the flames have taken hold before I slowly feed first one, then both of the passports to the flames.

The fire takes them remarkably quickly.

I watch my face shrivel and melt, my two false names disappearing in a plume of foul-smelling black smoke.

I’ve read the letters from Roman and Alexei so often on the interminable bus ride here that the creases are worn smooth. Now I read each of them one last time, savoring each word, committing the contents to memory.

Then, when the passports are no more than ashes, I add the letters to the fire.

Part of me wants to keep them both. Despite what Alexei has done, he is my family. My blood.

And as for Roman . . .

There is no world in which I could ever not love him.

But I’m not sure that I can trust him again either. Roman lied to me about who he was. All this time that I thought I was safe in his care, he was biding his time.

Was our entire relationship a lie? Did he know who I was from the beginning and seduce me on purpose?

It’s hard to believe he could have been so deliberately manipulative, not to mention such a convincing liar. But I’m not naive enough to not see the holes in his letter to me. What he didn’t say shouts volumes. I don’t know how much he understands about the vault, or whether he is planning to try to open it. I’d certainly understand if he felt entitled to whatever is inside it. But his letter says nothing about what his plans are. He says that the Orlovs hunted him for years, but he never mentions if he has what they are searching for. It’s hard not to think that he is still keeping secrets, and that hurts almost more than everything else.

I clasp my hands over my belly and say a silent prayer for our unborn child.

Our Borovsky.

My choked laugh dies in my throat. I chose that name as a private joke. Not so funny, as it turns out. My baby reallyisa Borovsky.

And now he, or she, is the reason I have to stay alive.

Perhaps the only reason.

For years, all I’ve cared about is finding a way to open my family’s vault. To use the reported treasure inside to reclaim the legacy that we lost the day Vilnus Orlov launched his coup.

But tonight, for the first time in my life, I wish that damned vault had never been built.

All I can see is that it’s torn three families apart.

Mine.

Roman’s.

And the family we might have built together. The family our unborn child will never get to experience.

The flames flicker in the growing night as the letters turn to ash. I’m no longer someone’s sister, daughter, lover, or even surrogate parent figure, if that’s what I was to Roman’s three children only days ago.

I feel as empty as a burned-out husk. As if I, too, could disappear into ash on the wind with barely a touch.

A night bird caws overhead, a lonely, heart-wrenching sound. I sit in the darkness for a long time after the fire has died, silent tears running down my cheeks.

5

OFELIA

The flight to Miami takes twelve hours. Masha and I travel in a private suite at the rear of the plane, which has a large bed and a bathroom.

The door to the suite is locked, of course.

From the outside.

---