Page 145 of Lethal Alliance

I absorb the name on the paper, trying not to let my shock show.

“I thought you should know.”

I nod slowly, not quite trusting myself to speak. To my relief, Alexei doesn’t ask questions. He stands and touches my shoulder briefly. “We’ll talk soon, brother.”

He closes the door behind him, and I’m left staring at the details on the paper, slowly piecing things together in my mind.

44

ROMAN

The parking lot of the Alhaurin prison in Malaga has only a few scattered cars. I’m here outside visiting hours and during siesta.

I pass through security without difficulty and am shown to a bare concrete room. I don’t have to wait long before the door opens again. The guard sits Yuri down on a chair, then leaves, closing the door behind him.

“Roman. This is an unexpected pleasure.”

Yuri’s smile is tinged with unease. He knows something is off.

“I thought you didn’t like to draw attention to our association.” He sits back in his chair and lights a cigarette, staring at me through calculating eyes as the smoke curls between us. “Isn’t that what you said last time you visited me? And yet here you are, outside visiting hours and in a private room, no less. Hardly subtle,moy syn.”

“I’m not your son.”

“No.” His smile fades completely, his eyes going flat and cold. “My son is dead. Both of my sons, in fact.”

“Mikhail is dead because of a war you started. Nikolai is dead because he trusted you. If you want someone to blame, Yuri, then look in the fucking mirror.”

He stares at me for a long moment. His cigarette burns down in his hand, the ash eventually falling unnoticed to the floor.

I take out a bottle of Graf vodka and pour two glasses. I push his across the table. “What shall we drink to?” I tilt my head to one side. “To health? No, that doesn’t feel right. To family?” I grimace and shake my head. “No. Because we’ve never really been family, Yuri, have we? Wait. I know.” I pick up my glass. “Let’s drink to truth.” I touch his glass with my own. “Za pravdu.” I raise my glass to my lips.

Yuri doesn’t move. His face is pale. He stares at me across the table, cigarette forgotten in his hand. “Drink,” I snarl.

He drinks.

I pour us both another vodka and push the packet of cigarettes across the table toward him. He wants to ignore them, but despite the dead ash of his last one still in his hand, he’s unable to disguise the greed in his eyes. I feel a sudden, savage twist of hard contempt.

“Go ahead,” I say agreeably. “Why do we work, if not to enjoy these little luxuries, Yuri? Isn’t that what you used to tell Mikhail and me?”

He winces as if he’s been struck.

You were never the man I wanted you to be. The man Mikhail and Ineededyou to be.

“You know,” I say conversationally, taking the old cigarette out of his hand and lighting the fresh one for him, “the thing I just couldn’t understand was how Ilyan Fedorov knew that Darya and Rosa were in London.”

Yuri’s eyes are locked on mine, but even now they slide sideways, as if he’s still trying to think of a way out of this.

As if there could ever be a way out of this.

“There was no digital trail of their whereabouts,” I go on. “Mak and I worked through every member of our teams, interrogating each man, but our operation was watertight. Eventually, I had to let it go. But it bothered me, Yuri. You know the other thing that bothered me?” I nod at the vodka on the table in front of him. “Drink.”

He drinks.

“Vera.”

Yuri visibly jumps at the name, as if he’s been given an electric shock.

“The man guarding Vera was shot. At first, we assumed he had been taken out by Fedorov’s men, but that wasn’t the case. The bullet came from Vera’s gun.”

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