Page 52 of Lethal Alliance

“Bullshit,” I say, again in Russian. “I went to Switzerland. She wasn’t there. I opened the safety deposit box—”

“That was the first time I truly believed you might still be alive.” Sergei’s mouth twists painfully. “Your mother always believed it,” he says softly. “She never gave up, Roman. Not for a moment. And she never stopped looking for you. But it wasn’t until she told me that box had been opened that I began to think she might actually be right, that by some miracle, you really might have survived.”

I can’t meet his eyes. I can barely breathe, let alone speak.

It’s too much.

I don’t know what to believe. I’m torn between wanting to tear Sergei limb from limb and bombarding him with the million questions torturing my brain. It’s a relief when Darya interrupts us.

“And the other key?” Her voice is almost as hard as my own. “Where is the other key, Papa?”

He meets her eyes, and for the first time, his composure cracks slightly. “Your brother has it.”

The hurt and anger in her face fires my own.

“You have to be kidding.” I stand up restlessly, unable to sit still. “The same brother who’s been working with the Orlovs for fuck only knows how long has the other key?”

“Alexei isn’t working with the Orlovs.” Sergei’s answer comes hard and fast. I rather suspect that if he had a gun, I’d be staring at it right now.

Not that I give a fuck.

“Then why did he stay?” The heartbreak in Darya’s voice kills me. “If you thought Roman was dead, then you knew there was no way to open that safe. Why would you make him stay?”

Sergei stares at Darya for a long time, as if warring with himself. When he finally answers, his voice is rough and uneven.

“Not me.” He speaks as if the words are being wrenched from somewhere deep inside him against his will. “I pleaded with Alexei to come with us. But he said that Rosa had visited him. She... came through the tunnels when I was still unconscious. She told Alexei that the Orlovs were scouring the city for Roman.” His eyes flicker to me. “That’s why she was so certain you were still alive.”

“And neither of you told me this.” Darya’s voice is hard as glass. “Not in all these years.”

Sergei reaches a hand out to her, but she jerks away from it.

“Orlov was torturing you!” His voice breaks. “Alexei wasn’t going to give that bastard anything to use—”

He swallows, gaining control of himself before he goes on.

“I promised Rosa long ago that I would protect her son. When I was unconscious, she reminded Alexei of that promise. Alexei promised her he would stay close to the Orlovs, find out if Roman was still alive.” He looks at me, then back at his daughter, his face white with grief. “You must not blame Rosa. She’d suffered so much. If there was a chance—even the smallest one—that you were alive, I owed it to her to find you. Owed it to Aleksander.”

He meets my eye without flinching. “Even so, I’m ashamed to say that I still begged Alexei to run with us. I was furious when I discovered that Rosa had risked her life by coming back to Miami and breaking into the compound. I was even more furious when she told Alexei that he couldn’t run, that someone needed to stay, in case you ever came back. I argued with him. I said that if you were alive, Roman, there must be another way to find you, one that didn’t involve him staying in that house.” His lips harden into a grim line. “But Alexei... he refused to go back on his word to your mother. And that promise aside, he was determined to stay and one day fight to regain what we’d lost.” Sergei’s face is gaunt. “I didn’t agree with him. But I respected his decision.”

Darya makes a low noise of frustration. She stands up and moves away, turning her back on both of us. Sergei’s eyes follow her, but he doesn’t speak.

I fold my arms and stare the bastard down. “Tell me where my mother is now.”

“At this moment,” he says quietly, “I believe Rosa is in Switzerland.”

“Then why didn’t she find me when I opened that safety deposit box?”

“Rosa wasn’t in Switzerland when you went to the bank.” Sergei is still watching his daughter’s stiff back.

I can’t stand the sadness in his eyes; I don’t want to feel sympathy for him.

“Until recently,” he continues, “Rosa hadn’t been back to Zurich since the day she closed that safety deposit box. It was months before she got the news that someone had come to open it, and even after the bank notified her, she wasn’t sure that person was you. We were both worried it might be a trap. You must remember, Roman: I’d seen what I thought was your body with my own eyes. I truly believed you were dead. Despite what Rosa said about the Orlovs hunting for you, I thought your mother’s faith was just grief, wishful thinking.” He shakes his head tiredly. “She went to Switzerland anyway, of course.” He drags his eyes back to mine. “I had no chance of stopping her. Rosa never was one for being told what to do.”

There’s a reluctant admiration in his voice that I don’t want to hear.

Sergei’s reminiscences only further remind me of what I’ve had to live without all these years. The fact that he, and not I, could see my mother, touch her, talk to her...

I clench my fists to stop myself from beating him senseless and swallow hard to bury the lump of hurt and loss blocking my throat.

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