Page 92 of Lethal Alliance

“The double-headed eagle.” I stare at the interior in wonder. “The symbol of the House of Romanov. This is one of the original eggs created by Fabergé for Empress Maria Feodorovna. It’s... this is priceless, Roman.”

He nods, his mouth quirked in a peculiar smile. “It’s one of the nine missing imperial eggs, and possibly the most valuable of them all. The question is—where inside it did my father hide the key to the Petrovsky vault?”

He turns the egg around carefully, his fingers tracing the whorls and jewels. He closes his eyes, and for a long moment we stand in the perfect silence of the locked room, surrounded by the magic and mystery of a past that died long before either of us were born.

“Ah.” Roman’s eyes open, the dark depths gleaming. “I should have known.” He twists the crown atop the double-headed eagle, and the whole piece lifts off, revealing a small disk of flat gold. He presses the seed pearls on either side of it. The disk splits neatly in two, and the head of a slender, finely wrought key rises from a narrow cylinder running the length of the eagle’s body. It’s one of the most delicate, ingenious mechanisms I’ve ever seen.

“You know,” Roman says, frowning as he plucks the key out and pockets it, “my father was a gifted jeweler. But his specialty was safe making. Even if he could have brought himself to corrupt such an incredible piece of art, I honestly doubt he could have done this kind of work. I think this is part of the original piece, made by Fabergé himself.”

“Really?” I stare at the opened egg. “I wonder what that means?”

“Your father said there were two keys.” He slowly reassembles the egg, carefully locking each piece back into place. “I’d say the chances are pretty strong that the second one will be located in an egg exactly like this one. Fabergé was renowned for his love of symmetry and clever mechanisms. This is a prime example of his finest work.” He glances at me, his expression darkening when he sees my face. “We’ll find it, Darya.”

“I know you will.” I bite my lip.

“But?” Roman’s eyes narrow.

I force myself to meet them anyway. “But I know you’ll have to kill Alexei as soon as you do.”

He doesn’t try to argue with me. He doesn’t say anything.

He just slips the key into the breast pocket of his shirt and wraps me in his arms. We stand there for a long time in the silence, my heart beating quietly against his, the golden key to our lethal legacy lying between us.

30

ROMAN

Part of me can’t help but look around the bank as we make our way to the exit.

If Sergei was telling the truth, and in this, at least, I believe he was, then Rosa—my mother—has some way of being alerted when I access the safety deposit box.

I hate myself for wanting to find her here.

You’ve already done this.

The last time I stood here, I was in my early twenties. The scars on my hands were fresh then, still raw from the blood they seemed permanently drenched in back in those days. I was deep in Yuri’s wars, unaware that they’d only just really begun. I hadn’t even been sure I was going to come here at all.

I was in Zurich with Mikhail. We’d met with several bankers, searching for financial backing, ostensibly for Hale, but really for Mercura. Yuri wanted nothing to do with our ideas. He was entrenched in the old way of doing business. Mikhail and I dreamed of a different way, a cleaner way.

Nobody was interested, of course, not back then. We were two young upstart criminals, bearing a family name that was suspicious at best. Mikhail and I had been turned away with scorn from every door. We’d headed to one of the seedier bars in the edgy Langstrasse district to drown our sorrows.

When Mikhail slipped upstairs with two very expensive hookers, I’d slipped out and come here.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe I felt like I had nothing to lose. Or maybe I was just sick of running from the past.

What I remember most is standing here, in the marble foyer, staring around in vain for a mother who never came.

I didn’t expect it to hit me like this again.

To feel this heart-wrenching disappointment a second time.

I thought myself immune to it, or at least so occupied with bigger things that I wouldn’t get sidetracked by emotions.

Yet here I am, my gut churning like the engine of my goddamn MTT and my nerves more knotted than one of Fabergé’s fucking locks.

“Is she here?” Darya’s hand slips into mine, and I grip it like it’s a lifeline. I’ll never know how she does that, how she seems to know just when I need the silken warmth of her touch. For all my objections to her accompanying me on this little excursion, I’m suddenly passionately grateful she’s with me.

“No.” I shake my head curtly. “No, she’s not.”

---