Page 38 of Lethal Alliance

Borovsky bitch?

Nikolai pales, staring at Inger. “You swore to me Masha was mine.”

She faces him, pale and shaking. “I thought she was, Nicky!”

But I know my mother. I’ve watched her lie before. I know the telltale signs, the darting eyes, the way she bites her lip.

She knew.

What else is she keeping secret from me?

The Borovsky bitch . . .

“Mama.”

Inger’s eyes swivel to me. Despite where we currently are, despite Alexei’s arms locked around me like a vise, the whole world seems to slip away, so there is only Mama and me.

“Why is he calling me a Borovsky bitch? Who is Borovsky?”

“Ofelia.” Mama’s eyes are wide, her tone pleading. “Please. It was all a long time ago. I didn’t know—”

“Yes, you did.”

It’s Nikolai who interrupts. He’s staring at Inger as if he’s seeing her for the first time and doesn’t at all like what he sees.

“You knew Roman was Ofelia’s father, and still you let Mikhail believe the baby was his.” He says it slowly, like he’s just putting the pieces together in his head.

Wait.

Roman is myfather?

The room swims in and out of focus, the fabric of my world coming unstitched, then reforming in a new, unfamiliar pattern.

If that’s true, then why are they calling me a Borovsky bitch?

Roman’s name is Stevanovsky.

None of this is making a single bit of sense.

“I bet that happened the first time you saw our yacht, didn’t it, Inger?”

The world snaps back into focus as Nikolai stares accusingly at Inger.

“Roman was just a street kid with nothing. Why would you take him when you could have the Stevanovsky fortune? I bet you dumped him so fucking fast he didn’t know what had hit him.”

Inger looks defensively between Nikolai and me.

But she doesn’t deny it.

She doesn’t even look guilty.

“And look who’s finally joined the party!” Vilnus claps Nikolai on the shoulder, grinning like this is the funniest thing he’s watched in years. “Glad you finally caught up, little Stevanovsky. Now, why don’t you finish the story and tell Ofelia why all this matters so much?”

Nikolai scowls and turns away from Inger to look at me. “Roman’s real family name is Borovsky,” he muttersBorovsky. Not Stevanovsky.I’m still reeling.But so what?The name means nothing to me.

Roman is my father.

RomanBorovskyis my father.

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