Page 53 of Lethal Alliance

“After she told you the box had been opened, what did you do?” I wince at the pain I can hear in my voice. I don’t want the bastard to know the effect his words have had on me. I don’t want to give him a single fucking thing.

He’s taken enough from me already.

“The bank wouldn’t show Rosa footage of whoever had opened the vault. But there was no doubt ithadbeen opened, and the key was still inside it, as was the egg. There was no trap, nobody waiting to capture her. I truly began to think she might be right.” He half smiles. “Oddly enough, that was when Rosa became the skeptic. I think she was afraid to start believing again, after so long. Either way, neither of us had the faintest idea where you might be.” He looks at me, his eyes painfully gentle. “Right up until the day I saw you with your father’s earrings.

“Even then, it seemed impossible. An unimaginable coincidence.” He shakes his head. “I thought I was seeing things. Imagining what I wanted to.”

I can’t do this.

Not now. No matter how fucking much I want the truth.

Right now, what I want to do most is run as hard and fast as I can, a million miles from here.

Away from the sympathy in Darya’s eyes and the pain in Sergei’s. I neither want to understand his pain nor hear his fucking explanations.

I’ve lived without answers for two decades and more. I can live without them until I have my girls back and Vilnus Orlov is dead.

And just like that, my world snaps back into focus.

“None of this matters.” I brutally cut off whatever Sergei was about to say. “We don’t have time for any of this. We’ve got the codes to the tunnels and a map of the underground chamber. Everything else can wait.” I stand abruptly. “We need to go, Darya.”

For a horrible moment I think she will stay with her father. I’m almost afraid of how furious that makes me feel, how utterly alone.

When she slowly stands beside me, it takes all of my self-discipline to hide my relief.

“Wait.” Sergei presses against his chair, grimacing with the effort to stand. “There’s so much more you both need to understand. I haven’t begun to explain—”

“Will any of it help me get into that compound and get my children back?” I stare down at him, daring the old bastard to waste one moment more of my fucking time.

He stares at me for a long time. Then he nods in reluctant acquiescence, slumping back in his chair, his face pale and tired. “You know the key is in the Fabergé egg?”

My mouth twists in contempt. “I figured. Is there any other trick I should know about?”

“No.” Sergei shakes his head. “Your father designed the vault to be opened by three sets of fingerprints and two keys. He hid one inside the egg your mother took with her.” He meets my eyes. “And like I said, Alexei has the other one.”

“Oh, and he’s just going to hand that over, is he?” Fury churns inside me.

“Yes.” He meets my eyes steadily. “Yes, Roman. He will.”

I stare at him for a long moment, anger and pain like poison inside me. “Well,” I say finally, “I guess we’re about to fucking find out, aren’t we, Sergei?”

I’m about to walk away when Darya speaks up. “Wait.” She’s staring at her father, her eyes narrowed. “If Rosa wasn’t in Switzerland all that time, then where was she? And how was she talking to you about going back to Switzerland when we were on the run?”

When Sergei meets his daughter’s eyes, it’s the first time I see his composure truly begin to slip. “Dayushka,” he says hoarsely. “There’s so much you don’t know—”

“Argentina.” She says the word flatly, a statement of fact rather than a question. “That’s who we traveled all that way to find, Papa, wasn’t it? Rosa is your contact in Argentina. All this time, both you and Alexei have been communicating with her. And neither of you ever told me.”

“We had to protect you—” Sergei stretches a hand out toward her. Darya jerks back as if she’s been stung.

“Protect me?” Her voice is low and furious. “While I was looking over my shoulder and working every job I could to keep food on the table, you and Alexei tried toprotectme?” Her strangled laugh is painful to hear.

“Please, Dayushka.” Sergei’s voice cracks. “Just let me explain—”

“No.” Darya cuts him short. “No, Papa. Not this time.”

She slips her hand into mine. “Take me home,” she whispers.

We turn around and walk away, leaving the old man sitting in his chair, alone in the growing chill.

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