Page 98 of Lethal Alliance

“Yes. Well, Alexei has a Swedish friend—”

“Lars Andersson,” I supply.

“Yes, yes. This is his name. Well, the Swede paid Lance Ryder to stop writing about your family and offered instead to pay a high price for any information Ryder discovered about the Naryshkin treasure. He lied to Ryder, told him that Alexei knew very little about his own history. Andersson told Ryder that if he discovered information that helped him and Alexei open the vault, they would pay Ryder a generous cut of the contents.”

So Ryder really was working with Alexei.

I think of the man Papa saw with a camera outside our old apartment. Of the day our lockbox was stolen. Of Ryder thrusting a camera in my face outside the café.

“It would have been nice,” I say tightly, “if my brother had mentioned that the journalist was working for him. But then, it isn’t as if any of you told me anything.”

Rosa leans forward and puts a hand on my knee, her face sympathetic. “Don’t be angry at your brother. Or your father. Any contact between the three of us has been very minimal. Months, sometimes years, passed without any communication at all. I never knew where you and Sergei were. Neither did Alexei. And he never told me about Lars Andersson or Lance Ryder.” The sadness in her face is palpable. “We have all had to hide, Darya. Your brother perhaps most of all.”

Perhaps.But all I really see is Alexei’s determination to open that vault. Even if it meant exposing Papa and me. I can’t forgive that, let alone him endangering the children.

“It was Lance Ryder who first made the link between Hale Property and Roman Borovsky.” She sits back, pouring herself some water. Her hand isn’t quite steady. I’m not the only one who is finding this conversation difficult.

“Ryder tracked the anonymous buyer of Borovsky pieces at auction back to a Roman Stevanovsky. Then he discovered that a Swiss bank had given Roman extensive financial backing to start Hale Property, without any obvious security.

“That was the first time Alexei contacted me with the news that he thought Roman was really alive and living under the Stevanovsky name.” Her hands clasp and unclasp in her lap. “I was still in Argentina then. And the message was brief, with less than half the information I have told you now. I still barely dared to hope.”

I know that feeling. Hope is almost the worst kind of torture. It’s easier to sit with grief than it is with the tremulous promise of hope, something that can disappear at any moment, leaving you lower than if you’d never had it at all.

“It was only when Sergei contacted me independently with the same news that I finally accepted it might be true. We were afraid that if I came to Spain, I would risk exposing you both. I had to wait until Alexei contacted me again.” Her face tightens. “Those weeks were... long.”

“When finally I managed to speak with Alexei, things began to happen very quickly. He put me in touch with his friend, this Lars Andersson, who helped me get into Switzerland unseen a couple of weeks ago. He told me that you would arrive soon and said I would be contacted when you made it to the safe house in Zurich. He said there was a chance that Roman might be with you. Or follow you. That was why I went to the bank every day. Just in case, you understand?”

Her voice cracks, and she turns away quickly, but not before I see the sudden sheen of tears in her eyes. “I thought it would be different.” She swallows, trying to regain control of herself, but her voice is low and strained. “I didn’t expect Roman to welcome me with open arms, of course not.” Her voice breaks again, and it’s some time before she gains control of herself. “But I didn’t expect him to be so angry. I should have, I suppose.” Her voice fades tiredly. She still doesn’t look at me.

I don’t want to feel sorry for her. I am still angry, no matter my sympathy for her struggles.

Roman and I have both lived in darkness for most of our lives because of the secrets kept by our parents. Despite the compassion I have for the years she spent running, another part of me feels frustrated that all of this has been about that damned vault.

And nothing she says will ever remove the horror of that blast.

I swallow my anger, knowing it won’t help. But in the silence that follows her story, I know I need to say something to help her understand.

“Our children were taken.” They may not be the right words, but they’re all I can manage. “And Alexei knew about it. That is too much for Roman and me to forgive.”

Rosa’s head snaps around, her eyes wide with shock. “You cannot think that Alexei knew about that bomb!”

“You said it yourself.” I’m unable to hide the anger in my voice. “Alexei told you it was going to happen.”

“No!” Her face is white, her lips quivering with emotion. “No, I don’t believe that. Alexei would never endanger you like that, let alone children. Never.”

I close my lips on all the things I want to say, knowing they won’t help.

Rosa stares at me, clearly trying to work out how to argue the point, but I don’t have the energy for it.

“Excuse me.” I stand up, my stomach churning.

I head to the bathroom and throw up, again and again.

When I come out, I choose another seat, as far away from Rosa as the private jet will allow. I close my eyes, trying not to think about where Roman is right now, or about all the things that can go wrong.

32

ROMAN

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