Page 61 of City Of Thieves
It’s not a question. It’s a revelation. But amidst all my iron rage and recriminations, I see Tatiana’s face. I see her vulnerable and alone in our hotel suite. I hear my own voice offering a vow filled with its own holes…
Te lo prometto.
Turning toward the man I just pulled a gun on, I do something I’ve never done in my life…
I fucking beg.
“I need you to get to The Annabel Park Hotel and watch over Tatiana. Guard her with your life, Killian, I mean it.”
When he nods in acquiescence, some of the pressure in my chest eases, and I’m striding towards the hallway.
“Where the hell are you going?” he calls out after me.
I’m halfway out the door when I stop and speak words he won’t understand. “I’m going to make good on a couple of promises.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tatiana
“Seb,it’s me…Tatiana. Look, call me. I’m in London, but just…call me.”
Hanging up for the third time, I rest my forehead against the hotel suite door. This is the real-life definition of irony, right here. It’s not all the whimsical ‘opposites’ and ‘ifs’. It’s when you have a twin brother who’s waited five years for you to make contact, and now he won’t pick up the damn phone.
I pace the room a couple more times before I’m tumbling backward onto the bed, my neat hairstyle turning into a messy, dark halo against the white sheets. My eyelids start to flutter as I count off the seconds until my phone rings.
I’m not used to stillness.
All this silence is making me think.
Up until now, I’ve forced myself to live at a million miles an hour because the faster I run, the more detached I feel from everything.
But what if I don’t have to do that anymore?
What if this man—this terrifying, savage, killer of a man with magic in his hands—really does help me find my daughter?
My breath catches at the thought. Hope can be a dangerous thing. There are so many hurdles to cross first. So many wrongs to right…
But what if?
What if?
Drawing my knees up, I brush my fingers along my C-section scar, remembering the one time I wasn’t frightened of pain, just exhausted and relieved, with seven pounds of perfection lying in my arms.
She’d looked so much like my father and Seb, with her strange gray eyes and quiet perceptiveness—as if she’d known the hell she was being born into but was going to make it okay for us anyway.
My fingers trail upwards, brushing against another scar, this time on my upper arm. I hate thinking about the night I received it, but I can’t seem to hold back the memory today. I was eighteen years old and three months pregnant. Konstantin had finally gotten what he wanted: another innocent pawn in a game of chess that started long before I was born. By then, I was a hollow shell of self-loathing, dizzy from the hormones… Sick of the constant lies I told to justify my crazy behavior to my parents. Konstantin was driving a wedge so great between us, none of us could see the other side anymore.
And he had so much ammunition.
He’d shown me pictures of my naked and exposed body, ones of Seb buying drugs… He was going to leak it all to the press and destroy my father’s career. He was going to beat me until I miscarried…
It was almost a relief when he told me he was taking me to Russia. Decision made. No more family to push away, but first I had to make them so disgusted with me they’d be relieved to let me go...
“What the fuck are you doing?”
My father grabs my wrist and squeezes hard until the knife slips from my fingers. Somehow, the blade ricochets off his chest and drags against my arm before it hits the floor. The wound is deep, but nothing cuts deeper than the look on his face. I’ve witnessed it a handful of times before, but it’s never been directed at me... until now.
He’s always been a smooth operator with terminal charm. He hides his danger behind an easy smile, and his respect is hard won. It’s one of the reasons why Washington has fallen so easily into the palm of his hand like a ripe fruit begging to be spoiled.
