Chapter 3 - The Man Who Should Have Stayed Dead|
For seventeen years, I had believed my uncle Viktor was buried somewhere outside Moscow.
My mother never spoke about the funeral.
There had been no photographs.
No grave I could visit.
Only a single sentence whenever I asked about him.
"Viktor made choices that destroyed our family."
I had been eight years old when he disappeared.
I remembered his laughter.
The smell of tobacco on his coat.
The expensive chocolates he brought whenever he visited.
I also remembered one terrible night.
My mother screaming.
My father grabbing a suitcase.
A black car waiting outside our apartment.
And Viktor standing in the hallway with blood on his shirt.
I'd told myself those memories were childhood nightmares.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I sat in the chair across from Marius's desk, staring at the photograph.
"You're certain it's him?"
Marius nodded.
"My security team confirmed his identity."
"But he died."
"Apparently not."
I looked up.
"You said he killed your father."
Marius's expression became unreadable.
"My father was murdered twenty-two years ago in Saint Petersburg."
I frowned.
"That was before Viktor disappeared."
"Yes."
"What happened?"
Marius sat on the edge of his desk.
For the first time, he looked older than forty-one.
"My father arranged a business agreement with several men. Viktor was supposed to guarantee the transaction."
"And?"
"The agreement collapsed. My father was found dead two days later."
I swallowed.
"Was Viktor convicted?"
"No."
"Then how do you know he did it?"
Marius looked away.
"Because my father called me before he died."
My chest tightened.
"How old were you?"
"Nineteen."
He nodded toward the photograph.
"My father said Viktor betrayed him. Then the call ended."
I studied his face.
I'd seen Marius angry.
I'd seen him cold.
I'd watched him give orders that made powerful men go pale.
But I'd never seen him look wounded.
Until now.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
His eyes returned to mine.
For a moment, something softened between us.
Then his phone rang.
Dimitri.
Marius answered.
"Speak."
His expression changed.
"When?"
A pause.
"Send it."
He ended the call.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Marco Santini canceled his restaurant reservation."
I frowned.
"How do you know?"
"Security flagged it."
I exhaled sharply.
"You're still monitoring him?"
"Yes."
"Marius—"
"He canceled because he knows we've identified Viktor."
My stomach tightened.
"How can you be sure?"
Marius handed me his phone.
A message from an unknown number filled the screen.
Tell Elena her uncle wants to see her. Alone.
I stared.
"Who sent this?"
"We don't know."
Another message arrived.
And tell Marius Orlov that some debts don't disappear just because twenty-two years have passed.
Marius's expression hardened.
I looked at him.
"This has nothing to do with my date, does it?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"Then why did Marco ask me out?"
"To get close to you."
I stared at the photograph.
Marco had seemed ordinary when we met at a charity auction.
Handsome.
Polite.
Funny.
He'd asked about my favorite books.
He'd listened when I spoke.
After three years of being invisible beside Marius, that attention had felt wonderful.
Now I wondered whether every word had been rehearsed.
My phone buzzed.
Marco.
I hesitated.
Marius watched me.
"Don't answer."
I looked up.
"That's my decision."
His jaw tightened.
Then he nodded once.
"You're right."
I answered.
"Hello?"
"Elena."
Marco sounded breathless.
"Where are you?"
"At work."
A pause.
"With Marius?"
"Yes."
Marco cursed softly.
"Listen carefully. You need to leave."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Because Viktor knows where you are."
My blood ran cold.
"Marco, how do you know my uncle?"
Silence.
Then Marco whispered:
"He's not your uncle."
I stood.
"What?"
"Elena, the man in that photograph is not Viktor Sokolov."
My heart hammered.
"Then who is he?"
Marco hesitated.
"Someone who wants you to believe he's Viktor."
I looked at Marius.
He was already watching my face.
"Marco, explain."
"I can't over the phone."
"Then where?"
"There's a church near the old harbor. Santa Lucia. Meet me there in an hour."
Marius shook his head.
I ignored him.
"Why should I trust you?"
Marco's voice changed.
"Because I know what happened to your mother."
I froze.
My mother.
The woman who died when I was nineteen.
The woman who had held my hand in a hospital room and begged me never to trust men who carried guns.
"What are you talking about?"
Marco lowered his voice.
"Your mother's death wasn't an accident."
The line went dead.
I stood motionless.
Marius reached for his jacket.
"You're not going alone."
I stared at him.
"You don't get to decide."
He stopped.
Then he said quietly:
"Then let me come because you want me there."
Something in his voice made my chest ache.
For three years, I'd imagined Marius asking me for something instead of ordering it.
Now he was.
And I didn't know what to do with that.
I looked toward the photograph.
My mother's face flashed through my mind.
Her final warning.
Her fear.
The secrets she'd taken to her grave.
"Fine," I whispered. "You can come."
Marius nodded.
Then he held out his hand.
Not demanding.
Waiting.
I looked at it.
For a moment, I wanted to take it.
Instead, I picked up my tablet.
"Let's go."
We were halfway to the door when Dimitri entered.
His face was pale.
"Boss."
Marius stopped.
"What?"
Dimitri looked at me.
Then back at Marius.
"We found something in the security footage."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
Dimitri swallowed.
"The man pretending to be Viktor Sokolov entered the building this morning."
Marius went completely still.
"And?"
Dimitri's voice dropped.
"He didn't come to see you."
I felt cold.
"Then who?"
May you like
Dimitri looked directly at me.
"Elena."
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