Chapter 4 - The Secret My Mother Took to Her Grave|
The security footage showed a man entering the Orlov building at 8:17 that morning.
He wore a dark overcoat and carried a black leather briefcase.
His silver hair was combed neatly.
The scar over his eyebrow was unmistakable.
I stared at the screen.
"That's him."
Marius stood beside me.
"Are you certain?"
I nodded.
"That's Viktor."
Dimitri enlarged the image.
The man approached the reception desk.
He handed the receptionist a card.
Then he looked directly into the camera.
And smiled.
My stomach turned.
"What did he want?" I asked.
Dimitri looked uncomfortable.
"He asked for you."
I swallowed.
"What did he say?"
"He said he was an old family friend."
Marius's expression darkened.
"Why wasn't I told?"
"The receptionist didn't recognize him. She directed him to the visitor desk. When security approached, he left."
I stared at the screen.
The man looked older than I remembered.
But his eyes were the same.
Cold.
Gray.
Unforgiving.
I remembered him holding my hand when I was little.
I remembered him buying me a red bicycle.
I remembered one Christmas when he disappeared into my father's office with a group of men.
Then my parents began arguing.
The memories came like broken glass.
"Elena?"
Marius's voice pulled me back.
I looked at him.
"I need to see my mother's things."
He frowned.
"What things?"
"Her letters. Her photographs. Everything she left me."
"Where are they?"
"My apartment."
Marius glanced at Dimitri.
"Arrange a car."
I shook my head.
"No guards inside."
Marius turned.
"Elena—"
"I mean it."
He studied me.
Then nodded.
"Only me."
I hesitated.
For three years, I had trusted Marius with almost everything.
But that trust had always been professional.
Now the stakes were different.
"Fine."
We drove through Naples beneath a sky that threatened another storm.
Marius sat beside me in silence.
For once, he didn't answer calls.
Didn't give orders.
Didn't demand explanations.
I kept looking at my hands.
Finally, he spoke.
"Are you afraid?"
I laughed softly.
"Terrified."
He nodded.
"So am I."
I turned.
Marius Orlov admitting fear was almost as shocking as seeing Viktor alive.
"Of what?"
His eyes remained on the road.
"That someone will use you to hurt me."
My chest tightened.
"Marius..."
He looked at me.
"And that I won't be able to stop it."
I turned toward the window.
There it was again.
That dangerous tenderness.
The kind that made me forget every reason I should keep my distance.
We reached my apartment twenty minutes later.
It was small compared with Marius's penthouse.
Two bedrooms.
A narrow balcony.
Books stacked beside the sofa.
A blue vase my mother had bought in Florence.
Marius looked around.
"You live here?"
I frowned.
"Yes."
"It's small."
"It's mine."
He nodded slowly.
"That matters to you."
"Very much."
His expression shifted.
As though he was finally understanding something he'd never considered.
I opened the cabinet beneath my bed and pulled out a wooden box.
Inside were photographs.
Letters.
My mother's wedding ring.
A faded envelope with my name written across it.
I froze.
I'd never seen it before.
The handwriting was my mother's.
I turned it over.
Sealed.
No date.
My heart raced.
Marius stepped closer.
"What is it?"
"I don't know."
I broke the seal.
Inside was a letter.
My darling Elena,
If you are reading this, it means the past has finally found you.
I wish I could have protected you from the truth forever.
But there are things your father and I did that cannot be undone.
My throat tightened.
I continued.
Viktor Sokolov was not the man who destroyed our family.
He was the man who tried to save us.
I stared.
Marius's expression hardened.
"What?"
I kept reading.
If Viktor returns, listen to him before you listen to anyone else.
Especially anyone connected to the Orlov family.
My hands began trembling.
I looked at Marius.
His face had gone pale.
"Marius?"
He stepped backward.
"Keep reading."
I swallowed.
The next paragraph made my heart stop.
The night Alexei Orlov died, your father was there.
Alexei Orlov.
Marius's father.
I stared at the words.
He was not an innocent man.
And neither was your father.
Tears filled my eyes.
I turned the page.
Then I saw a name.
Sergei Volkov.
My father.
The man I'd been told died in a car accident when I was ten.
Marius stared at the letter.
"Volkov?"
I nodded.
"That was my father's original surname."
His expression changed.
"What?"
"He changed it when we moved to Italy."
Marius looked at me as though he were seeing me for the first time.
"Your father was Sergei Volkov?"
"Yes."
He stepped backward.
I felt cold.
"What?"
Marius closed his eyes.
Then whispered:
"Sergei Volkov was the man my father died trying to protect."
I stared.
"But you said Viktor killed him."
Marius's voice broke.
"That's what I was told."
Silence filled my apartment.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered with shaking hands.
"Hello?"
A man's voice spoke in Russian.
"Elena."
My heart stopped.
I knew that voice.
Older.
Rougher.
But unmistakable.
"Papa?"
Marius turned sharply.
The man continued.
"My little star."
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
My father.
The man I'd buried fifteen years ago.
Alive.
I gripped the phone.
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere you cannot come."
"Why?"
A pause.
May you like
Then he whispered:
"Because the man standing beside you was sent to kill me."
