But why? What's the point?
"Maybe they form a map," Mariya suggests quietly. "Or instructions for finding something."
It's possible. Pushkin was smart, careful. If he wanted to hide information, creating a puzzle that only he could solve would be one way to do it. But that doesn't help me. I don't have time to sit around putting together some elaborate fucking puzzle while the Bratva closes in on Mariya.
I close the box carefully, making sure all the pieces are secure. "We're taking this back to the estate."
Mariya nods, and I can see the disappointment in her eyes. She was hoping for answers too, hoping this box would containsomething that would explain what her father did, where he went, and why he abandoned her.
Instead, we have more questions.
Matvey helps us climb back up through the hole in the floor, and we make our way out of the shack. The sunlight is almost blinding after the darkness of the underground room, and I have to blink several times before my eyes adjust.
The drive back to the estate is quiet. Mariya stares out the window, lost in thought, while I hold the box on my lap. My mind races through possibilities, trying to figure out what these pieces mean and how they fit into everything else.
When we pull through the gates of my estate, I immediately notice the car parked in the circular driveway, a sleek black sedan that I recognize instantly.
Fuck.
Bogdan Belyaev is here.
Matvey sees it too. His jaw tightens, and his hands grip the steering wheel a little harder. He knows what this means. Bogdan doesn't make social calls. If he's here, it's because he wants something.
We park, and I turn to Mariya. "Go straight to your room. Don't talk to anyone. Matvey will escort you."
She looks at me, questions in her green eyes, but she doesn't argue. Smart girl.
I hand the box to Matvey. "Take this to my office. Don't let anyone see it."
He nods once, understanding immediately. If Bogdan sees this box, he'll want to know what's inside. He'll want to be part of whatever we've found. And I'm not ready to share this information with anyone yet.
I climb out of the SUV and head toward the front entrance. Before I even reach the door, it opens, and there's Bogdan Belyaev, standing in my fucking foyer like he owns the place.
He's sixty years old, thin and wiry, with gray-brown hair and a short beard that's more gray than brown these days. His gray eyes are sharp, calculating, and they immediately move past me to where Mariya is getting out of the SUV.
I see the way he looks at her. The way his gaze lingers on her face, her body, like he's cataloging every detail. My hands clench into fists at my sides.
"Andrey," he says, his voice smooth and pleasant. "I hope you don't mind. Your staff let us in."
Of course they did. Bogdan Belyaev is a Pakhan, and my staff know better than to turn away someone of his status. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.
"Bogdan," I reply, keeping my voice neutral. "This is unexpected."
"I was in the area. Thought I'd stop by." His eyes are still on Mariya as Matvey guides her past us and toward the stairs. "Who's the girl?"
"A guest," I say shortly.
"She's very pretty." He finally looks at me, and there's something in his expression that makes my skin crawl. "Russian?"
"That's none of your concern."
He raises an eyebrow. "Everything that happens in this city is my concern, Andrey. You know that."
I force myself to relax my hands, to keep my expression calm. Bogdan watches Mariya and Matvey as they climb the stairs toward her room, his gaze following Mariya until she disappears around the corner. Then he turns back to me with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"We have some business to discuss," he says.
Before I can respond, Sophia appears from the direction of the living room. She's wearing a modest pale blue dress, her long black hair styled perfectly, and she looks uncomfortable. Like she doesn't want to be here any more than I want her here.
