Lev speaks to them in Russian. One nods. One glances at my bloody hand.
This is all part of his plan—I think. Again, I wish I’d taken the opportunity to learn Russian in the past twelve years. I didn’t because it felt pointless, pining for something I’d never have.
Lev yanks on my uninjured arm, pulling me away from the house. I stumble again, and it isn’t feigned. He gives me a second to right myself, and then we continue ahead.
“You did good,” he tells me after a minute, so I assume the guards we passed are out of earshot.
I don’t look back, worried that would be suspicious.
“All I had to do was bleed,” I remind him.
He makes an amused sound, and it eases some of the pain. I’m more relaxed than I thought possible in this situation simply because he’s beside me.
We reach a garage. Lev types a code in, and one of the doors begins to lift. The process probably takes twenty seconds, but it feels more like an hour.
He’s already started the engine by the time I climb in beside him. My movements are clumsier than normal. I can’t use my left hand, and I’m trying to avoid getting blood all over the interior of what appears to be an expensive car.
Lev doesn’t relax once we’re speeding along. I glance in the rearview mirror, at the lights behind us, wondering if some alarm is about to go off.
“Are there more guards ahead?”
He nods once. “The kit is in the glove compartment.”
I open it, then the box inside. The bleeding has started to slow. I find a gauze bandage and rip it open as the car’s speed decreases. We’re approaching a gate.
Lev lowers his window and says something in Russian. The guard nods, and the gate swings open.
The car accelerates again. I press the bandage on my palm, covering the cut. Experience a flash of déjà vu as I glance at Lev driving, his eyes intent on the road as we speed across asphalt.
This is different from when we left Paris or traveled to Dublin though.
This time, we’re headed to our wedding.
ENEMIES EVERYWHERE
It’s approaching dark again as we near Serebryanovo’s main entrance. Carina is awake, but neither of us has said much on the drive.
It’s been a long day.
We went straight to a small church outside the city for an abbreviated ceremony, then to a government office to sign the paperwork that made everything legal. From there, we visited a doctor to stitch Carina’s hand. By the time all of that was taken care of, it was late morning. I took her to a restaurant for some food, then shopping. A task my mother or Victoria would undoubtedly be better at, but I’m not sure when—if—I’ll be able to trust them alone with Carina. Igor will regulate my movements as much as possible once he finds out what took place this morning.
Carina balked at spending my money at first. Once I told her it would be her only opportunity to purchase clothes for a while—meaning she’d be stuck wearing my shirts or maid outfits in the interim—she became a lot more agreeable. There’s a dozen bags piled in the trunk.
I pull the SUV straight up to the main door again rather than stopping at the garage. I’m eager to get this confrontation over with as quickly as possible.
“Keep your gun visible,” I tell Carina, turning off the engine.
“Won’t that make things … tense?” she questions, but she’s already listened, holding the weapon tightly in her uninjured hand.
I glance at the ring on her bandaged one. Purchasing that, too, sparked an argument I only won when I reminded her why advertising our marriage was important.
“It will already be tense. Show you know how to use it. Flip the safety off at some point. Look around; don’t stare anywhere for too long. Stay alert, but don’t act nervous.”
Carina nods. “Should I say anything?”
“Not unless they address you directly. Most of it will be in Russian.”
“So that I won’t understand?”
