Page 140 of Nemesis

“Does it matter?” Mikhail asks with a sigh.

A pause. How valuable was Solokov’s leverage?

“Fine.” He glances toward Vas. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s no longer a Morozov, nor is he my heir. Now, if that’ll be all⁠—”

“Ah,” I interrupt, raising a finger. “Not quite. One more individual will be transported to New York. Immediately.”

All gazes swing my way.

“Anya will join her brother. And her mother will sign over any legal rights to him.”

“The child? She’s under my protection! This is moronic!” he shouts, feedback screeching through the speaker.

“And yet, a demand nonetheless,” I say evenly, raising my brows.

She may be a child, but to him, she’s also the leash he uses to keep Vasiliy in line. So long as he has Anya, we will never have control.

“Fine. Take them! But know this, Solokov.” His voice turns to gravel. “I will never do business with you again. You are destroying a powerful relationship⁠—”

“Noted,” he says beside me. “Safe travels, Vasiliy. I look forward to seeing you in fifteen hours.”

Chipped paint peels off the railing below my hand, flaking to the metal below.

Each footstep is echoed by Alex’s boots behind me as we climb in silence.

We didn’t have the resources to successfully rescue Kirill back in Chicago.

We both know that.

Still, the knowing does nothing to negate the feeling of wrongness.

When I finally reach the top of the steps, I’m expecting the weathered door to be locked up and plastered with eviction notices. Perhaps a few trash bags of belongings scattered across the premises.

But the door looks completely normal, and the halls are clean enough.

I guess Mr. Sandavar already found a new occupant.

Alex steps forward, sliding a sharp, thin object from his pocket. I raise a brow as he navigates one end into the keyhole and shifts it back and forth.

“Still got a few tricks up my sleeve,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

I laugh weakly. “Don’t try too hard. I doubt the new occupant bothered to keep any of my stuff, anyway. I was hoping some would be left behind outside⁠—”

“What occupant?” he interrupts, just as the lock releases with a soft click. “Vasiliy reached out to your landlord months ago. Paid through the next year, just in case you had left something important behind.”

My heart dissolves into a gooey mess.

The feeling infects my bloodstream, swarming my entire body in comforting warmth as he pushes the door open. There’s something distinctly dreamlike about walking back into the space that belonged to another life.

Leotards are strewn about every surface in the studio apartment. Dirty dishes still sit in the sink, no doubt growing layers of mold. Needles and thread lie scattered across the scratched, wooden table I found on the curb three years ago, ready to sew up any torn ribbons on my pointe shoes.

“I can’t believe you lived here all alone, malysh,” Alex mutters behind me.

“It wasn’t so bad.”

I walk over to the bed, squished into the corner of the room. It’s smaller than I remember. Vasiliy would never fit on the tiny twin. The thought summons a smile as I drop to my knees and fish out the cardboard box tucked beneath the bedframe.

“Still. Your father would’ve had an aneurysm if he knew his daughter was living in a neighborhood like this with no one looking out for her.”