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“So she’s not going to come forward to testify?” I ask, and Nikolai shakes his head.
“Too risky. We created a false identity for her, but it’s not one that’ll stand up to any real scrutiny. The video was uploaded to the internet anonymously, from an untraceable server—but of course, they’ll blame it on Russian hackers, like so many things these days.”
“Only in this case, they’ll be right.”
His lips quirk sardonically. “They’re right in most cases, zaychik. Konstantin and his ilk are a menace, especially for your hapless politicians. In any case, it doesn’t matter what they say about the source of the video—or whether they call it fake. The damage to Bransford’s career is done, his two real victims emboldened. Once they come forward… Well, let’s just say daddy dearest is as good as finished.”
Daddy dearest. My stomach heaves so violently I nearly upchuck after all. “He’s not my daddy anything.” I shoot up to my feet, suddenly blindingly angry. “He’s just—”
“Your mother’s rapist and killer, I know,” Nikolai says quietly, standing up as well. “That’s all he is, zaychik. Nothing more, nothing to do with you.”
The anger drains away as quickly as it came, and I sink back into the chair, dropping my head into my hands. My skull feels inexplicably tight and heavy, as if my brain has been turned into lead.
Large, warm hands land on my nape and shoulders, strong fingers digging into my tight muscles with just the right amount of pressure. “I’m sorry, zaychik.” Nikolai’s voice is once again soft and warm. “I know it’s a lot to process, but I figured you needed to see this video… to know your mom has been avenged.”
I want to melt into the seductive comfort of those massaging fingers, to lose myself in their skillful, soothing touch. To once again postpone learning what I fear and instead let myself enjoy Bransford’s misfortune, basking in the schadenfreude of it all. The damage we’ve inflicted on his career doesn’t come close to what he did to my mom or those other women, but it’s a start—and hopefully, now that the shine is off his golden image, the wheels of legal justice will turn toward him, their spokes nice and sharp.
Gathering every ounce of my strength, I lift my leaden head and cover Nikolai’s hands with my own as I twist around to meet his gaze.
“What about your mom?” I ask softly. “Has she ever been avenged?”
44
Nikolai
My hands tighten on Chloe’s shoulders, her question hitting me like a punch below the belt. The necklace gleaming on her throat should’ve clued me in as to the direction of her upcoming interrogation, but I still didn’t expect her to take this exact tack… to know so much about what happened.
“I guess Alina spoke to you again.” My voice roughens as I step back. My gaze falls to her pendant, the heart-shaped diamond taunting me, reminding me of things I’ve been trying to forget. With effort, I tear my eyes away from it and refocus on Chloe’s face. “What exactly has she told you?”
Biting her lip, she stands up. “Not much. She hasn’t spoken to me again—it was just that morning, right before I left. She said something like, ‘He killed her. And then Kolya killed him.’ I wasn’t sure whom she meant at the time, but I’ve been pondering it recently, and I think… I think it has to be your mom.” She lifts her hand to touch the pendant, her brown eyes soft and dark. “Did this belong to her? Is that why Alina wanted me to wear it tonight and that other night? As some kind of reminder to you about it all?”
My throat tightens and I turn away, abruptly awash in memories—and the burning rage and grief that come with them. And underneath it all lurks the most horrifying guilt, the knowledge that what I’ve done is ultimately unforgivable. The toxic cocktail is so close to boiling over that I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my word and tell Chloe the whole story, but then her small hand brushes against mine and her fingers curl around my palm, lending me silent support.
“Tell me,” she murmurs, stepping around to stand in front of me. Looking up at me, she lifts our joined hands to press them to her chest. “Please, Nikolai. I need to know.”
And so she does. I owe her the truth, no matter how ugly.
Looking into her upturned face, I take a breath and begin.
45
Nikolai
“When I was around Slava’s age, I thought my mother was a princess,” I say, my tone cool and steady despite the witch’s brew boiling in my veins. “Tall, slim, always perfumed and made up, she wore pretty dresses, sparkling jewels, and high heels, even around the house, and she insisted that everything around her be as beautiful as we could make it—especially ourselves.” The memories press down on me, making me feel like the air is disappearing from the room, but I continue. “Valery was just a baby at the time and Alina wasn’t born yet, so Konstantin and I are the only ones who remember those years… the ones when our mother was still somewhat happy.”
