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Something morbid occurred to her fleetingly. She might think she’d love it, however, she doubted very much that what was wrapped so carefully was Petrov’s severed head.
She shook the thought away as she carefully peeled away the layers of plastic and paper.
—:—
When Gunner heard Raketa gasp, he knew she’d opened the wooden box. He told her he was giving her privacy, but he stayed just on the other side of his bedroom door, not watching, but listen
ing. If he sensed this was too much for her, he’d go back out whether she called for him or not.
He could hear papers shuffling as he assumed she looked through the box’s contents. Shortly after, he heard the legs of the chair scrape on the kitchen floor and then scrape again when she’d taken a seat and moved it back to the table.
He let his body slide down the wall and sat with his back against the door. It might take her hours to get through all of it since she’d probably go back and look at its contents again and again. He could wait. He wanted to. Never before had he felt so strongly that what he had done by giving it to her was the right thing to do. And maybe, the only thing that would stop her from hating him for leaving her here when he knew damn well the mission he’d gone on was one she’d wanted to carry out herself.
—:—
Raketa hesitated before touching the photographs that sat on top of the box. What if they disappeared or crumbled in her hands? She’d be devastated. Her rational self pushed through; there was nothing about them that looked fragile. They had been very well preserved.
She’d never seen them before, or if she had, she didn’t remember. Without necessarily recognizing herself, she knew the baby, toddler, and little girl in the photos were her.
She did recognize her mother and even her father although he looked nothing like the man who had been holding her captive only a few days before.
The box held more than photos. There were official-looking documents, cards, and letters—all of which were written in Azeri.
She reached in and pulled out a pair of baby shoes. She guessed they were the same as any other of their kind, but to her, they were precious. Near the bottom of the box, she found a few clothing items and a blanket that felt so soft when she held it against her cheek.
One by one, she opened the cards first, and then the letters. Some had been written by someone Raketa didn’t recall ever having heard mentioned. She knew by the signature, though, that they were from her mother’s mother. The box also held letters her mother had written in response, all tied in bundles and kept in order by date.
“There is nothing on earth as precious as a mother’s love for her child.” Raketa read her grandmother’s words. “It is boundless and limitless.”
When she read her mother’s response, she saw that not only had she agreed, but she had gone on and on about how she’d never realized such love existed.
Raketa set the letter aside, rested her head on her folded arms, and let herself cry.
Makar Petrov had not only taken her mother from her, he’d taken love that she didn’t remember having away from her too.
She felt Gunner’s hand on her back and was grateful he’d come to her without her having to ask. She heard him pull a chair closer to her, and went willingly when he picked her up and held her on his lap.
“Thank you,” she murmured and felt him nod.
* * *
He held her that way long after the sun had gone down. He stroked her back, kissed her forehead softly, and kept his arms around her.
There was no way for her to describe the way she was feeling, and she was glad he hadn’t asked. The closest she could get was to liken it to someone waking up from amnesia and seeing proof of the life they were just beginning to recall.
She knew from the brief Monk had shared with her that Petrov had ghosted and had taken her mother, along with everyone else that had been at the compound, with him.
There was no reason for her to believe Petrov would kill her mother now after keeping her alive for so many years. She also didn’t doubt he’d get word to her before she, Gunner, or anyone else from K19, MI6, or the CIA found him. He knew that he held the ultimate weapon to get Raketa to do his bidding, and he was right. She’d kill anyone who got in the way of her mother being safe, or she’d die trying.
“He wants his daughters,” she murmured. “That’s what he told me he wanted in exchange for my life.”
“You’re his daughter too,” Gunner whispered.
“Am I?” Raketa wasn’t so certain after seeing the photographs. In the few he was in, he seemed to intentionally stand apart from her and her mother. There wasn’t a single photo of him holding her. She hadn’t read through all of the letters, but she hoped they would provide some clue as to whether her suspicions were correct.
“If you want to know for sure, the answer is readily available, sweetheart.”
“I know.” A simple DNA comparison, which had likely already been performed, would confirm whether Petrov was her biological father or not. “Do you know?”
