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I shrug. “People always know more than they think they do.”
“Hmm. I’ll call the twins and tell them to meet us back at the apartment. With Igor’s information we should be able to find her soon.”
“That’s if Jessie is linked to Alexei Ivanov, and it isn’t just a coincidence that Viktor worked for him back in Russia.”
“We have no other leads to go on,” Shane shrugs as I dry my hands on some paper towels. “Besides, I feel like this makes sense. It all adds up. And if Jessie’s family were linked to the head of the Bratva, then it would explain their murder too. The Wolf was the Bratva’s top assassin.”
Despite what I just said, I nod in agreement. I expect he’s right too. But why the hell did Jessie walk out of our apartment, either with, or to go to, Alexei Ivanov? It doesn’t make sense to me. I can only think of three plausible explanations. The one that kills me to consider is that she has been plotting against us all along, but, I hold on to the hope that there is every chance that she is that she’s being played herself, or she left because she was scared of something, or someone. Although, I have to agree with Shane; she didn’t appear scared when she walked into the elevator holding that guy’s hand.
It still makes me sick when I recall that image of her leaving us, or when I think about the words on that note which were written as though we were nothing to her, even after we’d made it clear that she was everything to us. I can’t bring myself to accept that everything we did and said was a lie. But perhaps I’m just fooling myself. I don’t trust my own judgment anymore, especially when it comes to Jessica Romanov, or whoever the hell she really is.
Jessie’s leaving has hit us all hard. Perhaps Shane has taken it the hardest, although he would never admit it, but it took a lot for him to let Jessie in. I haven’t seen him open up like that with anyone for a very long time. Her betrayal has cut him deep and I dread to think what he has in store for her when we find her. Because he’s sure that she’s stabbed us all in the back and right now he won’t even consider an alternative explanation for her leaving.
Chapter
Three
JESSIE
The aroma of Marfa’s delicious cooking wafts along the hallway, making my stomach growl and rousing me from my sleep. I glance at the clock and realize I’ve slept the afternoon away. Sitting up, I shake my head to clear it and rub my temples, certain now that I’m coming down with the flu.
I wander down the stairs and along the hallway, past the kitchen toward my father’s office, my bare feet padding quietly on the wooden floor. His door is closed, and I knock and wait to be permitted inside.
“Vkhodit,” he calls, signaling me to enter.
Opening the door, I walk inside to see him sitting at his desk with his head bent over his computer. He glances up and I smile at him. “Evening, Papa.”
“Jessica,” he nods. “Dinner will be served shortly.”
“Great. It smells delicious,” I reply as I take a seat opposite him.
He frowns at me as though my entering his office is an intrusion and an annoyance, but I’m not leaving here until I have some answers from him. He doesn’t get to rip me from my new life in New York and then refuse to speak to me about the things that are so important to me — to both of us. I’d imagined that when we got to this house, we would talk long into the night and again the next day, catching up on all we’d missed in the ten years since we’d last seen each other, but he had to attend to more important matters yesterday after breakfast and I haven’t seen him since.
“I’ll see you at dinner, printsessa. I have some work to finish,” he snaps.
“I need to talk to you, Papa.”
“Not now,” he says with a sigh, and anger begins to bubble beneath my skin.
“Then when, Papa? I have been here for four whole days and you have barely spoken to me. We have so much to talk about. So much to tell each other. Don’t we? I have questions that I need answers to,” I say, aware that my voice is raised, but refusing to be dismissed like an errant child any longer.
He narrows his eyes at me and runs a hand across his thick beard. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it, Jessica,” he snaps. “I searched for you for so very long and now I have found you. That is all that matters.”
“Not to me, Papa.” I glare at him.
He glares back at me, his blue eyes darker than I remember. “Fine. I have five minutes,” he snaps.
“Do you know anyone named Nataliya?” I ask, recalling the man who called me by that name when I was in a club with the brothers.
His jaw clenches at the sound of her name before he quickly regains his composure. “It was your mother’s name. Before she left Russia.”
“It was? So that was why he recognized me.” I frown into the distance as I gather my thoughts. “A man called me by that name. He must have known her, Papa. Perhaps it can help us find the Wolf?”
“What man?” he snarls.
I lean back against my chair. “I don’t know his name. And he’s dead now. But he worked for Dmitry Nureyev.”
“Dmitry knew nothing about the Wolf. You stay away from men like him.”
