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"Samuil, tie him up," I bark, my voice tinged with a rage I can barely contain.
As Samuil moves toward him, Iosef’s face blanches, and he starts pleading. "Please, don't kill me. I'm sorry, okay? I know I messed up, but—"
I cut him off, rolling my eyes in disgust. "Stop your begging. It's pathetic. We're not going to kill you. But you are going to face Valentina, and you're going to confess to her. Everything. No more running away, no more lies. You're going to own up to what you did."
Iosef looks at me, a mixture of disbelief and relief washing over his face. He clearly didn't expect this. I can see him muster a semblance of courage, as if finally realizing he needs to stand up and be accountable for his actions.
Samuil finishes tying him up, giving me a nod to signify he's secure. He’s now our prisoner, but he's also a broken man burdened by guilt. In a way, I almost pity him.
But any ounce of pity I might have felt is obliterated when I think about Valentina and Ilya. Valentina, who had to be both mother and father to their son, who had to tell Ilya his father was dead. And Ilya, a bright young boy growing up with a void in his life, a void that should have been filled by a father's love and guidance.
As I give Samuil the sign to escort Iosef out, I make a silent promise to myself, to Valentina, and even to Ilya. Whatever comes next, I will be there. I will be the man Iosef was too cowardly to be, and I will not run away from the challenges and responsibilities that lie ahead.
And with that conviction burning in my chest, I follow Samuil and Iosef out of the building, ready to set in motion the next phase of this intricate, chaotic drama. One thing is certain: it's high time for truths to be unveiled, for masks to be taken off, and for wrongs to be righted. And it all starts now.
Chapter 30
Valentina
Emotions swirl in my chest—confusion, fear, hope—each fighting for attention and space in my mind. And all the while, the walls of the luxurious room feel like they're closing in, threatening to crush me in this strange suffocation of gold and velvet.
Nikita's voice slices through the fog in my head. "You look a million miles away," she observes. The genuine concern in her voice almost catches me off guard. She continues, "Is there anything I can do?"
"I appreciate your offer, but I don’t know what I need just now."
A soft smile crosses Nikita’s face, her eyes shimmering as if she knows something I don't. "Whatever you're wrestling with," she says, her voice tinged with a knowing warmth, "I have a feeling you're going to be more than just okay. You might even find yourself overjoyed, although it may take some time to come to that realization."
Then, as if cued by fate itself, the phone rings, its shrill tone shattering our shared silence. Nikita moves gracefully, picking up the phone on the second ring. "Yes?" she answers, and as she listens, her eyes widen, a subtle mixture of shock and intrigue flooding her features. "Hold on," she finally says, her hand covering the mouthpiece.
"It's for you. Roman wants to speak with you."
Roman. Just the sound of his name sends a ripple through me, my heart shifting gears from zero to a hundred in a split second. I rise, my feet carrying me to the phone as if pulled by a magnetic force. My hand trembles slightly as I take the receiver from Nikita.
"Hello, Roman," I say, steadying my voice as my life becomes ever more unsteady. My words hang in the air, a suspended chord begging for resolution. When has my life ever been stable, predictable? But then again, if it were, would I be me?
The moment Roman's voice comes through the line, it's like a shockwave reverberating through my core. It's not just the pitch and timbre; it's the haunting undertone, a resonance of something not right. And I know, instantly, that he's keeping something from me.
"Roman," I press, "you sound...distant. What's going on?"
There's a pause, one that's too long, filled with too much silence. "I have something important to discuss with you. But it's a conversation best had face-to-face."
"Don't give me that bullshit," I snap, my words edged like shards of glass. "If something's going on, I need to know. Now."
He sighs, and it sounds like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. "Trust me, Valentina. This isn't a conversation for the phone. You'll understand why when you see me."
A jolt of frustration surges through me, hot and fiery. I want to scream, to shake answers out of him through sheer will. What is he keeping from me? My grip on the phone tightens, knuckles turning white. "Roman, I don't like—"
I'm cut off by a soft sound—a sleepy murmur followed by the patter of little feet against the floor. I turn to see Ilya rubbing his eyes, his face creased with the vestiges of sleep.
"Mama?" he calls softly, tilting his head as if puzzled by the tension he’s walked into.
My heart clenches, and suddenly, the frustration, the anger, the impending sense of doom—they all dissolve, replaced by a swell of love so intense, it's almost painful.
Roman's voice comes through again, tinged with impatience. "Valentina? Are you there?"
"I have to go," I say, cutting him off, my voice thick with a cocktail of emotions I can't begin to dissect. "We'll talk when you get here, but it better be worth the damn mystery."
Roman is silent for a moment, then finally murmurs, "It will be, I promise."
