Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I look at the men who stand above Markov. “He kept me safe. That bullet was meant for me.”
“We have our rules, Ms. Ivanov.”
I blink back tears.
“You can’t take him. You can’t!”
I’m pulled away from Markov by strong hands, everything passing in a blur. I struggle and scream and rail against them, but I’m overpowered. I can’t stop them. I watch in helpless agony as the emergency team takes my father but the Ivanov men take Markov.
A sob catches in my throat when I see my father taken away.
Despite everything, he’s still my father. I never allowed myself to believe that his end would be so abrupt, so violent.
As they wheel my father away, I stand on the threshold of the now eerily quiet room. The weight of leadership in the wake of tragedy settles on my shoulders.
A uniformed officer speaks to me in Russian. I didn’t even know they’d arrived. When he realizes I don’t understand him, he gets a younger female officer to translate.
“Your father was a friend. As the daughter of Petr Ivanov, you’ve been exonerated from questioning,” she says. He knew people, he must have. I swallow hard. “Is there someone you can call?”
I do the only thing a strong, independent woman whose world has been shattered does.
I call my mother.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Vera
My mom is taking a red-eye flight to Moscow and will arrive late this morning. The officers take pity on me and find me another room in another hotel. I insist on firsthand communication from my father’s men.
I text Sophia that there’s been a situation: her dress was ruined, but I’ll pay for it, and can she please somehow arrange for my clothes to be brought to the hotel? To her credit, she asks nothing and drops clothes off. There will be rumors. . . and I hope we can sort through them all.
Markov isn’t Markov.
Did a part of me, deep down inside, know that, though?
I want to reach out to him somehow. I want to find out if he’s okay.
I want to shake him and scream at him for lying to me and ask him what part of our relationship was real. What part mattered to him.
But I don’t.
I drink one of the little bottles of wine in the hotel fridge and finally go to bed. I have more questions than answers, so it’s no surprise I sleep fitfully.
I wake up to my phone ringing and answer in bleary-eyed confusion. “Hello?”
“Vera. It’s Professor Morozov. May I come and see you?”
“Of course.” I sit up in bed. What will he think of me? Of what happened? Does he know about Irina?
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“See you then,” I say and give him my location.
I open a bottle of water and down it before freshening up. I was too tired last night to shower, but now that I’m here, the hot water triggers my pent-up emotions. I lean against the shower wall and weep.
I don’t have the luxury of an ugly cry, though, and have to force myself to get ready. I slide into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top minutes before I get a call from the front desk.
“Let him up, please.”
There’s a knock at the door.
I look through the peephole and can almost hear Markov telling me not to let anyone in and to be wary. I shouldn’t be surprised, but it still takes me off guard to see men stationed on either side of my door, flanking Professor Morozov.
I open the door, trembling. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t trust anyone anymore.
The professor looks tired and older than he normally does.
“Come in,” I say. My guards look questioningly at me. “He’s a friend.”
Morozov says something to them in Russian, and one of them nods.
I close the door behind us.
“How are you?” he asks. A part of me wants to come apart and tell him everything that happened. I long for someone to trust right now.
He’s someone I trusted. But so was Markov. And so was Irina. I swallow hard and keep my shit together.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice husky. “How much do you know about what has happened?”
I gesture to one of the chairs beside the desk. He sits and folds his hands.
“Some. The authorities at the college told me that Irina was killed. We looked into the matter, and I spoke to the police last evening. I wanted to give you some time to rest, but I also needed to speak with you. How are you?”
“I’m sad. A little. . . bewildered. I never expected any of this. I thought I could trust. . . both of them. Markov and Irina. “
“Vera, I feel like I owe you an apology. I was the one who hired Irina at the strong suggestion of one of my peers, who I now know was bribed. I didn’t know her before this, but her credentials checked out. I should have listened to my gut. My intuition told me something was afoul and that she wasn’t to be trusted when I had never heard her name. And,” he shakes his head, “while I cannot name every single expert in the field, I typically know those of her supposed rank. So when I didn’t. . .”