Finding courage in the face of madness had never been a problem. Or maybe I’d been fooling myself for a very long time, replacing courage with cynicism and anger. I glanced at the picture in my hand, fingering her face before stepping into the room. Gingerly, I placed the frame on Nina’s nightstand, stroking the edge before backing away. The first of many pictures.
More created with Lainey.
That was the way it was going to be.
My step lighter, I returned to the living room, determined to find joy in continuing going down memory lane.
Less than thirty minutes later, I noticed a small wooden box in the bottom of the last cardboard one I’d brought in. I couldn’t remember seeing it when I’d packed up everything. Granted, I’d been completely out of my mind, shocked I’d had any order when putting her things away.
The box wasn’t particularly heavy. A jewelry box. When I tied to open it, I realized it was locked. Staring at the clasp, my initial thought was that I’d been invading Selena’s privacy. That was silly. With my Swiss Army knife in my hand, I used the knife to try to unlock it.
It worked.
As soon as I opened the lid, I sat back. There were a few folded papers, something silk, and a few pieces of jewelry visible. The necklace from the last trip to Bermuda she just had to have. A bracelet I’d bought after our third date.
Laughing, I remember her calling the expensive piece gaudy. I grabbed the piece of silk, still staring at the bracelet.
Then shock tore through me.
The emblem.
I had seen it before. I’d asked about it once and she’d blown it off. Something from her mother.
In the middle of the silk was the emblem. No, I had to be wrong. I grabbed my phone, my hand shaking as I shifted to the collection of pictures.
My fucking God. They were one and the same.
With my eyes darting back and forth between the two, I was losing focus. I pulled back, trying to think of a single rational reason why my dead wife would have a piece of silk with the emblem. It didn’t make any sense. When my eyes were drawn toward the folded papers, a strange feeling nudged my instinct.
My wife had been holding secrets. I thought I’d known everything about her. She’d come from a small family, her parents killed as a young girl. In fact, what had she really told meabout her past? Not much, but that hadn’t mattered to me. I’d been infatuated from day one. I jerked the papers into my hand, unfolding them carefully.
A birth certificate.
Wait. In order to get married, she’d supplied one. Had I paid attention? If I hadn’t, the courts certainly had.
However, the one I was holding in my hand indicated a girl born the same age as Selena.
Only the name on the certificate wasn’t Selena Martin but Natasha Antonova, and the girl hadn’t been born in Illinois but in Moscow.
Russia.
My blood turned to ice.
What in the fuck was going on?
The other papers were just as damning, a poem written in Russian. While I spoke the language, reading it wasn’t my second nature. However, from what I could comprehend, it was a letter written to a young girl from her mother.
As the iciness returned to something much darker, I studied the emblem once again. What if it wasn’t some gang-related tattoo but a family crest? The Antonova family crest. I stormed toward my laptop, frantically searching on the internet finding nothing of use.
It wasn’t as if the Russians were forthcoming with information.
In the twenty-four hours since I’d walked out on the family meeting, I’d had a single phone call. Oddly enough from Halle. Emily had been asking about her little buddy. I’d had few words of wisdom.
That meant my family had no intention of supporting me in my hunt.
Well, to hell with them.
I knew exactly who I could call. In fact, I had a few contacts who could provide limited assistance. I’d certainly learned the art of negotiations in my position through the years.
