They look disappointed for a whole second.
"So it has nothing to do with this," Violet's frustration bleeds through her voice as her fingers wave vaguely at the murder-board of their investigation.
"Oh, this," I say, lifting the photo, "will earn you more goodwill from the Bratva than you can imagine."
They all beam, chattering delightedly, but their voicesfade to static. Because now I’m staring at the picture again.
At the boy.
At the hair.
At the jaw.
At the mouth.
I pull up a recent picture of Nico on my phone, one I took while he was still at the hospital. Stephano has his arm around him. But for once, I'm not swayed by the sight of my husband. Instead, I enlarge Nico's image and hold it side by side against the photograph of Veronin. The breath leaves my body like a punch. The resemblance is… undeniable.
Shit, fuck, how did I not see it before?
Because I haven't seen a picture of Voronin in years, and never one of him as a boy. But now, seeing them side by side, father and son… It's too much of a coincidence, even though I don't want it to be true.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth.
This will kill Stephano.
My hands move independently of thought. I snap a photo. Send it to Grigori.
Me:
Compare DNA. Nico Conti vs. Voronin.
Keep a very close eyeon him.
Do not let him out of your sight.
Three dots appear.
Then:
Grigori:
On it.
What did you find?—
I lock the screen.
Not now.
Not here.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckedy fuck.
"Are you okay?" Scarlet asks.
I force a smile. "Fine. Sunstroke," I lie.
Before any of them can press further?—
