No, not even that. Because what we do know about Alexei, slash Nico, is that he was Voronin's onlylegitimatechild. Opening Pandora's Box even wider, making more questions spill out. The first one being the obvious: How did Viktor Voronin's son end up being raised by Gustave?
And even more pressing, did the Venezuelans know? My mind does a quick search of Silvestre's interrogation, of what he said and didn't say. Aurelio was the one who named Alexei. They had to have known. But why would they not have claimed Marisol's child? She was Silvestre's sister. Nico was… Aurelio's cousin. And what about the shitshow of Gustave sacrificing his son to the Venezuelans? My head swims. What the fuck does this all mean? Stephano presses a fist to his forehead as his mind is probably following a similar train of thought. "I need to talk to him. Alone."
For a moment, I'm confused, unsure if he's talking about his dad or Nico. Either way, "No," I snap. "No, I’m not leaving you with him."
Raf exhales. "Okay, look. You two deal with Nico. I’ll take care of the Venezuelan firewall. Meet at my shop."
"Raf—" I start.
He lifts a hand. "I can handle a bunch of Venezuelan code monkeys. You two… clearly have a hurricane to sort out."
Stephano shakes his head. "I’m doing this alone."
"The hell you are," I snarl.
He meets my eyes. "Oksana. Please."
Oh no. Not that word. Not in his voice. Not with that look. And damn it—he’s right. He has to face Nico. Not as a Conti. Not as a Voronin. But as the man who loved him like a brother.
I swallow hard. "Fine," I whisper. "But you come back to me."
He nods once, too stiff to speak.
The next few minutes are spent in silence. The tension is so thick it could be cut with scissors. Each one of our minds is going through the web of lies that just doesn't seem to want to unravel.
We pull up to Raf’s shop.
A mutilated man is leaning against the wall beside a Ducati, breathing too shallowly to be considered alive but too stubborn to be considered dead.
"Your handiwork?" I ask.
Raf shrugs. "He tried to steal my bike."
I look at the Ducati. Sleek. Lethal. Very Raf.
Raf tosses Steph the keys. "Take her."
Stephano catches the keys, nods. "I'll have a chat with Gustave first."
He steps to me, pulls me into his chest, and his mouth crashes against mine with the same desperation with which I reciprocate it. My fists thread through his shirt. For some reason, it feels like the last time.
A farewell in disguise.
Fuck.
Our foreheads briefly touch each other, our eyes lock, and I punch his chest with both fists. "You’d better come back to me."
"You know I will. If not in this life, then in the next."
I watch him swing onto the Ducati. The engine roars. Without a look back, he speeds away into the night.
"You know," I say, trying to keep my voice level, "if he makes it out alive, I’m getting him one of those. Looks fucking sexy."
Raf rolls his eyes. "Don’t make me puke. Come on. We have work to do."
He leads me into the shop. I shove every feeling—fear, love, dread—deep down where it can’t slow me. He’s right.
There is work to do. And if I fall apart now, I might never stop.
