This secondary room looks very much like Victor. There are so many signs of wealth and status, it’s nauseating. On the wall, he has a painting of himself, done by a well-known artist. Victor sits in a classic pose usually reserved for royalty. But Victor’s self-indulgence isn’t just a painting; it’s a saturation. Photos with government figures, political counterparts, celebrities, along with a myriad of other people I don’t recognize are framed and hung on the walls. Hidden amongst those are photos of Victor rubbing shoulders with criminals whose mugshots have been on the front page of newspapers around the world.
You could interpret his collage a few different ways, and I suspect Victor would claim being responsible for their capture, but it’s not that. It’s the opposite—these are who Victor does business with. His pride knows no bounds.
Santiago starts taking photos of the room, reading it how it should be. This is our evidence.
I move slowly, trepidation making the final few steps to his desk feel like I’m walking through mud. But this is Victor’s taunting in its finest. On this desk, where he did a lot of workwhen he wasn’t meeting people officially, he had photos of us as a family. I’ve seen them here since the first time I came to visit him at his office when I was a small child. The heavy silver frame is the same. I barely glance at it. Instead, my entire focus arrows on a newer frame, equally ornate and similarly sized, but the picture isn’t of my sister or my mother. It’s of the front door to Deena and Marco’s house.
There’s a small consolation in the message he left behind; the door is a different color to when I left for Russia, the color matching the swatch Marco had waved at me.
I feel like I’m falling. Like the floor under my feet has dropped away, while a tornado roars through my thoughts as panic claws my throat.
“He knows.” Is all I manage to say. But saying those words out loud helps contain the fallout of the discovery too.
Santiago stops what he is doing and comes to me. His presence is as supportive as his scent is. I lean into him and take it all.
In the main office, Kade speaks with a woman, their conversation filtering back to us. Her apologies are insincere, and as soon as she finishes speaking, she moves into the corridor, expecting us to follow. Her excuse that Victor has been called to an important business meeting is unnecessary.
“He’s at, or on the way to, my house. We need to leave.”
Santiago steers me into Aleksei’s arms. “Kade, call the driver and have them get the cars ready. Then call my contact, the one I showed you. Let him know we might need a hand getting out of Columbia. Put the dogs on alert, Aleksei.”
My head is filling with noise. I watch Santiago returning to Victor’s private office. He takes more photos, then goes through Victor's desk and the filing cabinets. He won’t find anything, and I think Santiago knows that already, but he looks just in case.
Kade ignores the woman as she waits, the way he stands blocking the view of what we’re doing. Before she can threaten to call the guards, Santiago is leading Aleksei and me into the hallway, like a guard on alert would. He waits until we pass, then he and Roshka stay at our backs while Kade and Nalla lead the way.
“Where is he?” Aleksei barks at one of Victor’s staff. His English is back to being near perfect, his accent gone. There’s no mistaking how angry he is. His designation packs a punch and levels everyone here. Except Santiago. The staff members cower; I would too if I didn’t know Aleksei.
He storms forward, waving his hands again at the woman who told us Victor was not available. “We traveled from Russia for dinner, and I get told now he is unavailable? It is beyond reproach how you treat your guests. You can pass on to the ambassador that the Russians are not happy. He knows which hotel we are staying at, and I would urge you to suggest he does call me because this disrespect will not be tolerated. I expect to see him first thing in the morning for breakfast. Come, wife.”
Aleksei’s emotions are genuine, his wording practiced. And even if Victor thinks I didn’t catch on to the rather obvious clue he left behind or if he knows we’re on to him, no one else needs to. In a lot of ways, how the authorities react to our leaving and our journey back to the airport is going to be reflective of how many shady people are working for Victor.
No one gets in our way and tries to stop us leaving. We pick up a tail on our way to the hotel Aleksei said we were staying at. As soon as we drive down the ramp to the hotel parking garage, they fall away.
“Amateurs,” Santiago says, finally breaking the silence.
In the underground garage, we switch cars, just to be on the safe side. We also swap out drivers. The original cars we usedget parked on the street, and the drivers will stay there for a few more hours, further adding to our cover.
Kade drives the BMW X7 the same way we drove in Russia—crazy—and I spend the whole time trying to reach Deena.
Chapter Fifty-Two
ALEKSEI
My wife is white as a ghost.
“Don’t make me force you to eat,maya.” I lean forward, holding the takeout container for her, the fork hovering, ready for her to take.
She’s been picking at the food, but I need her well-nourished. It’s not a want, it’s a need. My Omega’s distress is like having a finger papercut. But with her, because of her importance to me, I feel those small cuts cover every inch of my skin.
“I’m not hungry,” she says, grabbing my hand instead.
Before I interlace our fingers, I press a kiss to the moon-shaped silver scar left from our first meeting.
“Quinny,” Kade snaps, making my hackles rise. And Roshka’s too.
He realizes his abrupt bark is kindling to my mood and softens his approach. “Do me a favor, darling. Switch off for a while, like you do when you go to work. If you were facing a longshift, you’d be eating whether you felt like it or not. The food will give you a boost.”
Santiago comes back from where he has been pacing at the back of the aircraft. He looks ready to make others bleed for upsetting her.
