A little boy of about seven with dirty blond hair comes barreling toward Slava with the pure, uncomplicated velocity of a child who has been waiting for his father and cannot contain his joy for one more second.
“Alessandro!” Slava catches him and lifts him up in the air.
The boy wraps his arms around Slava’s neck, chattering in Russian, and Slava responds in kind. I don’t need to understand a single word to recognize the relief and joy in both their voices.
WHAT?
Papa. Alessandro.
The air leaves my lungs in a single rush, and I can’t pull it back in.
A list of Italian names in a woman’s handwriting and only a single one is circled.
That wasn’t a hit list at all.
It was a list ofbaby names!
After a few more minutes,Slava sets Alessandro down, ruffles the hair on the boy’s head, and speaks.
“I need to speak with Monsieur Lavoisier for a while,” Slava switches to English now for my benefit. “But after we can play. Would you like that?”
“Yes!” Alessandro beams. “How long will you be staying?”
“As long as you need me to,malchik.”
Alessandro wraps Slava in a bear hug before he turns to me. Then, with the solemn politeness of someone who has been taught proper manners, he greets me.
“Good afternoon,” he says. “I’m Alessandro Romanov.”
“Hello, Alessandro.” My voice sounds like it’s coming from a million miles away. “I’m Bella. It’s nice to meet you.”
He has his father’s smile. It radiates innocence and trust that the world is still filled with mostly good people. Then, he says something to his father in Russian, receives a response in kind, and rushes off toward a hallway on the left.
I watch him go, and it’s a miracle I’m still standing on my two feet. Because my soul is falling through the floor towards hell.
I’m the reason why we’re here. I sent that list to Nico because I was jealous of… what? A woman whose only sin was daring to dream about a future with Slava and the son they made together?
Was I really so jealous and possessive about a man that I was never even supposed to care about, much less feel any ownership for, that I handed his most protected secret to the son of his most dangerous enemy?
And in doing so, do the most unforgivable thing in the world?
I can’t even argue that I didn’t know any better. Because everything that I did, I did out of my own volition. I can’t even blame it on Nico because he fucking told me that whatever I was going to find in Slava’s penthouse was precious.
The dread in my stomach has become something real. It has a shape now. A face. A name.
“Bella.”
Slava’s voice pulls me back out of my spiral. He’s watching me with concern in his eyes. Or is it curiosity at why I’m still rooted to the spot in shock?
I can’t let him find out about what I’ve done,I realize.I can’t let him know that it was me.
Except I know he will.
All he has to do is go back to New York, unlock that safe under his desk, and he’ll find exactly how I broke inside, stole its secrets, and betrayed him in every way that a man can be betrayed.
If you ever betray me, malyshka. Then you’ll wish you were still my enemy.
I force myself to smile at him, because that’s the only thing I can do now that I’m standing in the wreckage of my own catastrophic decisions. I smile, and I pretend like the world isn’t on fire.
