And there it is, the cruel, naked, nasty truth.
I have to dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from slapping him. We face each other in the middle of the staircase like strangers instead of lovers. Yes, he allowed me to live in the past, but I can’t blame him for that. That was my own mind’s doing. That trunk… being locked inside it… A violent shiver racks my body. It broke me. It broke something inside me. I already started losing myself in the warehouse where my kidnappers had locked me up without food or water. The explosion in the bank… that’s the final straw that made me snap.
He takes his phone from his pocket and types something.
I sneer. “Are you calling your guards to detain me?”
“I’m telling Sav we won’t make it to the party. I said you’re not feeling well.” He looks up from his phone. “You have to tell me what happened, Tatiana. Their names, their faces… I want to know everything.”
“So that you can ensure the people they work for don’t come after your precious necklace again?”
He watches me cooly, casually. “There are two ways this can play out. You can fix your face and go to the party. When we come home, you can tell me everything so I can kill those bastards. And then we fetch the necklace. Or you can run away just like you did before. It’s not going to solve anything.”
I get into his face. “That’s where you’re wrong. There’s only one option. It’s now or never. Either we go get that necklace right this minute, or I take its location to my grave. You’ll have to torture me if you want to know where it is.”
He clenches his jaw. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’ve had enough. You need to let me go. So make your choice. What’s it going to be?”
He only looks at me while working his jaw.
“Thought so,” I say with triumph even as my broken heart shatters all over again.
Lifting my skirt, I turn my back on him and carry on down the stairs, walking toward heartache and freedom.
Chapter
Forty-Two
Dante
* * *
The Orthodox church where Tatiana directs me sits between factory shops and renovated business outlets. Small and obscure, the stone building is almost invisible amidst the skyscrapers surrounding it. The gothic bell tower and ornate carvings of angels around the heavy wooden doors speak of a former glory.
Back in the day, before high-rise offices crowded the street, the isolated church must’ve been imposing. I imagine it had the power to inspire awe and mysticism in the eye of the beholder.
Now, it’s neglected. A few roof tiles are missing, and pigeon droppings run white down the smog-blackened walls. A lonely tree with winding branches stands in front of the church. It’s the only greenery in miles of concrete and bricks, although the scant leaves look black in the night. The chalky beams of the moon that shift through the dreary branches illuminate piles of shiny leaves on the ground.
Tatiana gets out of the car before I can come around and open her door. Except for giving me directions, she’s been quiet on the way. She stops on the sidewalk and looks up at the tower, pulling the beige coat tighter around herself. A chill has descended with a light mist that rises between the buildings, carrying the scent of a freshly tarred road and a whiff of decay that marks the pending arrival of winter.
I motion for the men in the car that pulls up behind us to keep watch. At this hour, the old neighborhood is quiet. There are no houses or restaurants around, and the people who work here have long since knocked off for the day. A few lights shine in the higher floor windows of some buildings, maybe workaholics burning the midnight oil, but otherwise, there’s no one and nothing moving about.
Tatiana’s chest rises with a deep intake of breath. It’s as if she needs to steel herself before moving forward. I take her elbow to prevent her from tripping over the uneven paving in her high heels, but she pulls away.
Even though her rejection doesn’t sit right with me, I ignore it… for now. Keeping vigilant, I let her go ahead and follow short on her heels. She uses a narrow walkway that’s barely wide enough for me to squeeze through to go around the side.
A blackberry vine creeps over the wall separating the church from the neighboring property and slithers over the path to climb up the tower. The thorns hook on my jacket and scratch the back of my hands. The cobwebs I disturb stick to my face.
Using my arm, I clear a path for Tatiana. She navigates five stone steps obscured beneath a thick carpet of ivy as if she’s done it enough times to find her way blindfolded.
A hidden alcove looms out of the shadows.
She stops in front of a small wooden door reinforced with metal bars and chunky bolts. “Give me a light.”
I take out my phone and switch on the flashlight before directing it toward the door. A twig crunches at the end of the spindly passageway. In a second flat, I have my gun in one hand, pointing the barrel toward the sound, and Tatiana pressed firmly behind my back.
“Stay,” I whisper, using my body to shield her.
