The Double

Christina. The name cut me to the core. I wasn’t the woman he thought I was. It wasn’t me he’d fallen in love with, it was her. I shook my head, my eyes swimming with tears.

“Golub,” he pleaded. “Please!”

And I softened. I took a step towards him. And—

The sheet suddenly lifted and the dusty soil on the floor rushed around my feet as the wind suddenly sucked the air out of the glasshouse. The door flew all the way open, straining on its hinges. And then just as abruptly, the wind changed and the door slammed closed with a bang that shook the whole structure.

The first pane popped loose from the roof a few feet to my left. I saw it fall in slow motion, shining bright in the moonlight and perfectly flat until it smacked into a table and shattered, spraying shards of glass at waist height. I screamed as something stabbed into my hip but more panes were already falling. Some fell flat, some swung down and dangled for a second before slicing down like falling swords. Some fell from the roof, some from high up on the walls. The door slam had started a chain reaction: as one pane fell, the change in weight made the ancient metalwork bend and flex, releasing more panes. Glass was falling all around me and exploding into vicious, deadly shards, the echoing crash of it almost continuous. I bent low, trying to protect my face—

Konstantin slammed into me and bore me to the ground on my back, hunkering down over me to protect me. Pane after pane smashed on his broad back and shoulders, but he didn’t seem to care. At last the rain of glass began to slow... and finally, it stopped.

He gingerly turned and looked up at the ceiling. Most of the glass was gone, but one pane was dangling from its frame overhead. He winced as it slipped free and fell, edge-on. But it was on our side, it would miss us—

I glanced down and my insides went cold. It would miss him, but somehow, in the chaos, one of my legs had wound up kicked out to the side. I frantically started to pull it back—

The pane of glass sliced deep into my thigh and the sheet bloomed red with blood.

48

Konstantin

“GRIGORY!” I bellowed, but the wind snatched my words away. I was sprinting through the trees, Christina’s body cradled in my arms. She’d passed out before I even got her out of the glasshouse.

“Grigory!” I ran through the long grass. The bitter wind was chilling both of us: I could feel her going cold in my arms. Worse, my chest and stomach were slicked with hot wetness. The life, pumping out of her.

I rammed open the door, almost taking it off its hinges, and into the hallway. “Grigory!” I yelled. And this time he heard and came running around the corner, stumbling in shock when he saw Christina’s limp body. “Hospital!” I snapped, and we ran together down the stairs to the garage.

In the back seat of the car, I held her on my lap. I tried to rouse her but she wouldn’t wake up. Grigory kept glancing in the mirror at Christina, his face as pale and drawn as mine. “Run the lights,” I told him.

I’d made a mistake. A horrible mistake. I’d thought that there was nothing as important as the promise I’d made, years ago. Nothing more important than my family, my legacy, my empire.

There was.

If I could just get her back, I’d do everything she wanted. I’d tell her everything, share all my secrets.

Her body seemed to relax. The blood soaking my shirt started to cool. I couldn’t find her pulse. “Drive faster,” I snarled at Grigory. The street lights blurred wetly. “Drive faster!”

49

Hailey

LIGHTS, cold and stark, blasting through my eyelid shone in. “Ma’am, do you know where you are?”

I couldn’t speak. My tongue was limp and dry and moving it was like trying to lift a mattress with one finger. Why was I so weak?

“BP’s 90 over 60,” yelled someone. “She needs blood.”

“Her name is Christina Rogan,” said Konstantin’s voice. I could tell how worried he was because his English was disintegrating. “She’s AB-negative.”

Why would Konstantin know that? Then I realized: for the Bratva families, getting shot was an occupational hazard. Grigory, Konstantin, Christina...they probably all knew their blood types, in case they needed to be patched up by some backstreet doctor.

“Check the records, just to be sure,” someone ordered.

The sound of fevered typing. The lights dimmed as someone leaned over me, comparing my face to a photo. “Yep, that’s her. Records say she is AB-negative.”

“OK, grab some.”

Running footsteps disappearing into the distance. A thought coalesced in my brain, making me uneasy, but it was blurry and indistinct and I couldn’t make sense of it.