The Double

I finished the sentence for him in my mind. And I just kept going. His whole adult life had been about rebuilding his family’s power and carrying on their legacy. He had nothing else. That was why he had to take over the whole of New York. That was why it was never enough.

He looked towards the Statue of Liberty. “I swore I’d never let myself get close to anyone. I’d seen what could happen, if you allowed yourself to feel. I never loved anyone….” He turned to me. “Until you.”

My cheeks were wet with tears and my throat was choked. “And the other gang?” I asked. But I already knew what he was going to say.

“Their leader was a man called Olaf Ralavich,” said Konstantin. “He was killed a few years ago and control of his empire passed to his son. The teenager who killed my family. Dmitri. Dmitri Ralavich.”

I broke and threw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. I understood, now. I understood why he was so cold, so isolated, why even sex had been stripped of its emotion and safely locked away in the dungeon. I understood why everything in the mansion was so old and why he’d clung onto traditions like the annual ball: he was trying to recapture all that family heritage that had been torn away from him. I understood why he wore the ring and why he’d had it made into the hardware key for his laptop: he knew he’d never, ever take it off.

The necklace. He’d given me the necklace. I was that special to him.

And God, the way he’d reacted when he thought I might be pregnant: he’d glimpsed a chance for his family to have a future. I even understood why he’d wound up with Christina: he’d wanted someone cold and heartless so that there was no danger of him falling for her. And then I’d come along and—

He pushed me gently back and frowned at me. “I don’t understand how you’ve changed. But ever since the accident, however hard I try…” His shoulders hunched and I saw his whole body tighten in frustration. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “You make me weak,” he said helplessly.

I put my other hand over his and squeezed back. “That’s not weak,” I said breathlessly.

He stared at me for a long time, battling with himself...and finally he sighed and nodded and we threw our arms around each other and sat there hugging. The wind was picking up, howling across the water and blasting across our backs. But we were impenetrable, our fronts pressed together to form a glowing core of warmth the cold couldn’t steal.

“I don’t want to have any secrets from you anymore,” he said, his cheek pressed to mine. “Ask your questions about my business and I’ll answer every one.”

My chest contracted. This was it: everything we’d wanted when I’d volunteered for this mission. I could ask him what he was planning for the 18th: God, that was today! I could get all the information we needed and then call in Calahan and arrest him....

But I didn’t want to. Not anymore.

“Go on,” said Konstantin gently. “What do you want to know?”

I had to finally make the decision that I’d been struggling with since the night before. I took a deep breath, inhaling his warmth, the scent of his cologne...and I made my choice.

I wasn’t going back to the FBI. Not ever. And that meant I could know nothing, because if I had information, the FBI could bring me in and force me to testify against him. “I don’t need to know,” I told him. “I trust you.” And as soon as I said it, I realized it was true. “I know you’re honorable. You’re not like Ralavich, you don’t murder innocent people.”

He hugged me even tighter. And then he helped me to my feet, put his arm around me, and supported me all the way back to the shelter of the car.

When the doors whumped shut and the howl of the wind was suddenly cut off, it was a shock. I sat there with my skin throbbing and my toes tingling from the warmth. As the car pulled away, I was still trying to come to terms with what I’d decided. I’m not going back. I’m not FBI anymore. I’ll never see Calahan or Carrie again….

“Tell me something about you,” said Konstantin.

I looked at him, startled. His expression was more open than I’d ever seen it. He’s…. My heart melted as I realized: he’s trying. He hadn’t had a real relationship in twenty years and he was trying to make it work, for me.

“Your father,” he said. “Tell me about him.”

I thought of my childhood. The three fathers I’d had: my real dad, the artist. The abusive step-dad who’d made my life a living hell. And the mentor who’d become like a father to me. I wasn’t sure if I could revisit all that: the wounds were too deep. But if things were going to work with Konstantin, I had to be honest with him, just like he’d been with me. I tried to start talking, but the memories welled up and the pain blocked my throat.