“You took the drive,” Ivan says with the shake of his head. “When you ran away, you took the information with you.”
“For fuck’s sake.” I sigh and shake my head slowly. “Something I didn’t even remember I had until two weeks ago is the reason you’ve wanted me dead?”
“Not dead, necessarily,” Elian says. “Just found. All this time, if you’d done what you were instructed to do in the first place, you could have gone on living your life, none the wiser. But you didn’t. Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Liar,” Ivan says and reaches for me, but I duck out of his grasp and move quickly away. “Where is it?”
“I certainly don’t have it on me,” I reply and evade him again.
Both Elian and Ivan start speaking in rapid Bulgarian, and I can’t understand them again.
Why didn’t I stay brushed up on the language?
“Stop moving.”
I look at Elian, his words spoken in English, and stare down the barrel of his weapon.
Before he can pull the trigger, a knife appears at this throat and slices deep, spattering blood everywhere.
“Jesus.”
My father is holding the knife and staring at me with hollow, dead eyes.
Shane bursts into the room, his weapon drawn, but I shake my head.
This is my fight.
“Tell me where the drive is, Laryssa.”
“I told you.” I stomp his foot, ram my knee into his crotch, and grab the knife from his hand, then drive it right into his heart. As his mouth gapes, and his eyes bulge, I lean into him. “My name is Ivie.”
As he gurgles, I pull out the knife and rest the blade against his throat.
“And this is for my mama.”
Without hesitation, I slice from left to right and let him fall, next to his brother.
The blood is revolting. It covers everything. Me, the floor, the walls, and the furniture.
But I ignore it and walk to the wall to pluck the photo of my mother from the nail. I use my sleeve to wipe blood spatter from the glass.
“I’m taking you with me.” I kiss her and then turn to Shane. “Get me the hell out of here.”
“On it, baby.” He nods to the others, who flank me, and helps me out of the house and to the vehicle.
“I’m calling in cleanup,” Carmine says as we get settled in the vehicle, and he takes out his phone.
Rafe fires up the car, and we pull away from the curb and head back the way we came.
“Plane’s ready,” Rafe says.
“There were two of him,” Shane says, turning to me.
“His brother.” I tell them everything that happened after I walked into the house. “He had two brothers that I didn’t even know about.”
“None of us did,” Shane says. “It didn’t come up in the research.”
“They framed the Sergis,” Nadia says in surprise. “My God, who the fuck are they?”
“Bulgarian operatives,” Curt says, getting all our attention. “I recognized Elian’s name. But Pavlov is a common Bulgarian name, so I didn’t link him with Ivan. I’ve never seen a photo of him. He was a slimy, sneaky son of a bitch. He was on every hit list in the fucking world.”
“Well, he was hit.” My hands have started to shake. “By his own brother.”
“Are you hurt?” Shane asks me. “Tell me all this blood is theirs.”
“It’s theirs.” I swallow hard and feel sick to my stomach. Oh God, do not get sick here. Hold on. “I need a shower.”
“We have one on the plane,” Rafe says as he changes lanes. “I’ll have you there in ten minutes.”
It takes eight.
Shane helps me up the stairs where Igor and Carlo are waiting for us.
“Oh, little one,” Igor says, but I hold up my hand.
“Not yet.” I look up at him with pleading eyes. “I need to clean up and gather myself.”
“Of course.” Carlo points to the back of the plane. “Everything you need is back there, Ivie. Make yourself at home.”
“I’m coming with you,” Shane says, and I don’t argue. I need him now—more than I ever have before.
I manage to hold myself together while he starts the shower and helps me out of my ruined clothes.
“There isn’t enough room in there for both of us,” he says grimly.
“I’m shocked we’re in a plane,” I say. “It’s huge.”
“There’s soap, shampoo, and anything else you need.” He opens the glass door for me, but before I can step inside, he cups my face in his hands and kisses me gently. “Take your time, love. We won’t take off until you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” It’s a whisper. I climb into the shower and let the hot water beat on me, just soaking in the warmth.
I’m so cold. I can’t stop shaking.
Maybe this is shock.
Finally, I reach for the soap and start washing up. My hair is next. When I’m as clean as I can get, and as warm as I’m going to get for now, I open the shower door.