“Pavel and his wife, Lyudmila, came with us from Moscow,” Alina explains as the man-bear himself appears from the kitchen, carrying a large platter of lamb chops surrounded by roasted potatoes with mushrooms. With a grunt, he sets the food on the table, grabs a couple of empty appetizer plates, and disappears back into the kitchen as Alina continues. “Lyudmila is under the weather today, so Pavel is doing all the work. Normally, he does most of the cooking and cleaning, while she serves the food. Her main job, though, is looking after Slava.”
“Are they the only two people living here besides your family?” I ask, accepting a lamb chop and a scoop of potatoes with mushrooms when she extends the platter toward me after giving a decent-sized portion to Slava—who again digs in without fuss.
“They’re the only people residing in the house with us,” Nikolai answers. “The guards have a separate bunker on the north side of the estate.”
My heart jumps. “Guards?”
“We have a few men securing the compound,” Alina says. “Since we’re so isolated out here and all.”
I do my best to conceal my reaction. “Yes, of course, that makes sense.” Except it doesn’t. If anything, the remote location should make it safer. From what I could see on the map, only one road leads up the mountain, and there’s already an impenetrable-looking gate there, not to mention that ridiculously tall metal wall.
Only people with powerful, dangerous enemies would think it necessary to hire guards on top of all those measures.
Russian mafia.
The words whisper through my mind again, and my heartbeat intensifies. Lowering my gaze to my plate, I cut into my lamb chop, doing my best to keep my hand steady despite the anxious whirling of my thoughts.
Am I in danger here? Did I jump from the frying pan into the fire? Should I—
“Tell us more about yourself, Chloe.”
Nikolai’s deep voice cuts into my nervous contemplation, and I look up to find his tiger eyes on me, his lips curved in a sardonic smile. Once again, I have the disconcerting sensation that he’s seeing straight into my head, that he knows exactly what I’m thinking and fearing.
Pushing the unsettling feeling away, I smile back. “What would you like to know?”
“Your driver’s license says you reside in Boston. Is that where you grew up?”
I nod, spearing a piece of lamb chop. “My mom moved us there from California when I was a baby, and I grew up in and around the Boston area.” I bite into the tender, perfectly seasoned meat and again have to give props to Pavel—it’s the best lamb chop I’ve ever had. The potatoes with mushrooms are amazing too, all garlicky and buttery, so good I could eat a pound in a sitting.
“What about your father?” Alina asks when I’m halfway through the lamb chop. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” I say, patting my lips with a napkin. “My mom never told me who he is.”
“Why not?” Nikolai’s voice sharpens. “Why didn’t she tell you?”
I blink, taken aback, until it dawns on me what he must be thinking. “Oh, she didn’t hide the pregnancy from him. He knew she was pregnant and chose to walk away.” Or at least that’s what I’ve gathered based on the few hints my mom had dropped over the years. For whatever reason, she hated this topic, so much so that whenever I pushed for answers, she’d take to bed with a migraine.
Nikolai’s tone softens a fraction. “I see.”
“I think he wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility,” I say, feeling the need to explain. “My mom was only seventeen when she had me, so I’m guessing he was very young as well.”
“You’re guessing?” Alina lifts her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Your mom didn’t even tell you his age?”
“She didn’t like to talk about it. It was a difficult time in her life.” My voice tightens as another wave of grief washes over me, my chest squeezing with an ache so intense I can barely breathe through it.
I miss my mom. I miss her so much it hurts. Though I saw her body with my own eyes, a part of me still can’t believe she’s dead, can’t process the fact that a woman so beautiful and vibrant is gone forever from this world.
“Are you okay, Chloe?” Alina asks softly, and I nod, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears stinging my eyes.
“Are you sure?” she presses, her green gaze filled with pity, and in a flash of intuition, I realize that she knows—and so does Nikolai, who’s watching me with an unreadable expression.
Somehow, they both know my mom is dead.
A rush of adrenaline chases away the grief as my mind leaps into overdrive. There’s little doubt now: They had me investigated prior to our interview. That’s how Nikolai knew about my lack of posts on social media, and why Alina is looking at me this way.