29
ANTON
Yulian gets out of the car and looks around, perplexed. “This is the spot you chose to meet?”
Grass has grown up through the old railway tracks, almost hiding them altogether. What is visible is rust red. There’s nothing around for miles.
“I didn’t want to be obvious. When have we ever had a meeting of any kind in a place like this?”
“Never. Because there’s no damn place to sit.”
“You can’t stay on your feet for an hour?” I snort.
“Not if I can help it. My ankles swell.”
I ignore him and walk down the railway line until I reach the rail shed off to the right. There’s a garish red X painted on the side along with a bunch of faded graffiti, layer right on top of layer until it’s so thick the whole thing is starting to peel off.
Yulian follows behind me, looking around with distaste. He’s not finished bitching. “I mean, what was wrong with our usual meeting places?” he whines.
“I wanted someplace low-key. A place that Marina would never suspect we would go.”
“She’ll never think of this one, that’s for sure,” he mumbles. “They’re late.”
“No, they’re not.” I gesture towards the opposite side of the track where a car is parked.
I whistle low and Yaromir’s head pokes out of the shed. He steps out, followed by two tall men who both acknowledge me subtly.
“Yaromir,” I say, “I appreciate you meeting me here.”
He looks as unenthusiastic about our venue as Yulian. I can’t exactly blame them. The sun is beating down and it’s hot.
“Of course,” he says warily. “Anything for my closest ally.”
I suppress a smirk. Apparently, someone is terrified that he’ll lose my support. At least he’s smart enough to know that without my blessing, his appointment as don would never have been accepted by the rest of the underworld.
“I’m sure you want to know what this is about.”
“I have been curious,” he admits.
“Well, prepare to be shocked,” I tell him, watching every muscle on his face. “Marina is alive.”
At first, there’s no reaction. Then his entire face comes alive. Every muscle, every crease shifts into a mask of surprise. “Marina?” He repeats her name in a low voice, as though it holds power. Like she’ll be summoned if he says it too loud.
Yulian glances at me and I give him a nod, confirming what we’re both thinking: the man definitely didn’t know of Marina’s existence until just now.
“That… that’s not possible,” Yaromir insists, looking between Yulian and me with clear worry.
“It is possible. It’s real.”
“How?” he breathes.
“Simple,” I say. “She faked her own death and pinned it on me.”
“But… but Rodion didn’t know she was alive.”
“That’s because she didn’t tell him,” I say. “She didn’t tell anyone.”
Yaromir shakes his head. “You buried her. You had a funeral for her.”