All I can do is stare at that newspaper. The pages contain the darkest of memories, the plans we’ve discussed in private and carried out together. Is this her idea of attacking Felix?
Because it sure as fuck looks like an attack on me.
Stepan holds my gaze without hesitation. Fierce loyalty lies in those eyes. Old battles, personal mischief, horrors beyond belief—I see it all. He doesn’twantto tell me what else is in that interview.
But he will.
He folds the paper once, twice, and then tucks it under his arm. “She’s placed Cardona behind every moveyouever made.”
Stepan hands over the newspaper obediently in exchange for my mug. He wanders to the counter and returns with a full cup of coffee.
“She’s in the sunroom,” he informs me as he hands me the mug. “Should you wish to speak with her, Pavel Sergeyevich.”
“Check the security cameras. Walk the perimeter. I want no surprises, not now.”
He bows his head. “Yes, Pavel Sergeyevich.”
I take a sip from the mug. The coffee is stale. But it’s no longer necessary. The jolt of betrayal has woken me.
Once Stepan’s footsteps fade, I shove the paper under my arm, straighten my back, and walk into the sunroom through the rear den. Modern furniture in dark shades of brown and teal occupies most of the space. Sunlight spills all over the carpet from two skylights, brightening the rich brown rugs.
The reading nook is the brightest area, situated in a large French window with thick gray curtains. Between the curtains, Liya is sitting. She has her leg propped up in front of her and a book perched on her knee—a book for new mothers. Her chin is in her hand. The tip of her tongue pokes over her bottom lip. It moves left, then right, then left again.
Normalcy—that’s all I ever needed from Liya. That’s all I ever wanted.
My features tighten.Instead, she betrays me.
I walk across the room, pluck the newspaper from under my arm, and drop it on her lap. The pages make a softthwackwhen they hit the book. She recoils and inhales sharply. I glance over her head to peer out the window.
Silence. Her usual modus operandi these days.
She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t stop staring at the page. She’s a wax statue left in the sunroom for me to look at every now and then. The only thing that indicates she’s alive is the soft sigh of her inhale and the shaky stutter of her exhale.
The pages crinkle. “It was the only way,” she says.
“Like hell it was.”
“I had to make sure he looked bad.”
I turn my back to her. “Your shortsightedness is showing, Liya.”
“And you would have me do nothing?” She shoots back. “He has Zoya tied to a goddamn cot, and he’s raping her every single day!”
A knot rises in my throat. I’ve seen those images. Each one is burned into my mind. I can’t push them out. I walk toward the fireplace and lean my shoulder against the mantel. I’m not quite looking at Liya, but I’m not turned away from her either. I’m not sure Icanlook at her.
She doesn’t realize what she’s done. Not by a long shot.
She stands up and crosses her arms over her chest. “This will help you, Pavel. Berkowitz needed a way to pressure the mayor. This is the only way he can.”
I finally stare daggers at her. I half expect her to recoil, but she doesn’t. Instead, she sits up straighter, more confident than I’ve ever seen.
“If he gets the mayor’s support,” she says. “Then he’ll be able to go after the NYPD with a free hand.”
“And what kind of deal did you get out of this, Liya?”
“You were pretty supportive about this happening just the other day. What changed?”
I supported using the DA to get the NYPD off our backs. Not this…this rag of lies!