Chapter 65

Chapter Sixty-Five

A week had passed since their return, and it was the first day that no one was making demands on Kira or Rand to answer more questions. Kira slept in, and it was glorious to wake up to the morning sun with Rand by her side and no one, absolutely no one, grilling her like a filet.

After breakfast, they would drive to Kira's parents' house—hers now, but she still thought of it as theirs—so she could sort through her mother's belongings one more time.

Her mother had lived a life of guilt and grief, and Kira was certain she'd left some kind of explanation intended for Kira—and maybe even Reuben—somewhere. She had to start looking.

Of course, it was entirely possible that was the first thing her father had burned before he died, given that his correspondence with Luka had survived.

Rand drove, and she settled into the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio because she liked keeping one ear on the news. The reports about what did—and didn't—happen on the base on July 4th were entertaining, at least, with those who wanted to believe the worst crying cover-up, while the photos and interviews with those who lived on base demonstrated again and again that there had been no harm, no foul.

The video of Reuben expressing his ambition to be president had been shared with Russian spies in the same way Freya had tapped a CIA contact to tell the FSB to collect Cousin Andre.

Of course, no one had known then that the FSB agent who'd been contacted was Reuben himself, who no doubt paid someone else to do the dirty work. Reuben was nothing if not a delegator, even in his spying.

The Maltese government had been informed of the possible Neolithic site that was located on land Luka Kulik had purchased two decades before. They'd since learned that initially, Luka planned to build a hotel there. Now they knew why he'd never moved forward with the development.

There was little doubt Reuben had Cousin Andre's body removed once he learned Kira had escaped, but still, the idea that he could face questioning for murder had been fun to ponder.

The NPR station played top-of-the-hour music before going through the headlines. They started with new developments in the fallout over the recent coup attempt in Russia, but it was the next story that had Kira sitting up straight in her seat.

"NPR news has confirmed that a private jet en route to Moscow from Valletta, Malta has disappeared from radar and is suspected to have crashed. It is reported that Russian oligarch Luka Kulik and his son, Reuben Kulik, were the only passengers on the jet. At this time, there is no known connection between Luka or Reuben Kulik and the coup attempt eighteen days ago, but it is known that the oligarch has recently been at odds with the Russian president. His son sought to change that and was seeking a more active role in the Russian government. NPR has been unable to confirm early reports that the jet was shot down before it entered Russian airspace."

Rand took her hand as the words sank in. She'd known this would happen. Had counted on it, even.

Teague Collins's words during that first meeting had stuck with her.

The enemy of my enemy might still be my enemy, but it doesn't mean I can't use him.

Everyone knew the Russian president wouldn't let anyone come after his job and live, and Reuben had as much as admitted that was his goal on camera. He'd even boasted about his supposed success with the attack on Little Creek, making sure those in power knew he was the one behind the successful attack.

Until he found out it wasn't a success at all.

"You okay?" Rand asked as he squeezed her hand.

She took a deep breath. "I think so. We knew this would be the outcome. I don't have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. But it does feel weird. To know I helped place the dominos."

"You might have helped place them, but in the end, it was Reuben—and Luka—who did everything that put them in that situation. Hell, they never should have gotten on that plane. They had to know their days were numbered. I'd have warned them to stay away from windows."

"Windows are too subtle when Reuben might have been connected to the coup attempt. The weird thing is, that's the one thing I think he was innocent of." She rubbed her rib and remembered the feel of his boot.

But she also remembered the story of that day in the boat. He'd jumped in the water to save her. Reuben might not be a reliable narrator, but she believed him.

She'd really loved her big brother back then.

She held Rand's hand as they continued driving north, and she grieved the loss of yet another family member. She even gave herself space to grieve the biological father she'd never really known.

A week later, a package arrived at Kira's parents' house addressed to Kira Lukovna Kulika. The return address bore Luka Kulik's name and Mdina address.

The plane wreckage had been found two days ago, along with the bodies of Reuben, Luka, and two pilots. There was no doubt he was dead. He must've mailed it before he and Reuben left for Moscow.

She was surprised to see the enclosed letter was from Juliette.

Kira,

I imagine you must have been devastated to learn that your brother burned your mother's paintings the day you left. I am so sorry he stole that last piece of your mother from you. Believe it or not, Luka shares your grief at that. He asked Grigory to return the painting he stole from you.

Grigory has refused, but I have chosen to ignore his decision. In a matter of days, Aleksandr and Nadia will wed. It seems her father is in some trouble in the US and I suspect he's keeping secrets for Grigory, who is paying for his silence by agreeing to the marriage. When that happens, I will no longer be welcome at the villa as Nadia asserts her new power in ways that will please Aleksandr.

This is fine with me. My time with Grigory is over. I am no longer his fun, and he is no longer mine. I will get to enjoy more time in my studio, creating art that makes me happy.

And so, as my last act as Grigory's mistress, I am returning this painting to its rightful owner. I know it isn't the art you originally came seeking, but I suspect Luka disposed of the Stoltz family art decades ago. It was just the excuse that kept your two fathers meeting every few years.

Knowing your mother was full of secrets, I examined the frame before wrapping the painting and discovered the back of the canvas is two layers thick. I removed the top layer and found the letter that is packed with the painting.

I hope the letter answers questions that Luka and Reuben will not.

Love,

Juliette

Kira studied the painting, which had hung on her bedroom wall until it had been packed away and stored in the basement with the rest of her belongings—which she was now in the process of sorting through as she prepared to sell the house and move to Virginia Beach.

Rand looked at the portrait. "Can I hang this in my study?"

That was the room where he said he did most of his writing, and she liked the idea of it being there, in a private room instead of over the mantel or another visible space. She wished her mother was alive to paint Rand, or a portrait of the two of them. That would be something to display for everyone.

Perhaps it was time she shoved aside her anxieties and resumed painting herself. She would never be as good as her mother, but she could be as good as herself. And she enjoyed it.

"I'd like that." She set the painting aside and picked up the letter. It was a simple folded piece of paper with her name on the outside in her mother's neat handwriting.

As they'd done in Malta when she read the letters from Luka, she sat on Rand's lap, secure in his embrace, before she dared to unfold the page. She wasn't alone in this.

"The date at the top is three months before she died." It didn't surprise her. The portrait was one of the last works her mother completed before she got sick.

"Would it be easier if I read it to you?" Rand asked.

She considered the offer, then shook her head. "No. I can do it."

She held the letter so he could read over her shoulder.

Dearest Kira,

I have no idea if you will ever find this, but I have to hide it in a place your dad won't think to look. He is terrified of what would happen if you tried to seek out your brother and father and wants only to protect you, but I think you have reached the age where you have the right to know.

You were born Kira Lukovna Kulika, and are three years and two months younger than you believe yourself to be. We did this to protect you. From my mistakes and from Conrad's, but mostly to prevent your father from finding you and bringing us back to his home.

I never loved him, but my marriage to Luka was never supposed to be about love. It was a soviet union of my father's power and Luka's rank in the Communist Party. Still, I loved my babies. Reuben and Angelina. But Angelina…I will never believe she was taken from us by accident.

Kira let out a soft sob as she thought of those empty cradles. There had been another baby. Kira had an older sister. One who hadn't survived.

She remembered Luka's words that first day. He'd mentioned multiple births.

Rand's arms tightened around her. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

She swiped away her tears, took a deep breath, and continued reading.

I won't share the details of Angelina's death with you. I can't, even after more than thirty years. Just know that when you were born three months later, my life was one of constant fear and vigilance. And wild, fierce love for you.

Then I met Conrad and saw a way out. If I could give him the information he needed, he could cut a deal with the CIA for me—and for you. He was always a loyal American, working for his country. I'm the one who betrayed mine.

Things got urgent when Luka caught me listening in on his meetings. He hurt me.

And he hurt you.

I was so terrified. I'd lost Angelina. I—I really don't have words for this. Even now. Just know I was desperate and told Conrad I would take any deal he could make as long as it got you and me out.

Please understand, I didn't use Conrad. I did love him deeply and know he loved me—and you. He's been the best father for you I could imagine. And he loved you so much, he kept up the spy games with Luka for decades so the man would never grow suspicious.

I've spent the last thirty years both thankful for and regretting the choice I made to abandon my son to save my remaining daughter. How many times did you find me crying in the basement? I always went to the basement because, with no piece of my lost children to hold on to, all I had were my paintings. The memories of them.

Kira swallowed, realizing that some of the baby portraits were of Angelina, not her.

I remember you asking me why I was so sad, and all I could tell you was, don't look back. For your sake, I had to only look forward. But now, I'm dying, and I can't bear the idea of never telling you the truth of your life, but I can't betray Conrad and all he has done for us. Just know that everything—every awful thing—your dad and I did was to protect you.

I truly think you would have died in the same way Angelina did. It was sheer luck that I stopped Reuben from taking you out in the boat like he did Angelina. I was so terrified that day, but it sparked an idea for how we could make our escape.

Much as I hated large bodies of water since Angelina's death, we had to take a boat to Birgu. From there, the CIA would smuggle us out. Our disappearance was planned. Scuba divers were in place. We stopped in the right area and drifted while I counted down the minutes. I was braced for the swim, but scared because you didn't know how. Still, nothing prepared me to see Reuben push you overboard.

Kira sprang to her feet, horror washing through her. She'd believed him. She'd sat across from him and cried while he told her what their mother had done.

How he must've enjoyed watching her sob.

Rand stood but kept a few feet's distance between them. "I don't know what to do. Can I hold you?"

She took a deep breath and said, "I don't know. I should finish the letter, I guess."

She grabbed it from where it had fallen to the floor.

Please, Kira, know that I love you, and I never stopped loving my son. But I made the choice for us both to leave him and your father because neither of us was safe with them. I hope Reuben has grown into a good man, but I fear his father isn't an example there. Conrad has used his visits to Malta to keep an eye on Reuben over the years and says he is fine, but I fear he's lying to make me feel better about my choices.

I'm so sorry to share this with you in a way that means I can't hold you when you receive this news. I hope you are not alone, that you have Conrad or a friend or a partner as you read this. But know that even if I'm long gone, you will always have me. I love you my sweet Kira, and I'm so proud of the woman you have become, even though adulthood was forced on you far earlier than it should have been.

Love,

Mom

She set down the letter and faced Rand, who opened his arms. She stepped into them and pressed her face to his chest and cried. "Do you think it's true, about Angelina? I mean, if she died while Mom was pregnant with me, Reuben would have been only five. How could it be anything but an accident?"

"We'll never know for certain," Rand said. "It's possible your mother was irrational, and it tainted how she viewed Reuben after that."

"The eternal chicken and egg question. There's no doubt Reuben resented me, even when we were children. He said as much." She touched her ribs. The bruises had finally faded, and thankfully, none of her ribs had cracked from his kicks. "And he more than made it clear how much he wished I'd stayed dead."

She raised her head to meet Rand's gaze. "I wonder if that's why he didn't want me talking to Luka. Was he afraid I did—or would—remember the truth? Would it have changed things with his father if Luka knew Mom and I were fleeing Reuben as much as him?"

"I'm sorry you'll never be able to know the truth there."

"I am too. And I'm not. Maybe it's better this way. I'll never know if my mom unjustly accused and feared her son or if she was right to protect me from him. I wish I'd known about Angelina." She shook her head. "Nothing has changed, really. My brother and all my parents are still dead. I've now gained a sister, but she isn't even a memory."

"You have me."

She smiled. "I have you."

"And my family. Maggie loves you already."

Rand might be overstating things, but now that she'd met Maggie, Kira understood why Rand had been certain his sister would accept her into the fold. Maggie was warm and kind and shared her brother's sense of humor.

"And you have Freya," Rand added.

She nodded. She and Freya had dinner, just the two of them, two nights ago and it had been everything they both had needed for the last twenty years. They'd laughed and cried and looked at photos from their shared childhood.

Kira had confessed that one reason she'd desperately wanted to be a Valkyrie was to win Freya's respect. Freya had tearfully said Kira had always had that, and she was sorry she never made it clear. She'd been too afraid to address what Apollo had done out of fear of embarrassing and hurting Kira. And so the chasm that separated them grew wider.

Freya had also assured her that Valkyrie assignments that fit Kira's skillset were hers for the taking.

At some point, Kira would probably take her up on that offer, but for the next few months, her focus was going to be settling her parents' estate and moving to Virginia Beach. With her inheritance, she could afford this time off to focus on her relationship with Rand and her mental health.

Questions had been raised by government officials investigating the Kuliks and Laskins about whether or not she intended to attempt a claim on the Kulik billions, and she'd assured everyone she had no interest in Luka's money or name.

She was Kira Hanson, daughter of Conrad and Anna Hanson.

She stared at the portrait of herself her mother had painted five years ago and felt Anna's presence, the love that had infused each brushstroke.

As her mother had hoped, Kira wasn't alone. Her mom and dad would always be in her heart. And she might not have living blood relatives, but she had Freya and the Valkyries. Rand and his SEAL team.

She'd gone to Malta in search of family connections and had found them—unfortunately—in spades. But it really hadn't been until she returned to Virginia that she'd identified the people who comprised her real, true family.