14. Antonio

“Ihave a lot of questions. But let’s start with this. Your romantic little story might have filled my wife’s head with hearts and flowers, but I’m not so easily duped.”

“Duped? You think it was all a lie?” He sighs heavily. “I only wish. Ask your mother about it, if you don’t believe me. She helped cover for Rosa, too.”

I plan on having a chat with my mother, although I’m not sure I want to know any more specifics about the danger she courted.

Fedorov likes to point a finger at the oligarchs, and while they’re responsible for some of this mess, he’s up to his neck in it, too. I can feel it.

I lean back in the chair and watch him carefully. “Did you have anything to do with Isabel’s death?”

“Isabel? No. Her husband? That’s another story. I hope you’re not looking for an apology,” he huffs. “That bastard came to me with a promise of ‘useful information’ about Daniela, just as I’m sure he contacted you, and your Uncle Abel.”

“What did he tell you?”

“I arranged to have a man meet him with a bag of cash that he wanted in exchange for the information. After that, Jorge had a lot to tell me.”

“You spoke to him yourself?” That would be highly unusual, for the Pakhan to speak directly to some low-life weasel.

He nods. “In an encrypted video chat. I’ve already told you about my feelings for Daniela’s mother. I was concerned, and I didn’t trust him. So I questioned him myself. He told me about the girl.”

Fuck.While this is less of a problem now that Tomas is dead, it’s not nothing. Daniela still hasn’t told Valentina. That has to change.

“I didn’t believe him, at first,” Fedorov continues. “What a despicable excuse for a man. No loyalty.” He scratches his head. “My men grabbed a couple bags of trash from outside Daniela’s apartment, and we had the DNA tested. It didn’t give me all the answers, but it gave me enough.”

He knew where she was living. He could have whisked her away, and I might never have seen her again. My blood runs cold. “You were monitoring my wife?”

“She wasn’t your wife at the time. And I didn’t know where she was until Jorge contacted me. But after? I kept an eye out. From a distance. I never interfered in her life the way you did.”

“We were betrothed. She was my responsibility.”

“So it seems.”

I’d like to snap his fleshy neck. But I need to shore up the timeline. It’s the only way to tell how much of this story is concocted. He’s talking a lot—too much for someone as shrewd as Fedorov. It might all be a bullshit story he’s using to probe for information he can use to harm Daniela—or me.

I’m not going to tell him a fucking thing. But I’m not done asking questions. “You had Jorge killed after you collected the garbage?”

He shakes his head. “After he spilled his guts, my man put a bullet in his head to shut him up. Jorge vehemently denied selling the information to anyone else, and I believed that part of his story. He was a lazy sonofabitch who wanted a free lunch, but he was too much of a pussy to try to play us against one another for the larger payoff. Besides, if your uncle had information about the child, he would have insisted Tomas seek custody of the girl immediately. He wouldn’t have waited.

“May I?” he asks, with his hand on the Port bottle.

I nod. My uncle would have gone after Valentina the very second they lowered Daniela’s father into the grave. Maybe sooner. No doubt about it.

“But I was wrong,” he mutters, pouring himself a drink.

“About what, exactly?”

“About your uncle knowing.” He tosses back the Port like a shot of cheap vodka, and pours another. “I had a traitor in my inner circle passing information to Chernov, who shared it with your uncle and Tomas. Abel had a stroke before he could act. That left the bumbling duo of Tomas and Chernov to make trouble.”

“How does Nikitin fit into this?”

“I’m certain that both oligarchs had people close to them who were funneling information to the other camp.”

“Certain?”

“How do you think I was able to get Cristiano out? I had men on the inside, too.”

I’m not the one guzzling fortified wine, but I’m still having trouble keeping track of all the pieces. Given what we knew at the time, and now, most of what he’s said makes sense—although I still don’t trust him.

“From the way you were pulling the strings backstage,” Fedorov adds, “I assumed you knew something about the girl.” He eyes me, waiting for a reaction.

It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens. “Did Chernov give the order for Isabel’s murder?”

“They wanted the child, at any cost. I’d look, first, to Chernov for Isabel’s murder, but don’t discount Nikitin. He’s a fool, but he’s the most capable of the two. You should know, my president has quietly called him home, but he’s gone into hiding.”

When the mothership calls you home, it’s because they can cover up your death more easily on friendly soil. “You don’t know where he is?”

Fedorov shakes his head. “No. But he’s a vindictive sonofabitch, and until he’s found, he poses a danger to your family. There will be more explosions.”

It’s all coming together. Everything he just told me might be true, or at least parts of it. But he’s been blabbering like a teenage girl at a slumber party because he wants my help. Until he’s found, he poses a danger to your family. There will be more explosions. The vindictive sonofabitch is also a threat to Fedorov. He wants me to find him.

“Who set the bomb at Santa Ana’s?”

“I once thought it was on Chernov’s order, but I’ve come to believe it was on Nikitin’s.”

“Why?”

“Because they were always undermining each other, like children currying favor. I’ve told you this. I suspect Nikitin wanted to cause trouble between Chernov and your cousin, so he could be the one to swoop in and help Tomas get custody of Valentina. Ultimately that would have helped him gain a foothold in Porto and made his president very happy.”

It’s plausible. Fedorov understands the relationship between the oligarchs and the Kremlin better than I ever will.

“I always assumed your father murdered Rosa,” he says out of nowhere. “For that matter, the oligarchs thought so, too.”

My guard has been on high alert all evening, but it just shot up further. “Why is that?”

“Because he died hours after her, and her husband was one of the few people with a motive and the ability to cover up your father’s murder.” He looks straight at me. “Manuel beat me to it. If I had figured it out sooner, your father would have died a more painful death.”

He might be probing. Or he suspects something, and is either giving me the nod, or he’s sending a cryptic shot across the bow—more incentive for me to help him. If that’s the case, he’s out of luck. I don’t give a shit who knows how my father died, or who they tell. I’m long past worrying about it. But I have one more question for this asshole.

“Did you pay the man who tried to kill me? The one who ran my car off the road, into the river?”

He looks me straight in the eye. “You’re still alive, so the answer to that would be no.”

That’s a deflection, not an answer. On second thought—maybe it is.

“If you try to contact my wife, in any way—I don’t give a shit if it’s by carrier pigeon—I’ll gut you.”

“You move in a dangerous world,” he cautions, his calculating eyes boring into mine. “If I were you, I would put away my pride and be grateful that there is someone else who has my wife’s best interests at heart. Whether you believe it or not, I owe her mother a great debt, and that extends to her daughter.”

I can take care of my own damn wife. I certainly don’t need any help from the fucking Bratva.

“I want Cristiano. Now.”

Fedorov stands. “My guest will be chauffeured to the rear entrance of the building as soon as I leave the property.”

“Have a seat, Pakhan.”

He glares at me through narrowed eyes.

“My wife is on her way to our home in the valley. You’re not going anywhere until the helicopter lands and she’s safely inside the house. Until then, you’re my guest.”