“So, what do you think, Yuri?” I asked knowing we were now truly in this together. Olga had not only won him over, she’d managed to do what I hadn’t. She’d shown him Clara’s heart with her every move, her every word, their bond unbreakable.
“I think it will work,” he said with a nod.
“Not only will it work, it will give a man the justice denied him for two decades,” Olga said. “You both have every right to want revenge and yet the very fact you are willing to work together, to do so in a way that will expose my granddaughter to as little danger as possible… that is what makes you both men and Nikolai Kosloff the pure evil he is.”
Yuri looked at me, and I saw the conflict on his face and knew I needed to be as honest as Olga had been. Reaching across the table, I once again took her hand.
“You need to know if this doesn’t work… if Nikolai somehow manages to escape the justice he deserves, we”—my free hand pointed to Yuri and then back to myself—“won’t allow him to go free. Not just for Clara and not just for you… but for—”
“Your parents,” Olga supplied. “I understand, and God knows if I were capable, I’d take my own revenge, but know I will pray it doesn’t come to that. But, if it does, then know regardless of what man’s law says… God’s law will be done. An eye—”
“For an eye,” Yuri and I chorused with her only to have her nod and continue with words I don’t remember ever hearing before.
“Tooth for tooth, hand for hand, wound for wound; whatever injury he has given a person shall be given to him.”
And really… what else needed to be said?The ringing of the phone woke me, making me realize I’d fallen asleep on the couch in front of the television. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and tried to force myself awake — even more so when I saw Clara’s number.
“Everything okay?” I had been worried about her since she’d left the theater, afraid, despite her reassurance, something would go wrong.
“I’m all right,” she said, her words those I wished to hear, but her tone one that had me betting she was anything but.
“Come to me,” I said, no longer the least bit tired. “I need to hold you.”
Not a lie, yet not the complete truth either. It seemed Clara wasn’t the only one capable of fudging the facts. I needed to see for myself that Nikolai hadn’t harmed her. Who was I kidding? Of course the bastard had hurt her just by forcing her to dance to his fucking tune.
“I can’t,” she said softly. “I need to go home to Baba. I just wanted to let you know I’m okay.”
She sounded exhausted, and I wasn’t going to put any more pressure on her. “All right, but before I let you go, know your babushka was a real help tonight. She has the memory of an elephant and, by the time we left, we had a plan in place. I’ll go over it with you tomorrow.”
“All right, and, Alek? Thank you… and regardless of what you’re about to say, know I believe it is necessary for you to know how much you mean to me… how much not seeing you turn your back and walk away means to me.”
My heart broke thinking of the fear she’d obviously harbored, the guilt she refused to set aside in the name of survival. “You’re welcome,” I said. “And so I can say goodbye thinking of your smile, I want you to know Yuri is head over heels in love with Babka.”
The sound of her laugh loosened the band of iron that had been wrapping around my chest since learning Nikolai was back in her life. “Baba tends to have men falling in love with her,” Clara said.
“As does her dorogoy granddaughter,” I said. “Good night, Clara.”
“Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I sat looking at the phone in my hand long after she’d disconnected. Glancing at the screen, I saw it was 2:30 in the morning. With the eight hour time difference between Chicago and Moscow, that made it half past ten. I hadn’t yet discussed the plan with Clara, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t set it in motion. Pulling up a screen, I pressed the button I was placing all my chips on.
“Da?”
“Gospodeen Petrov,” I responded in Russian, using the formal word for mister, letting him know he was talking to a man offering him respect. Switching to English, as I knew he spoke it fluently, I continued. “You probably don’t remember me, but I am Alexei Volkov. I’m the son of—”
“Maxim and Nadia Volkov,” he said. “I do remember you. And your brother Yuri as well. I was very sorry to hear of your mother’s death. She was truly a treasure.”