by Nic Saint
“Yeah, I had no idea Willie was gonna do that, by the way. Jack Curtis had already kicked my bony hiney out before I had the chance to talk him out of it.”
He eyed her narrowly. “Are you saying you had nothing to do with that YouTube disaster?”
She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I would never do such a thing, Yulian. You told me in no uncertain terms you wanted the interview buried, so I never tried to have it aired.”
He nodded. “Thank you for that clarification. If it’s any consolation to you, it makes me feel even more like an ass than I already did after this Gorev thing. And by the way…” His eyes swiveled to her behind. “Your ‘hiney’ is absolutely perfect.”
She smiled. “Thanks. I guess.”
He eyed her ruefully, and gestured with the USB stick. “Now about this little item. What do you think these men are after?”
She frowned in concentration. “While that madman was waving that knife in my face, I wondered the exact same thing.”
“Oh, God,” he muttered.
“No, it’s all right. I’m getting used to it by now. I figure it’s just one of the perks of getting involved with a Mafia Don.”
He winced. “You may have a point there.”
“About you being a Mafia Don, or about me getting used to being associated with you?”
He grinned. “Both.”
She blinked at the full wattage of his smile, and thought he’d never looked more handsome than right now. If she hadn’t known any better, she might have flung herself in his arms again, and allowed herself to be dissolved by his devastating kisses. But she did know better, so she flicked her eyes to the stick, and returned her mind to the problem at hand. “The video,” she muttered.
“Right,” he said, slightly disconcerted by the sudden change of topic.
“I’ve watched both the short version and the long one, and the only difference seems to be that you talk more about your personal life in the rough cut, most notably about your wish to start a family of your own one day, and hear the pitter-patter of baby feet on the Gornakov mansion floor.”
“I do remember that,” he nodded.
“Yulian?”
“Mh?”
“Do you remember me asking you about naming your firstborn?”
His eyes darkened, just the way they had that day.
“See? You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what again?”
“The squint. Dodging the question.”
“I’m not dodging the question. I just don’t like to talk about that sort of thing, that’s all.” He gave her a wry smile. “You of all people should know that by now.”
“I do, but…” She hesitated, not wanting to cause another rift between them, then trudged ahead. “Do you have a child already, Yulian?”
The thought of Yulian fathering a child with that horrible singer Aurore made her stomach tighten, but she fought it. This was important, and perhaps even the key to this mystery.
He eyed her for the longest time, then finally inclined his head. Sinking onto the bed, he drew his fingers through his hair. “God, you are good, aren’t you?”
She smiled uncertainly. “This is not an interview, Yulian. This is just me, as a person, trying to figure out why men are trying to kill me all the time.”
He looked properly sobered at this. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to figure this thing out.” He sighed, and seemed to gather strength. “Yes, I do have a son. He’s twelve, and living with his mother in Moscow. All I know is that his name is Vasily, and that he’s healthy and doing well.”
Relief flooded her. So he hadn’t fathered a son with Aurore after all.
“You look suspiciously happy,” he smiled.
She waved a hand. “No, it’s just… I thought so all along, and I’m just glad to see my journalistic instincts proven right.”
“Your journalistic instincts are remarkable, Julia,” he said seriously, “but then you knew that already.”
“You—you haven’t kept in touch with your son?”
“No, I haven’t. I had an affair with Vasily’s mother. A brief fling, if you will, which only lasted a couple of weeks. When she came to me later, and told me she was pregnant and wanted to keep the baby, I gave her my blessing, and told her never to tell a soul.” He grimaced. “Knowing that you’re a Gornakov tends to bring out the worst in people.” When she gave him a rueful smile, he laced his fingers through hers, and added, “I wasn’t talking about you, honey. Just in general. If anyone knew I had a son, they might try to use him to get to me.”
The warmth of his touch spread up her arm. It felt good. “Which is exactly what they’re trying to do now,” she offered.
He rubbed his chin. “One of my enemies must suspect I divulged something on that video he might be able to use.”
“Which is good news. It means they don’t know about Vasily, or otherwise they would have gone after him already.”
“They’re just fishing,” he agreed, perking up.
She pointed to the video. “You never revealed you have a son.”
“No, I didn’t. But if they’re as smart as you, it won’t take them long to figure it out, and then all they need to do is dig a little deeper and they might find him. As long as they know where to look…”
They both stared at the stick, then he waved it. “Is this the only copy?”
She nodded. “The original was destroyed per your instructions, remember?”
He eyed her thoughtfully, then shoved the stick into the pocket of his dinner jacket.
“Hey!” she cried, appalled when he rose and started for the door. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Destroying the evidence that might lead to my son,” he grunted. “And if you have an ounce of common sense, you know it’s the right thing to do.”
“No, the right thing to do is for you to hand me back my interview and trust me to keep it out of harm’s way.”
“Like you did the first time? No way. If I hadn’t shown up…”
Anger flared up. Though she knew he was right, that still didn’t give him the right to take her property without her agreement.
She held out her hand. “That stick is still mine, and I want it back.”
He made a sound of disgust. “Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve said? If this falls into the wrong hands…”
“It won’t,” she promised.
“How can I trust you?” he shot back immediately, and the tone of the question had tears stinging in her eyes.
“If you take that stick, I never want to see or speak to you again,” she warned, her voice thick with emotion. “Never, you hear me!”
His face darkened, his jaw working. “I have an obligation to my son. His safety comes first,” he shot back, and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
“Yulian!” she cried when the sound of metal on metal crashed through the small space. It was the sound of finality, she knew. The sound of the end of something that had never even really started.
She threw herself onto the bed, and this time didn’t stop the tears when they came. Sobbing desperately, she knew her life to be over. Not only had the only man she’d ever come close to loving just walked out of her life, her career as a reporter was now definitely over. He’d never stand by his promise to lift the ban he’d raised against her working in her chosen field again.
This cot would be hers for the rest of her life. This cabin her home, and her father the only employer who would ever be induced to hiring her.
But what hurt her the most, she knew, was that he hadn’t trusted her to do the right thing. If only he’d handed her back the stick, she would have destroyed it before his very eyes. She would have shown him he could place the life of his son in her hands, and she would not betray his trust.
Now, it was too late.
CHAPTER 12
When Yulian returned to his cabin, he found Ruslan watching the hallway cabinet wit
h a jaundiced eye.
“Trouble, Ruslan?” he inquired.
The man scratched his bald scalp as his eye swiveled to his master. Then, without a word, he opened the cabinet door, and afforded Yulian a glimpse of two men bundled up inside like sausages.
“Ah,” he said, understanding his assistant’s qualms.
“What are we going to do with them, sir? We can’t keep them locked up in there forever.”
“Not forever,” he pointed out. “Only until the end of the voyage.”
“And then we simply hand them over to the cops, sir?”
There was criticism in the words, though it was nicely veiled behind astonished incredulity. Never before, he meant to say, had a member of the Gornakov family allowed an enemy to walk away with impunity.
His response sounded harsher than intended. “Yes, Ruslan. We let the police handle things. It’s the way regular people do things. Law-abiding people.”
“But they’ll come after us again, sir,” his man pointed out.
“I highly doubt whether they’re that dumb,” he grumbled, then walked over to the liquor cabinet. After his fight with Julia, he was in urgent need of a drink.
Ruslan seemed unimpressed. “They will come after us again, sir, and this time, they’ll make sure to come in numbers.”
Yulian scoffed. “How many Gorevs can there possibly be?”
“Plenty, sir.” He threw a cautious eye at the duo, then a critical one at his master. “I dare say we should throw them overboard, sir. I could easily do it tonight, under the cover of darkness. No one will ever be the wiser, and they’ll never bother us again.”
“The Gornakov family is done killing people, Ruslan. How many more times do I have to say it? I’m not that guy.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ruslan with pretty deference. “Of course, sir.”
At the frosty tone, Yulian relented. “You may keep them in the closet until we leave the ship, all right? That way they can’t harm us while we’re here.”
“Yes, sir.” He clearly saw this as a small consolation. “I still feel…”
He turned on his loyal servant. “Enough, Ruslan!” he roared. “Enough killing, all right? I’m not a killer. This Mafia business? It ends with me!”
If Ruslan was insulted by this display of verbal abuse, he didn’t show it. His face remained as impassive and halibut-like as ever. “Of course, sir. Trouble with your lady friend, sir?” A hint of solicitude was clear in his voice.
Yulian let his long body drop onto the sofa, and nursed the drink against his temple in an attempt to cool his temper and ease his mind. “You might say that.” He produced the memory stick. “You know what this is?”
“Can’t say that I do, sir, though if I may venture a guess… Does it have something to do with the infamous interview we partook in, sir?”
Yulian’s face split into a grin. “I never could hide anything from you, could I, Ruslan? Yes, you’re right. This little stick contains the unedited version of the interview I granted Miss Stern a couple of weeks ago. It was the cause of our rift, as you may recall, and the cause of my most recent trouble as well.”
“I’m sure the lady will understand your adherence to privacy, sir.”
“Oh, she does. She finally does. Only now we have bigger fish to fry. On this teensy piece of electronics I seem to have revealed the fact that I have a son.”
Ruslan’s left eyebrow trembled, indicative of his great agitation. “Sir?”
“Yes, Ruslan. According to Miss Stern, who’s very sharp and very quick-witted I might add, I hinted to the fact that an heir to my throne is walking the streets of Moscow at this moment. And this is exactly what my enemies are so interested in, as you might well imagine.”
“You have to destroy the stick, sir.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do, only…” He sighed. “This interview means a great deal to Julia. It was her big break. The piece of journalism that would launch her career. Instead, I made certain her career skidded to a halt, and now here she is, working for her father, performing menial chores that are so far beneath her it sickens me.”
“Yes, sir. She has a point there, sir.”
“Yes, she does, Ruslan.” He shook his head. “I behaved like a rapscallion.”
“She will forgive you, sir.”
He looked up, a flicker of hope in his eye. “Do you think so?”
“I’m quite certain. If I’m not mistaken—and I rarely am, sir—the light I saw in her eyes when she regarded you was most definitely the love light, sir.”
“The love light, eh?”
“Absolutely the love light.”
Yulian grimaced, then stared at the tiny object in his hand. What the heck was he going to do with this? On the one hand, he needed to protect his son by destroying the stick and making sure the interview was never seen again. On the other… Destroying the interview would upset Julia so much, she would probably never speak to him again.
He sighed. “A dilemma. That’s what I’m faced with. A terrible dilemma.”
“I would suggest following your heart, sir,” said his trusty servant. “In my experience it will always indicate the right course of action.”
He placed his hand on his heart, as if to make certain he understood its reasoning. No thought entered his mind but the jumble of confusion that had lived there since meeting Julia. “My heart is very quiet tonight,” he murmured.
There was a movement in the closet, and Ruslan, taking a club out of his pocket, proceeded to smash it down on the head of one of the Gorev brothers, then returned to the conversation. “All you need is a good night’s sleep, sir. It will come to you in the morning.”
“Do you think so?”
“Quite, sir,” said the man with quiet conviction.
“All right,” sighed Yulian. “If you say so.”
And with these words he retired to his bedroom.
He just hoped Ruslan was right, for as matters now stood he didn’t have a clue how he could preserve both his own safety and that of his family, and make things right with Julia. It was a difficult choice, and for a long time he tossed and turned, unable to find sleep. Then, finally, when the clock struck one, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep, and was lost to the world.
CHAPTER 13
On the other side of the ship, Julia was still wide awake. She, too, had trouble finding sleep after the stirring events of the day. When Yulian had walked out, he hadn’t merely taken her heart along with him, but her peace of mind as well. She’d been unable to sleep for what seemed like hours now, staring up at the ceiling and feeling miserable. Finally, disgusted with both herself and her situation, she rose and slipped into her nightgown. She was going for a walk, she decided. The deck would be cool and deserted at this time of the night, and she would get some air and perhaps clear her mind.
Stepping onto the deck in her flip-flops, her pink terry cloth robe casually wrapped around her and fastened with the purple velvet sash, she shivered. It was colder than she’d anticipated, the nights even in the Caribbean surprisingly chilly.
As she leaned on the railing and stared up at the full moon as it hung suspended like a big chunk of cheese, she thought harsh thoughts of both herself and the decisions she’d made, and Yulian Gornakov, the man who’d made certain her life had turned to rubble in the space of a single television interview.
She loved him, she now knew. And she hated herself for it. How could she love a man who so clearly despised her and everything she represented? He didn’t trust her, and he sure as hell didn’t love her back. Or even like her, for that matter.
If asked by a persistent reporter, he would probably list her among his least favorite people in the world, and she couldn’t blame him. She’d brought him nothing but trouble. How could she have known he’d fathered a son, and that he’d accidentally divulged the big secret in the interview? It was a testament to her reporting skills that she had found out the truth behind the Gornakov facade, and showed she possessed w
hat it took to succeed. But she had clearly crossed the line. Her investigative skills had revealed secrets that should have remained hidden.
God, how he must hate her now, for putting the life of his son in jeopardy…
Ever since she was a little girl, she’d shown a penchant for asking the right question at the right time, and for writing stories that people wanted to read. Being a reporter was what she’d always wanted to be, her only dream, and her parents had always encouraged her to go after it, wherever it might lead. She’d eagerly taken their advice, and her life had been one long string of small successes and breaks, until she got her big break with Yulian.
And then she’d made a mistake. She’d forgotten she was dealing with a human being, not merely a story to be broken. Yulian was a man with a secret, yes, and she’d sensed that and had gone after it like a pit bull on a trail. She should have followed her heart instead, and backed off.
Her dream had collided with common decency, and her ambitions had won out over compassion. She’d felt Yulian’s resistance and had pushed on when she should have held back.
Her mistake, and she was paying dearly for it.
As she thought all these things and more, suddenly two strong arms enveloped her from behind, and lifted her up against a wiry frame before she had the chance to respond. Then a hand descended on her mouth, and a voice hissed in her ear, “Be quiet, or be dead.”
God, not again! she thought. In her exasperation, she sent her foot crushing down on the man’s toe with all her power. There was a loud cry piercing the nocturnal silence, and when she turned around, she found herself facing yet another Gorev. This one was dancing on one leg, nursing his injured toe. She was so mad she threw caution to the wind, and gave the man a shove, punching him in the stomach as hard as she could. He staggered back and fell to the deck, but not before the knife dropped from his hand and clattered to the floor.
She quickly stooped down to retrieve it, but the man snarled, “Hold it right there, Miss Stern!”
She looked up, and saw that this Gorev had had the good sense to arm himself to the teeth. She stared down the barrel of the small gun and swallowed.