Page 67 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
"They're all watching," I murmur.
"That's the point." Andrey pours wine into two glasses, handing me one. "By tomorrow, every family in the city will know you're mine."
The possessiveness in his voice sends heat through me again. I take a sip of wine, letting the rich flavor distract me from the way my body responds to him.
After we finish eating, Andrey suggests that we walk. Matvey stays with the blanket, his eyes tracking our movement as we head toward the lake. The path is quiet here, shaded by overhanging branches.
Andrey's hand finds mine, his fingers threading through mine in a gesture that feels almost tender. I don't pull away. Instead, I let myself enjoy the warmth of his palm and the solid strength of his grip.
"There's somewhere I need to go," I say quietly. "The cemetery where my aunt is buried."
Andrey glances at me, his expression unreadable, and then nods.
We stay a couple more hours at the lake. At one point, we even take off our shoes and wade into the water. It's cold and crisp, but it feels good. I close my eyes and imagine the waves rolling over my feet, then retreating, taking my tension and worries with them.
When we get back to our picnic spot, Matvey has already packed everything into the car. He's standing there waiting for us, the blanket neatly folded under his arm. Andrey and I walk hand-in-hand to the car.
The cemetery is quiet when we arrive, rows of headstones stretching across manicured grass. Andrey stays close as I navigate the familiar paths, his presence a solid comfort even though I don't want to need it.
My aunt's grave is near the back, under a willow tree. I kneel beside the headstone, my fingers tracing the engraved letters of her name. There's no message. No sign that my father has been here.
Disappointment settles heavily in my chest. I'd hoped, despite everything, that he might have left some word, some sign that he's thinking of me.
"Mariya." Andrey's voice is gentle. "We should go."
I nod and stand, brushing dirt from my dress. The drive back to the estate is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
That night, I find myself alone in the bedroom, restless and unable to sleep. My mother's jewelry box sits on the dresser where I left it, and I pull it toward me, opening the lid to study the contents again.
The icons catch the lamplight, their painted surfaces gleaming. I lift them out carefully, setting them aside to examine the jewelry.
One ring catches my attention. I've looked at it before, but this time, something about it seems different. It's gold with a topaz stone at the center, surrounded by tiny engraved animals. A lion. A bear. An eagle.
And a raven.
My breath catches. I turn the ring in my fingers, studying the intricate engravings. The raven is so small I almost missed it, tucked between the eagle and the lion.
On impulse, I press my fingernail against the tiny bird.
The ring opens.
32
ANDREY
Isit on the edge of the bed, watching Mariya turn the small piece of paper that she found in one of her mother's rings over in her fingers. The lamplight catches the delicate lines of the drawing of what looks like old pillars standing in a field of overgrown grass and weeds. She's been staring at it for the past ten minutes, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"I don't recognize this place," she says quietly, frustration creeping into her voice.
I lean closer, studying the sketch again. The pillars are crude but deliberate, drawn with the same careful hand that created all of Yegor's other clues. "Neither do I."
Mariya sets the paper down on the bed between us and reaches for the other items we've collected. The homemade puzzle pieces from the shack that connected with her mother's brooch to reveal a picture of her family's cabin. The scroll we found at that cabin, listing Bratva safehouses in careful Cyrillic script. Yegor's note with the raven drawing that led us to the ring with the raven engraved on it, which she so cleverly found earlier.
And now this. Pillars in a field.
"What does it all mean?" Mariya asks, her voice tight with exhaustion. "Why would my father leave us all these clues if they don't connect to anything?"
I pick up the drawing, holding it closer to the light. "They have to connect. We're just missing something."
