Ghost (Boston Underworld #3) - A. Zavarelli Page 0,82
not. I need the proof.
I need what I know is true. That this has all been a game to her. That none of it was real. That she played me.
I find her computer in her room. And on that computer, I find the photos from the slideshow. The photos from Arman.
It is right there in front of me. But still I question it. Question her motives. It feels too easy. Something about this isn’t right.
But I realize, when I look at the tattoo of my dishonor, that is just what I want to believe.
I am tearing the sitting room apart when Talia comes downstairs.
It is two am. And she wore the black silk nightdress as I requested.
My beautiful fucking liar.
My traitor.
She is gutting me with her innocence. The way she looks at me right now. So soft and sweet, and yet so fucking ruthless.
When she sees the anger on my face, she takes a step near me. I hold up my hand and tell her to stop.
“Where is it?” I demand.
“Where is what?” she asks, so innocently.
I am shaking with my rage. With my betrayal. The things I have done for her. I have lied to Viktor. Risked the other Vory to retrieve her. I have protected her as I said I would. Avenged her, as I promised. And now here she stands, refusing to own up to the truth. Just as Katya did before her.
I believed them different, but they are the same.
I can’t even look at her.
“Where is the camera?”
“Alexei?” she stares at me as though she is confused. “Are you drunk?”
“No. For once, my mind is perfectly clear. Are you proud of yourself?” I ask. “You must be. You fooled me better than even Katya.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks again.
“You do know I have cameras in every room of this house,” I tell her. “I will find it. And will you still deny it then?”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” she answers.
Magda appears at the bottom of the stairs, followed by Franco a moment after. They are all staring at my disheveled state, the broken remnants of decorations on the floor.
“Take her up to the third floor,” I demand of Franco. “Set her up in a room there.”
“What are you doing, Alexei?” Talia demands.
“I don’t want to see your face,” is my reply. “I want nothing more from you.”
Magda attempts to protest as well, but I turn away. And continue on my mission. Breaking and shredding every possible hiding place.
By the time Franco returns twenty minutes later, I have run out of places to search.
“Mr. Nikolaev?”
“The camera was in this room,” I tell him. “Recording my private affairs.”
“And you still believe it was Talia?” he asks.
He seems doubtful. Just as I know Magda will be. Their faith in her feels like another betrayal.
“I want all of her belongings sent upstairs,” I demand. “This evening. I don’t want anything left behind. She is to stay on that level from now on. You can inform both of them.”
He doesn’t argue.
So I walk upstairs to my office and settle in at my desk for the evening. The security system in the house only stores recordings for up to a month.
But I have no intention of leaving this room again until I’ve gone through every last recording.
44
Talia
It has been two weeks since I’ve last seen Alexei.
I still don’t know what happened.
The doors are locked, and I am now a prisoner of the third floor. I have no computer. No communication with anyone besides Magda, who seems tired and drawn every time I see her.
At first, I thought it was a misunderstanding. That Alexei was drunk and confused.
But now, I don’t know what to think anymore.
I’m trying to stay positive. But every day, my belly grows bigger, and my heart grows smaller.
I gave him my trust.
And he’s destroying me.
This morning, when the door opens, I am expecting Magda with my breakfast. But instead, it is Alexei.
My heart stutters in my chest, and I grip the arms of the chair I’m sitting in as he walks closer. He has my computer in his hands. But that isn’t what has my attention.
It’s his face.
Closed off. Completely devoid of any emotion for me.
He pauses at least two feet away from me and thrusts the computer onto the table beside me.
“I have recovered these files,” he tells me. “From an email you received. Do you still deny it?”
I glance at the screen, genuinely horrified by the sight before me.