Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(8)

“Do you work for my father?” I bite out the question.

It’s the only explanation that could possibly make sense. Why else would Belevich help me? Why else would he have his number? How else could he have known about Summer? He must have some inside connection he hasn’t disclosed.

Before Belevich can reply, shoes squeak against the linoleum, and I whip around to see Dr. Novotny in the hallway. I jump back from the doorway into the hall, not wanting to get trapped inside the break room.

She doesn’t say anything about my abrupt movements, just sweeps a curious look over my tense form before speaking. “Your friend is going to be fine. He will need to be careful with his shoulder for a while, and while the pain will not be pleasant, he will heal.”

I study her face for signs that she’s lying—eye movement, shifting of her head position, heavier breathing, unusual stillness—but I don’t see any of them.

“You’re sure?” I ask, still not certain if I want to believe her completely, because I haven’t seen Goliath emerge from the treatment room yet.

“Yes. He was very lucky.” She glances at Belevich. “Now you need to go. All of you.”

“We cannot go yet,” Belevich replies, stepping toward us.

“Why not?” Dr. Novotny snaps.

“Because Grigory Federov is on his way to meet his long-lost daughter.”

Dr. Novotny stills for a few beats before whipping her head to the side to look at me, wide-eyed. “This is Illyana Federov?” Her jaw hangs slack as she scans me from head to toe.

The name sounds completely foreign as I repeat it in my head. Illyana.

“Yes, and I’m sure you will have his gratitude for assisting her,” Belevich adds.

She seems to gather herself, wiping away the traces of shock. “Fine. I will clean up, but you must leave as soon as possible. I do not want to attract more attention than we already have. This neighborhood has eyes everywhere. There is no telling how many people have already seen your fancy car outside, and who they have told.”

“Thank you, Marina. I’m in your debt.”

“Indeed you are. I hope you live long enough to repay it, Mitri.”

With her ominous statement, Dr. Novotny retreats from the room, leaving Belevich and me alone . . . waiting for Grigory Federov to arrive.





7





India





The next ten minutes seem to last an eternity, but eventually someone raps on the locked back door of the clinic.

In the treatment room, I take a step toward Goliath, who checks the screen of his phone and shoves it into his pocket. I keep praying he’ll say he got a message from Jericho, but there hasn’t been one yet. He looks a little unsteady as he rises to his feet with a makeshift sling cradling his left arm, but even in his banged-up state, his right hand shifts to the gun tucked into his pants. He’s my only friend here, and the one thing I regret is not being able to get him alone so we could discuss what our plan B is if my decision blows up in our faces.

I keep asking myself—what would Jericho do? The only answer I can come up with is stick to Goliath like he’s my last hope for survival, which he very well might be.

Belevich’s voice comes from the hallway, and a much deeper, gruffer voice replies in what I assume is Russian. Why didn’t I learn Russian? Oh, wait, that’s right, because I didn’t know that I was Russian.

The deeper voice has to be my father’s. Or at least, the man who claims to be my father.

I’ve never been so unsure of what to do in my life since the day I realized Summer and I were on our own for good because our mother wasn’t coming back for us.

The soles of shoes slap against the linoleum floor, and I straighten my shoulders as if preparing for battle. The only choice I have is to meet whatever fate my decisions have brought head-on.

If it brings Jericho home to me, that’s all that matters.

I remind myself for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes that Jericho liked my father enough to do business with him, and I’m hoping it wasn’t a huge mistake to contact the man. Jericho would want me to stay safe. And I want to have an army at my back to save him. If this is what it takes to get that army, then so be it.

As Goliath and I wait in the treatment room, I find myself wishing we’d chosen somewhere with a second door, so we could escape if we needed to run. Why didn’t I plan an escape route? Why didn’t he?

Before I can answer that question, a man appears in the doorway.

As soon as his gaze lands on me, his craggy features soften enough to change his entire countenance from stony and forbidding to mortal man.

“Illyana.” He whispers the Russian name that I never knew was mine as he crosses himself like he’s in church. “You are the image of your mother.” He presses a giant fist to his mouth as he stares at me with tears gathering in his eyes.

But his statement is completely wrong. “You’re mistaken. I look nothing like my mother,” I tell him, slipping behind Goliath’s shoulder.

Federov’s features harden beneath his steel-gray hair, and the tears are blinked away like they never existed.

“That bitch, Nina, wasn’t your mother. Nina took you from me. She wanted to hurt me in the most painful way, and she did. I have waited years for this moment. She stole your life from you. She stole a lifetime from us. May she rot in hell where I sent her.” His harsh tone punctuates every word with a growl.