Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(51)
“Petrov Rosinsky must be a very horrible man.” Giada reaches for a book and flips through the pages. “My grandfather has told me much about the man, but I had not realized he hurt so many people.” She slips the book back into the box. “What are you going to do with these?”
These books could bring down the man who killed her parents. My father was killed for these records, and I’m about to turn them over to the very man he died trying to take down. I want to be able to tell her that I’m going to do the right thing, that I’m going to give these to the authorities, but I can’t lie to her. I can’t even look at her. “I’m, uh… still deciding what my next move should be.” It’s not a lie, but it’s definitely not the whole truth.
She accepts my answer without comment, but I suspect she realizes there’s more to my story than I’m letting on. “More to the story,” I say out loud as an idea begins to form in my mind.
“Pardon?” Giada’s expression is full of confusion and only grows more so when I pull a short stack of books from the box and set them back inside the secret panel.
I fan my hands over the remaining logs to spread them evenly throughout the box. “I’m going to leave a few of these here, if that’s okay. For safekeeping. Don’t want to put all my eggs in one basket, ya know?” I can tell by the look on her face that she doesn’t know.
“How can we reach you to get you the rest of the files?”
I spot a pen and notepad on the credenza and jot my phone number down before handing it to her. “That’s my cell,” I say. Not that it’s going to matter, since Petrov confiscated it with all my weapons. “But…I might not be able to answer.”
She narrows her eyes at me in confusion and waits for me to elaborate.
“I’m not exactly here of my own free will…”
Understanding dawns in her expression, and she looks wildly from her grandfather to the box to me as I replace the stack of loose papers and photos. I close the box, lock it, and then, pushing the secret panel on the credenza shut, I return to Paolo’s side. “Thank you, Signore Fabrizio, for protecting my father’s secret all this time.”
“I’m sorry he was not able to see what a lovely and brave young woman his daughter has grown into.”
His words sit heavy in my heart as I take the box back downstairs to Vasili. I’m not brave; I’m ashamed, and for the first time since he disappeared, I’m glad my father isn’t around. I wouldn’t want him to see me betraying him this way.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Guilt eats at me the whole drive back to the plane, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. Vasili took the box from me the minute we were out of the villa and in the car, and now it’s on the passenger seat next to him. He’s been using it as an armrest.
Will leans closer to me and grabs one of my hands in his. It helps that Vasili didn’t bother to tie us up again when we left Paolo’s villa. Maybe he doesn’t care if we escape now that he has what Petrov has been after all this time. Or maybe he just doesn’t think we’re a threat. And really, he would be right. I’m not a flight risk as long as my mother is still under Petrov’s control.
The drive seems to fly by. I can’t tell if we’re actually driving faster than the trip out there or if it’s just my dread and fear and the quickly encroaching nightfall making the scenery seem to speed by. Not that it matters. What’s done is done, and as much as I hate myself for it, I wouldn’t undo it right now if I could. I set my head on Will’s shoulder, close my eyes, and do my best to bury my lingering guilt over what I’ve just done.
When the car pulls to a stop, I’m not ready. I may never be ready for the moment to come, the moment where my betrayal of my father’s memory and his sacrifice is complete. But I open my eyes and sit up anyway, waiting stoically for Vasili to let us out of the car. The plane is still unguarded, and bright light filters through all the windows as well as the open fuselage door. It seems counterintuitive to me that Petrov, a man who I would assume has enemies all over, would fly anywhere without extreme caution and a number of armed guards. But I haven’t seen any evidence of any henchmen except Vasili, Niko, and the pilot since we left New York. Except, of course, my turncoat of an uncle.
We’re only halfway up the stairs when Petrov appears in the doorway. He looks much less put together than he has up until now. He’s removed his sport coat, and his yellow polo is wrinkled and partly untucked from his slacks. His black hair is disheveled, as if he’s been running his hands through it nervously while we were gone. Was he worried we wouldn’t come back? I don’t know exactly how long we were gone, but it can’t have been long enough for him to think we’d taken off with the evidence. My stomach flips at the thought that he might have freaked and hurt my mother in his worry.
“Where is it?” Petrov’s voice is practically frantic as he visually inspects first me, then Will. When his gaze comes to rest on Vasili, bringing up the rear with the wooden box in hand, he claps with delight and giggles like a crazy person. The more time I spend in this man’s presence, the less he seems like the masterful leader of a widely feared crime syndicate and the more he seems like a mental case with too much power.
He steps aside and ushers us into the main cabin of the plane, and I’m relieved to see my mother in the same place where I left her. Her gag is off now, too. That’s a good sign, right? I try to cross the cabin and go to her, but Niko appears from somewhere behind me and restrains me with a tight grip on my elbow.