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“I don’t care about the perimeter anymore,” I cut in, pacing the narrow teak with long strides. “I need you to dig deep, Ghost. Medical records deep.”
“Define medical records, Maxim.” There’s a short pause.
“Hospitals, private clinics, lab results, prescription orders. Anything flagged under her name or the alias she used,” I snap, staring back at the distant terrace where she stands. “The faster, the fucking better.”
“You think she’s sick?” Ghost’s voice loses its casual edge, turning sharp.
“I think she’s carrying my child,” I growl into the phone, the words ripping from my throat like a declaration of war. A heavy silence falls over the line for three long seconds.
“Understood. I’m opening a private backdoor into the regional databases now. I’ll hit you back the second I pull a verified file.
“Do it fast,” I grunt, killing the call. I stand at the railing, trying to control my breathing as the sea air whips around me. The world feels narrower, stripped down to a single, unshakeable axis. If she is carrying my baby, if she ran across an entire contentment carrying a piece of me inside her, there’s nowhere on this earth she can hide that I won’t follow.
I swipe through my contacts, find Nolan’s number, and hit Call. “Maxim. I’ve been trying to reach you. The board meeting acquisition was pushed to three, and they need your final sign-off for the merger.”
“I hate like fuck to put this on you,” I say, my voice steady, my head clear. Work is the last thing I have the patience for. “I need you to handle it for me. The email should be in your inbox now.” Nolan pauses, then the sound of clicking comes alive in the background.
“What? Maxim, you’re supposed to lead that meeting. Where the hell are you?”
“I’m in France,” I state plainly, looking out over the water. “Antibes.”
“France?” Nolan questions, sounding completely baffled. “What are you doing in the south of France in the middle of this merger? You disappeared into a bottle of scotch, cleaned yourself up, and now you’re on the Riviera?”
“I found her,” I say quietly. Nolan knows better than anyone about the hell I’ve been living through for the past eight weeks. He saw the inside of my office, the pushed-around reports, the reckless disregard of my work while I chased a phantom with blue-gray eyes.
“The woman from The Sphere?” he asks. “Ghost found her?”
“Liliana Delacroix,” I reply. My thumb traces the edge of the ship’s railing. “And I won’t be in the office anytime soon. I’ll work remotely for the time being. Meetings will have to be held via teleconference. This is going to be an uphill battle with her last name.”
“Christ, leave it to you to make me break this to your sister.” He lets out a low whistle. “The Delacroix name isn’t something you just barge in on without collateral damage. What’s your play here?”
“I’m staying. Until the wedding.” My voice is cold and resolute.
“The wedding? Whose wedding?” Nolan is caught off guard.
“Yours, without a doubt. I’m walking Mischa down the aisle, and then I’ll do the same for Liliana and myself. She just doesn’t know it yet.” Before Nolan can recover for what I’m sure will be a long, drawn-out conversation, I hang up the phone and slip it back into my pocket.
“I’ll be back,” I tell the deckhand, making my way off to the dock. The Range Rover I had delivered is waiting at the curb. It’s sleek, blacked-out, and the engine is idling with a low, ominous rumble. The delivery driver steps out, tips his head as he holds the driver’s side door open for me. I slide inside, pulling the heavy door shut with a solid thunk that seals out the sound of the ocean.
I put the SUV in Drive, input the address into the navigational system, and glide the vehicle through the winding coastal roads. The ancient walls, the blooming flowers, and the tall trees frame the sea below, but I see none of it. My mind is fixed on the vision of Lana standing on that terrace, her hand resting over her stomach and her body keeping secrets that belong to me.
She thought she could disappear into thin air.
She thought she could take a piece of my soul.
She thought she could hide.
She’s wrong.
I turn the Range Rover down a quiet private lane flanked by olive trees, the tires crunching over the gravel road. I slow my car to a gradual halt when the road dead-ends at a set of wrought-iron gates adorned with the intricate crest of the family name. I roll the window down once I’m stopped, press the button, and stare directly into the small camera lens above the black box.
“Tell Liliana,” I pause before finishing my statement, “that Maxim Romanoff is here.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
liliana
Itake a small bite of my croissant, trying to force myself to relax in the tranquility that Mamé has so effortlessly created for us. But the lingering warmth on the back of my neck has yet to fade. It stays there like a gentle, persistent spark, making my heart race in my chest. I reach for my glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, but before the rim even touches my lips, the heavy wrought-iron doors of the inner courtyard click open.
