“It’s more a blood tie than a business connection, I’m afraid.”
My brows lift. “What?”
“Paul doesn’t just work for the Petrovs. Heisa Petrov.”
“That’s… that’s not possible. Paul’s family is from Colorado. He was born and raised on the cattle ranch his great, great grandfather purchased for cheap back at the turn of the century.”
“I’m afraid that’s just another lie your husband told you, Shelby.” She pulls out a sheet of paper. “Paul Hunt, born Paul Sergei Usenko, to Dmitry and Ekaterina Usenko. The family legally changed their surname to Hunt upon their immigration to the United States in 1992, just after the collapse of the Soviet Union.”
I suck in a gulp of air, feeling like my whole world is spiraling out of control. “You’re mistaken.”
“I assure you, I’m not. If you’d like to see the documentation, it’s all right here in this folder.” She pushes the file across the table at me.
My hands shake as I reach out and take it. For the next few minutes, I’m consumed by the documents before my eyes. Birth certificates, copies of their immigration papers, photographs of my in-laws from nearly thirty years ago, taken the day they entered the country, a brown-haired toddler boy bundled in their arms.
Paul.
“Your in-laws are merely renters on that ranch, who receive room and board in exchange for maintenance of the land.” Agent Sykes’ voice has thawed —damn, even the ice queen feels bad for me right now. “As for Paul, he grew up in government-subsidized housing just outside of Denver from age three to eighteen, at which point he made his way to the East Coast for college. Looks like he got a free ride to—”
“Stone Hill University,” I finish for her, feeling like the floor has fallen out beneath me. “Where… where he met me.”
Sykes nods.
I look down at my left hand. At the bare fourth finger where my wedding ring used to rest. I curl it into a tight fist and tuck it away beneath the table before I can do something stupid, like punch the wall.
God, I’m such a fool.
Such an utter idiot for spending a decade of my life swallowing pretty lies from a man I thought I could trust. For failing to ask the pertinent questions, to push back when he forced me to keep my nose out of the financial affairs of our household.
I glance up at Sykes. “I understand the name change — my great grandfather came through Ellis Island in the 1920s and went from Pasquale Alfonsi to Patrick Alberts in an attempt to assimilate to American culture.” I blow out a sharp breath. “What Idon’tunderstand is why Paul would keep it a secret… why he’d lie about his entire background…”
“We believe, in leaving Russia, your in-laws were hoping to cut ties to the Petrov family and get a fresh start.” Sykes reaches for the folder again and locates a faded photograph. “Here. The woman in this photo is—”
“My mother-in-law,” I say, staring at a much younger version of the woman whose son I married. “Katrina.”
“Katrina Hunt. Also known as Ekaterina Usenko. And before that… Ekaterina Petrov. ”
My eyes lift to hers. “She’s a Petrov?”
“That photograph was taken in Moscow in the early 1980s. See the man standing next to her?”
I nod, my gaze following Sykes finger as she points out the blurry figure beside Katrina. His features are hardly recognizable due to the poor picture quality. All I can make out is dark hair and dark eyes and a full beard.
“That’s her brother, Alexei, beside her.”
I glance up at the name. “Alexei. As in…?”
“Alexei Petrov. The same Alexei your attackers mentioned yesterday.” Sykes sits back and folds her hands together on the table. “He’s the leader of the Petrov crime syndicate. The boss, if you will.”
“Oh,” I say weakly. I’m suddenly having trouble breathing. “But… why would he come after Paul?”
“We believe your husband has bridged the gap his mother created when she ran from Russia — and her older brother — all those years ago. Our surveillance suggests he’s been doing business with his uncle for some time, now.”
“Paul…” I shake my head. “You’re saying Paul is in business with a Russian crime lord.”
“Well…” Sykes sighs. “Yes. He was. For a time.”
“I don’t understand.”