One of Boris’ guards is behind the steering wheel. I recognize him as the one who threatened to take my leg because I killed one of the idiots.
In the backseat are Boris and Anton. The photo is clear enough to make out the scratch marks Nina left on the fucker’s face.
“I’m sorry, Georgi,” Rosie says, drawing my attention to her. “But I have a consolation prize for you.” She types again, and the next second, I’m looking at old photos of Boris and Anton before shit went down. Them golfing, eating at a restaurant, and shaking hands. It doesn’t tell me anything except that they’re close.
I check the other information, and a smile begins to tug at my mouth. “Are those bank accounts?”
“Yep, and I’ve already emptied them. Every last Euro is in a Swiss account under Nina’s name.”
When I grin at her, she gives me an excited look and asks, “I did good?”
“You did very good,” I praise her.
She widens her eyes at me. “I have more for you.”
She taps on the keyboard again, then photos of a much younger Nina appear.
“This is everything I could find on Nina and her daughter. I wanted to make sure you were safe with her.”
I stare at the innocent expression in Nina’s big brown eyes, and I realize it had to be taken before her life turned to shit.
“How old is she here?”
“Seventeen.” Rosie leans forward and points at Nina’s personal details.
Nina Pavlova.
I hate that fucking last name.
I learn her birthday is on February fifth, and Simi’s is July twenty-eight.
I pull my phone out and program the dates into my calendar so I don’t forget them.
Nina is twenty-seven. She was twenty-two when she got pregnant with Simi, and twenty-three when she gave birth.
I frown and glance at Rosie. “Are there no medical records of the birth?”
“None.” Rosie’s features tighten. “Which means someone did a very good job of erasing them, or Nina never gave birth in a hospital.”
Christ.
I feel the blood drain from my face. They forced her to deal with her miscarriages by herself, so they probably…
I shake my head as I get up and stalk to the tinted windows overlooking the Hudson River.
An alarm beeps through the air, and when I glance over my shoulder, Rosie mutters, “It’s Enzo. Ugh.”
Not wanting a front row seat to their weird relationship, I walk to the elevator door. “Let me know the instant you track either of those fuckers.”
“Will do.” As the doors open, Rosie calls out, “By the way, your bloodwork came back. Besides needing some magnesium, you’re in good shape. Glad to see there were no broken bones.”
I shake my head and let out a sigh. The wordsinvasion of privacydo not exist to Rosie.
The doors slide shut, and when they open again on the fifth floor, I hear Enzo whistling as he comes from the other direction.
Walking toward him, I give him a chin lift.
“Good to see you, brother. How do you feel?” he asks as he stops to shake my hand and give me a hug that’s really just a shoulder bump. “You look better.”