Chapter 21
The broken window had been covered with heavy plastic, but cold air still crept across the marble floor. Security men stood along the walls, watching the front entrance.
The doors opened.
Snow blew inward.
The woman stepped inside.
Up close, she appeared smaller than she had on the monitor. Her coat was damp at the shoulders. Silver threaded through her dark hair, but her face still carried traces of the young woman in the photograph.
The same high cheekbones.
The same steady gaze.
Victor stopped several feet from her.
“Sofia.”
The woman looked at him.
Her lips trembled.
“Hello, little brother.”
Victor made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a breath breaking apart.
He crossed the distance between them.
For a moment, he simply stood there, as though afraid she would vanish if he touched her.
Then Sofia lifted a hand to his face.
“You got old,” she whispered.
Victor caught her wrist.
“You’re alive.”
“Yes.”
“You were alive all this time.”
The words carried wonder first.
Then hurt.
Sofia lowered her hand.
“I had reasons.”
“Twenty-four years.”
“I know.”
“You let me believe you were dead.”
“I know.”
Victor stepped away.
The distance between them returned, larger than before.
Sofia looked past him.
Her eyes found mine.
Then Lily’s.
The color left her face.
She gripped the handle of her cane.
I shifted Lily higher against my shoulder.
“Do not come closer,” I said.
Sofia stopped.
May you like
“I won’t.”
“What did you mean at the gate?”
