“So what?” She hardly blinks. “I’ve killed too.”

I gape at her, stunned into silence, and she explains, “It was when the estate was attacked. I found a gun, hid in the bushes, and shot at the men attacking us. I wounded one and killed another. I later learned that the wounded one died too.”

“But you were only a child.” I can’t get over my shock. “You’re telling me you killed two people when you were what—ten, eleven?”

“Almost eleven,” she says, shrugging. “And yes, I did.”

“But . . . but you seem so—”

“Normal?” she supplies, looking at me with a strange smile. “Nice? Of course, why wouldn’t I be? I killed to protect those I care about. I killed men who came here to bring us death and destruction. It’s no different from cutting off the head of the snake that wants to bite you. If I hadn’t killed them, more of our people would’ve died. Maybe they would’ve killed my mother, as well as my father and brother.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I could never have imagined that Rosa—cheerful, round-cheeked Rosa—was capable of something like that. I’ve always thought that evil leaves a trace. I see it in Julian, etched so deeply into his soul that it’s a part of him. I see it in myself now, too. But I don’t see it in Rosa. Not at all.

“How do you not let it affect you?” I ask. How do you retain your innocence?

She looks at me, and for the first time, she appears older than her twenty-one years. “You can choose to let the black stuff tarnish you, Nora, or you can brush it off,” she says quietly. “I chose the latter. I killed, but that’s not who I am. I don’t let that act define me. It happened, and it’s done. It’s in the past. I can’t change the past, so I’m not going to dwell on it. And neither should you. Your present, your future—that’s what matters.”

I bite my lip, my eyes beginning to burn with incipient tears. “But what kind of future can this child have with parents like us, Rosa? Look at what’s happened to me and Julian over the past two years. How can I be sure my baby won’t be kidnapped or tortured by Julian’s enemies?”

“You can’t be sure.” Rosa’s gaze is unflinching. “Nobody can be sure of anything. Bad things can happen to anyone, anywhere. There are soldiers who live to a ripe old age, and office workers who die young. There’s no rhyme or reason to life, Nora. You can choose to live every moment in fear, or you can enjoy life. Enjoy what you have with Julian. Enjoy this baby you have growing inside you. It’s a gift, not a curse, to bring forth life. You might not have chosen to bring a child into this world, but it’s here now, and all you can do is love it. Treasure it. Don’t let your fears spoil it for you.” She pauses, and then adds softly, “Don’t let your soul get tarnished by what you can’t change.”

Chapter 11

Julian

“So what’s the damage?” I ask Lucas as we leave the training area. I’m breathing hard, my muscles are sore, and my left shoulder is aching, but I feel satisfied.

I’m nearly back to my former fighting shape—as the three guards limping away can testify.

“There was another hit in France, and two more in Germany.” Lucas wipes the sweat off his face with a balled-up towel. “He’s not wasting any time.”

“I didn’t think he would.” Given Peter Sokolov’s singular focus on revenge, I know it’s only a matter of time before he eliminates the rest of the men on that list. “How did he do it this time?”

“The French guy was found floating in a river, with marks of torture and strangulation, so I’m guessing Sokolov must’ve kidnapped him first. For the Germans, one hit was a car bomb, and the other one a sniper rifle.” Lucas grins darkly. “They must not have pissed him off as much.”

“Or he went for expediency.”

“Or that,” Lucas agrees. “He probably knows Interpol is on his tail.”

“I’m sure he does.” I try to imagine what I would do if someone hurt my family, and a shudder of fury ripples through me. I can’t even imagine what Peter must be feeling—not that it excuses his endangering Nora to get this fucking list.

I still want to kill him for that.

“By the way,” Lucas says casually, “I’m having Yulia Tzakova brought here from Moscow.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “The interpreter who betrayed us to the Ukrainians? Why?”

“I want to personally interrogate her,” Lucas says, draping the towel around his neck. “I don’t trust the Russians to do a thorough job.” His expression is as impassive as ever, but I see a hint of excitement in his pale gaze.

He’s looking forward to this.

I narrow my eyes, studying him. “Is it because you fucked her that night in Moscow?” The Russian girl came on to me first, but I passed on her invitation—and then Lucas expressed an interest in her. “Is that what this is about?”

His mouth hardens. “She fucked me over. Literally. So yeah, I want to get my hands on the little bitch. But I also think she might have some useful info for us.”

I consider that for a moment, then nod. “In that case, go for it.” It would be hypocritical of me to deny Lucas some fun with the pretty blonde. If he wants to personally make her pay for the plane crash, I see no harm in that.