Chapter thirty-four

"I like Saturdays," Jack mumbled against Irina's belly. "I can have you all to myself—"

There was a loud knock on the door. "Mommy! Daddy! Can I go see the vin, uh, can I go see the grapes with Uncle Andrei?"

"Yes," Irina called. "Be good!"

Jack chuckled, his breath tickling Irina's skin. "Were you addressing me or Sydney?"

"Funny, Jack – Oh!" His fingers found a sensitive spot, and she gave a contented sigh. "Be grateful I locked the door this time."

"My clever wife." He kissed her, teasingly nipping at her lower lip. "Speak Russian to me."

"Why?"

"I want to hear you speak it."

Irina ran her fingers lightly down the side of his face. "Ia tebyu lyublyu."

He caught her wrist with his free hand, and kissed her fingertips. "I love you, too."

She placed her palm over his heart and smiled. "Moya." Mine.

He kissed her. "More."

"More?"

"I like it." Another kiss. "You should start teaching Sydney."

"I wish I could take you to Russia, Jack. Show you where I grew up." Her smile was sad. "I wish you could meet my mother."

"One day," he said.

"Mommy!" Sydney banged on the door again.

"They can't be back already." Jack swore, the curse muffled by Irina's body.

"Mommy! Aunt Katya's here!"

"Give us a minute, sweetheart." Irina laughed, and pushed Jack off of her.

The mood in the kitchen was a much more somber one than the last time they'd all been together. Despite Sydney's protests, Andrei had taken her out again, leaving Irina, Katya and Jack sitting around the kitchen table.

"I don't understand," Katya said. "No one knows you're here."

"Clearly somebody does." Jack had his arm draped over the back of Irina's chair, but there was nothing casual about the gesture.

"I've heard some vague things about Rambaldi but I haven't actually come across anything myself." Katya ran her fingers through her short hair, and Irina wondered if her sister felt as exhausted as she looked. "It's all so secretive, and now someone just hands you a couple of manuscripts."

"He seemed quite confident I'd be interested in them."

"Were you?"

Irina shrugged non-committally.

Katya glanced around the kitchen, and when she finally looked at Irina again, there was an expression in her eyes that Irina had never seen there before: fear. "I've heard talk of a prophecy. Of a woman."

"It's a fairytale, Katya." Irina reached across the table and held her sister's hand. "It isn't me. I don't believe it. I won't believe it."

"It's not about whether or not you believe, Irushka." Katya sighed. "I thought you were safe here. You're going to have to leave. Don't tell me where you're going."

"Katya—"

"Wait." Jack's tone was ice cold. "How long have you known about this prophecy?"

"A few years."

"A few years?" Irina stared at her sister in shock. "Katya. Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I didn't believe it."

"And you do now?"

Katya shook her head. "No. But others believe it. You wouldn't believe who or how high up this goes. It's bigger than the KGB or the CIA, or any one country. Run, Irushka, while you can."

Irina felt a chill settle in her bones. "This is insane."

"What did you do with the manuscripts?"

"We burned them," Jack said.

Katya closed her eyes, some of the tension leaving her. "Good."