Page 37 of Marked By His Touch

Sergei Blok (captain)

Svetlana Gorbachev

Yan Petrov

Elena Petrov (nine months pregnant)

“John Petrov?”I say, reacting to the name Zara has just read aloud. The word hangs in the air, a tiny spark igniting in my mind.

“No, Yan,” Zara corrects, her brow furrowed.

I nod, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over me. Zara means Sarah. She told me that much. So does that mean—“Yan means John in English?”

“Sometimes,” Zara says cocking her head. “Why?”

“Nothing,” I say, my face pale. “I need to go to sleep.”

I leave the room and go down the hall, my mind spinning. Yan Petrov, John Petrov. Does Petrov mean—Parker?

John Parker. My father’s name. Another name leaps out of the article: Elena Petrov. Elena—Elaine. My mother’s name was Elaine Parker.

My breath catches in my throat. It’s like the world just flipped on its axis.

My parents. John and Elaine Parker.

My heart slams against my ribs as I look at the date on the article. 2nd of April, and the year—I swallow hard. The ship left Russia two weeks before I was born. With a pregnant woman named Elena Petrov to Port Haven. I shake my head.It can’t be.

But deep down, I know it’s true.The ground beneath me feels shaky and unstable. It’s like the world’s spinning, the rug pulled out from under my feet.

Someone from Veles Network didn’t drop the newspaper clip. It was my father’s all along. A truth so gut-wrenching, a secret so deep, that he must have hidden it from me all those years in his old papers back home. I can almost feel the sting of betrayal, the shock that cuts through me like a knife.

The world around me seems to tilt, and everything I thought I knew about my identity and my past is shifting.

My parents, my story, my entire existence – everything is different now.

And I have a lot of questions.

My parents came from Russia. I’m Russian. Ava, or is it Anya? Am I Anya Petrov?

I lay down in my bed, staring at the ceiling.

Chapter 11

The Talk

The air is crisp,not like the stale mood of the safe house. It’s a welcome change, like finally taking a breath after holding it for too long. I walk beside Alexander in the forest near the ranch, his hand hovering inches away, like a silent question hanging between us. He doesn’t close the gap.

Six guards trail us; their presence is like a silent wall of protection. They keep their distance, blending into the scenery like phantoms in the woods. I see Isaac among them, his face as familiar as the lines on my own palm.

The silence between us makes me want to scream and kick, to take his hand and just run away.

But you can’t, Ava or Anya, you made a commitment.

It’s a far cry from the days before the mess with Nikolai, before the nightmare in the club, before the secrets.

My heart aches a dull throb, a silent plea. But I push it away, focus on the task at hand. Tonight, the women strike. The plan is set. We’re going to take down “Kitty’s Port Bar,” that monstrous den of human trafficking, and bring the whole operation crashing down.

Tonight, we fight.

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