Chapter Twenty-Six

She looked like a “Goth Girl” costume purchased at a pop-up Halloween store in the mall—blood red lips, heavy kohl eyeliner, leather wrist cuffs, oversized T-shirt featuring the profile of a skull, and shredded black skinny jeans tucked into Doc Martens. The look was only made more dramatic by the J.Crew model Regina was standing beside. Sophia’s trademark strawberry blond hair was perfectly straightened, her tailored white button-down shirt was open just enough and tucked into slim gray pants cropped above black, pointy heels. Her black sunglasses were large in the style of Jackie O but offered little disguise. I guess Sophia hoped that if the interview went her way, she wouldn’t need to hide for much longer.

“Looks like Charlotte got the route right,” Keira said as we locked eyes with Sophia.

Our hacker friend had suspected that Sophia and Regina might walk across the bridge to reach a location more accessible to taxis. She was correct.

Slowly, a smile broke on Sophia’s glossy pink lips as she placed a porcelain hand on Regina’s shoulder, claiming ownership. She wanted me to know that she had her.

Not for long.

“God, Sophia sucks,” Keira hissed.

“You have no idea.”

This was the first time the two had seen each other in years and definitely since Keira was kidnapped. Sophia removed her sunglasses and scanned my sister from her light brown locks all the way to her knee high boots. Then Sophia rolled her eyes in disappointment.

“Oh, no she didn’t.” Keira narrowed her gaze, then peered at me. “Should we call Charlotte?”

I reached into my pocket and banged out a quick text.

We have her. On the bridge.

Who knew how long it would take for Charlotte, Julian, or the authorities to get here. We had to make sure Sophia didn’t get away, right? That Regina stayed safe?

“Let’s say hello,” I suggested, and Keira smiled like it was exactly what she wanted to hear.

We marched across the cobblestones, parting tourists as the sun fell almost completely behind the horizon. The city was now lit by the amber glow of gas lamps and the dramatic lighting from the ancient architecture that reflected on the surface of the Vltava River. Sophia and Regina were glowing from a nearby strobe.

“So glad you girls could make it,” Sophia greeted, like a cheery hostess. “Regina is very excited about her television debut. Aren’t you, Gina?”

She glared at me as she used the pet name, which was appropriate. She probably had a biscuit in her pocket.

“You can’t stop me.” Regina cocked her hip, her tone as harsh as her outfit. “I don’t even know why you’re here. Save your breath.”

“Actually, I’m hoping to save yours.” I tried hard to keep my voice calm, but there was a part of me that stared at my now unrecognizable friend like a mother wanting to tell her daughter to march up to her room and wash that crap off her face. She was so blinded by grief and rage, she couldn’t see what she was doing. She couldn’t see who she was with.

“I don’t need your help,” Regina said through her teeth.

“Really? Is that what you’re wearing to go on Nightline, or the BBC, or whoever you’re giving this interview to?” Keira glared at Regina’s punk ensemble.

“Says the girl who’s sporting jelly bracelets.” Regina nodded toward the two-inch stack of rainbow ’80s jewelry on my sister’s wrist. Touché.

“While I’d love to stand around and talk bad fashion all day, we have places to be.” Sophia adjusted her posture like she actually expected us to make way.

“It’s over. I already sent the text.” I waggled my phone at her.

Sophia set her jaw. “You really think it’s gonna be that easy?”

No, I didn’t. But so far, events seemed to be working in my favor, so I wasn’t going to question it.

“Felicity already has almost everything she needs.” Sophia glared at me. “This interview is a formality. Don’t you want to know what we said?”

“I can guess.” I stayed calm, trying to call her bluff. “But there are a few things I’d like to say to you. Some things Regina might be interested in hearing about her new friends.”

I held Sophia’s gaze and, for a second, I saw a flicker in her blue eyes—the thought that maybe she wasn’t the one in control, maybe I knew a lot more than she realized.

Maybe I was trapping her.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” Regina griped like the snotty teenager she was.

But Sophia and I never broke eye contact. She knew I was serious. And she knew she couldn’t stand on this bridge much longer or the police would descend.

“Let’s go some place quiet,” Sophia offered.

We all followed her.

Two years ago, Sophia dated a ferry boat captain in Prague, which meant the guy dressed in a blue and white sailor suit daily and tried to coerce tourists into paying too much for a slow boat ride that went nowhere. Apparently, this boyfriend (though I doubt she’d called him that) used to bring Sophia down to the docks after hours to “be alone.” This meant Sophia knew the exact route to guide us from the overly populated bridge, down a narrow set of steps, and through what should have been a locked iron gate, but Sophia knew it would be open. We entered onto a small peninsula, in the shadow of the Charles Bridge, just large enough for a few trees. Nothing else. There was no grass, only dirt, and no leaves on the trees since it was still April. The tiny patch of land was connected to a building, but it must not have been a hotel, nor anything of significance, because it seemed to be the only structure along the river that wasn’t dramatically lit.

In fact, there was no light around at all. And Sophia knew that, which put my body on alert.

“We have proof,” Regina blurted as soon as we stopped walking and our eyes adjusted to the darkness. “The whole world is going to know your parents are alive and what they did to Tyson. They’re going to know you’re just like them.”

“Which parents are you referring to?” I peered at Sophia. It was getting easier to see in the dim light, and I could tell from her face that they’d kept my paternity to themselves. My DNA placed me a notch higher on the Urban totem pole, and she was the only person who hated that more than I did.

“We’re not dragging Grandfather into this,” Sophia answered, not even able to look at me as she said it.

“Drag him into it? He started it,” Keira snipped.

“He did? I thought that was you,” Sophia stepped toward her, looking like she wanted to swing. We all did. “You know, I’m so glad you got your little blood test run. Maybe if you and your sister hadn’t been such idiots your whole lives, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t kidnapped me, we wouldn’t be here!” Keira tossed back, then she swatted a hand at Regina. “Don’t you think your list of abductions is getting a little long?”

“She didn’t kidnap me.” Regina puffed her chest in her studded leather jacket, like she truly believed there were no strings binding her wrists to her keeper.

“Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in right now?” I stepped toward my old friend.

“I don’t care. The truth is coming out, whatever it takes. Tyson deserves this. And I’m going to do this interview.” She glanced at Sophia, awaiting permission to scurry on their way, but Sophia didn’t move. She couldn’t. Right now, we were concealed in darkness. She’d clearly chosen this location in advance; it was a backup plan. If we went up onto the Charles Bridge now, if we stepped into the streetlights, who knew how quickly the authorities would descend?

“She’s not your friend.” I had to get through to Regina. As angry as she was, she had to have some reasoning left in her. If she didn’t stop these antics, my parents would keep coming after her, again and again, and I might not always be there to stop them. “Do you think she miraculously appeared in your life after Tyson died just to give you all the answers you’ve ever wanted?”

“She’s a better friend than you.” Regina stomped toward me, crunching twigs underfoot. “I asked you point-blank what was going on. I told you his killer left a message for you, I begged you to tell me what you were involved in, what Tyson was killed for, and you wouldn’t. Like I didn’t deserve to know, like I was nothing…”

“I was protecting you! Do you think that’s what she’s doing? You have no idea what she’s done!” I pointed to Sophia, my finger so close to her face she could have bitten it, and it looked like she wanted to.

“Like you’re any better?” Regina’s eyes looked even more demented in the dim lighting, her pupils somehow whiter and her liner even blacker. She was like a crazed raccoon, and I couldn’t keep pretending it was okay. It was time to tell her the truth. I looked at my sister and she nodded slightly, reading my thoughts.

I wasn’t going to let Regina hear this from the cops. She was right. It was time she heard the truth from me.

I dropped my chin to my chest and stared down at my black ankle boots sinking into the mud as I breathed deeply, preparing myself. Then I lifted my head, and stared directly at the girl who let me sit at her lunch table when no one else would. “Regina, Sophia is a bad person, a horrible person.” I glanced at my nemesis, and I could already see she knew what I was about to say. She saw it earlier on the bridge, but she didn’t stop me. She came down here anyway. Why?

I shook off the thought and continued with what I had to say. “Sophia killed Tyson. It was her. All along.”

“What?” Regina’s eyebrows scrunched so tightly the wrinkle between them could hold a penny.

I exhaled, trying to ensure my voice held every ounce of earnestness I’d ever possessed in my life. “Sophia is the one who ordered the hit, she works for Department D, and she wanted to send me that message. It was her.”

“No.” Regina shook her head, pupils enlarged as her spiky black hair drooped from the humidity off the river. “No. That was your parents. They did that. I know they did. They threatened me!”

“Yes, they threatened you, and I’m not saying they’re good people. I’m saying they didn’t kill Tyson. They didn’t have anything to do with that. Sophia did it, all on her own.”

We all turned to Sophia in perfect synchronization, the moonlight illuminating her pale face, and I could see she wanted to deny it—but she hesitated. That was all it took.

“No,” Regina said again, her head whipping back and forth. “No. Tell her, she’s lying!”

But she knew I wasn’t. Everyone did.

Sophia’s body shifted, either preparing to fight or to run, I wasn’t sure. I moved closer.

“Tell her,” I insisted. “The Boston PD knows the truth. The theory came from one of their own, Detective Dawkins.” I looked at Regina, knowing the name would mean something to her. “We told the CIA already, though I think they already knew. And I texted Charlotte that you were on the bridge. It’s over. You did a nice job covering your tracks—killing your assassin while he was in police custody, that was impressive. But you missed something.” I clucked my tongue like a disappointed teacher. “Your little freelance assassin, Damon White? That was his name, right? The guy who killed Tyson? Well, turns out he clashed with Antonio on a mission years ago, and Antonio remembered him. I mean, a twenty-year-old assassin with bright red hair? He’s kinda memorable, especially when he’s slept with the boss’s granddaughter.”

“Wow, you think you’re so clever.” Sophia rolled her shoulders, tucking her hand in her back pocket like she didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m, what, the fourth person you’ve accused of killing Tyson? First, there was your parents, then the Reys, then my grandfather, now me.”

“Are you saying you didn’t do it?” There were only a few feet of muddy Earth separating us, so little space I feared she could hear my heart thumping in my chest. Only I wasn’t scared. I loved the sensation, that feel of the adrenaline coursing right before you let it out. It was one of the reasons I had a black belt. “Detective Dawkins found the money, a twenty-thousand dollar wire transfer from one of your offshore accounts the day after Tyson was murdered. We’ll link it to Damon soon enough, it’s only a matter of time.” I watched Regina’s wide eyes tighten, the truth penetrating every cell of her body so painfully, she actually winced. “Twenty grand. Is that what Tyson’s life was worth to you?”

Finally, Sophia’s mask of perfect stoicism slid off her face. “No.” She snarled, pearly teeth bared. “That’s where you’re wrong. Tyson’s life meant nothing to me. The twenty grand was for Damon’s trouble.”

She expected the kick. She should have. She practically dared me to knock her unconscious. I swung my leg in a sweep to her head, and she leaned back to dodge it. She threw an elbow to counter my move, but I blocked it with the back of my forearm and landed a solid punch to her ear. The crunch felt so good, I smiled, and my sister clapped.

I had a cheering section.

Sophia threw a punch of her own, but I grabbed her skinny arm and held it, throwing a punch with my opposite fist. She returned the favor by grabbing my arm and we stood locked, clasping each other’s wrists. I tried to kick to break free, but she blocked me with her leg, our arms still joined together. So I tugged, and when that didn’t work, I did the only thing I could—I head-butted her. She let go, and I lifted my foot to her chest and shoved her onto the ground, her head grazing a nearby tree.

Her gray suit pants and white blouse splattered with muck in a way that gave me more satisfaction than I expected. I’d ruined her outfit.

“Get her, Anastasia! Hit her!” My sister cheered like a football mom.

Sophia stumbled to her feet, kicking off her designer heels and standing barefoot in the mud. I could have warned her—high heels make for very bad fighting attire. I learned that in Venice. And Rio.

I grinned. “I can do this all day.”

“’Cause you’re a street thug. You don’t deserve our name. You’re an embarrassment.”

“I’m not the one covered in mud.” I stomped toward her and landed a kick to her head so easily it was hard to imagine she was even trying.

The girl was made of bone china, skinny as a runway model with the muscle tone to match, and while that body might look good in lingerie and angel wings, in the real world, it’ll get your butt kicked.

Sophia charged at me with all of her might, tiny nostrils flaring as she threw all her weight behind a ridiculously out-of-control punch. I grabbed her delicate fist, spun my back to her, jabbed my elbow twice into her side, then backhanded her face with my knuckles. Without letting her go, I used the arm I was still clutching to swing her over my shoulder and onto the ground only a few feet from the river’s edge. Then I jumped into the air and landed a punch to her face.

“That’s for Tyson,” I growled through clenched teeth.

Sophia didn’t get up.

“Oh my God! That was amazing!” Keira clapped, jumping up and down.

Regina stood next to her, eyes bulging like she either couldn’t believe what she saw or she was having flashbacks of Tyson’s murder. I hoped it wasn’t the latter.

Keira patted my back as I bent over, panting to catch my breath, hands on my knees as I watched Sophia roll into a fetal position, mud on her lips as she gasped for air.

It felt good watching her wipe blood from her pinched face. I reached for my phone. We needed to text Charlotte again, tell her where to find us. I wanted to see Sophia in handcuffs, to end all of this before my parents or anyone else got involved. Regina was safe. It was over.

Only I didn’t notice how quiet it got.

I didn’t realize Keira’s hand had moved from my back.

I didn’t hear the footsteps from behind me.

“I guess the rumors of your fight with Craig Bernard were not exaggerated,” said a voice.

I startled upright.

It was my father.

“I told you she was good.”

And that was my other father.