Ally looked over Shariff’s shoulder while he rang the doorbell. Carved into the wood of the tall mahogany doors was an intricate forest scene. From the delicate feathers of the birds in the sky to the complex details in the flowers and leaves in the garden, the artist had not missed a single element in creating the masterpiece. When the doors were closed, as they currently were, a thick-trunked tree formed in the middle. Metal clicked against wood as the locks opened. When the trunk separated in two, the sight of the man who stood between the tree halves made her suck in a breath.
Dressed in jeans, a loose white tunic, and leather sandals, his sleeves were rolled above his elbows. Muscular and about six feet tall, the man’s black hair was buzzed short and eyes were dark brown. She stared at the blue tinge of a fading bruise clinging to the corner of his right eye. He didn’t say a word, nor did he acknowledge her presence. He didn’t have to. She worked on keeping her face emotionless as excitement surged through her veins.
Shariff spoke to him in Urdu, but Ally couldn’t focus on his words. For the first time since she’d arrived in Frankfurt, hope fluttered in her gut. Eddie stepped aside, allowing them in. With every step she took, she walked taller and her head lifted a little higher. Ally followed Shariff, ignoring the man at the door. She scanned the foyer. Creamy marble tiles, swirled with grays and silver, covered the floor while soft beige paint hugged the walls. A silver mirror hung over a dark wood console table.
She noticed the way Shariff ran his hand over the table as he entered the huge expanse of a living room. He stopped in front of a large staircase in the middle of the room and gripped the banister, staring at the top floor. Its thick, dark wood rails and long stone rungs made it the centerpiece of the home. The marble stairs ascended up the height of the mansion, branching out into two separate directions.
While she watched Shariff, she felt someone watching her. Her skin prickled. She scanned the room for the source. Hand-carved furniture adorned with richly upholstered cushions brightened the space. Tapestries in deep reds and golds hung against the walls. The furnishings, the carvings, the art, everything about it exuded wealth.
Wassim sat at the far end of the room, in a leather armchair, his dark eyes burning into her. Acid rose in her throat. Ally met his gaze, refusing to look away, and approached him. As Sayeed’s widow, she still held a position of power—a fact they both knew. His thick brows lowered, almost forming a straight line, and his jaw shifted from left to right as he grit his teeth.
Dressed in a long white shirt, which hung below his knees, and loose matching pants, his arms rested on the sides of his chair. At five-six, Wassim was average-sized. But what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in his ability to intimidate. It was the reason Sayeed hired him to guard his first wife. Little did Sayeed realize the guard would do more with his wife’s body than protect it. Times had changed, and the man before her no longer claimed the title of Alyah’s hired guard. He had replaced Sayeed as both her husband and the ruler of the arms trade business his wife’s late husband created.
“Such a handsome little guy,” Shariff said as he walked by. It was only then she noticed the child seated on Wassim’s lap. “Spitting image of my late brother except for the eyes. Those are clearly his mother’s. Don’t you think, Bhaabi?”
Enormous green orbs stared up at Shariff as the grown man squatted and pinched the child’s cheek. “Hello there. I’m your chacha.” His plump face tilted and chubby cheeks turned rosy. Brown curls, identical to Wassim’s, bounced when he turned his back to them, hiding his face in his father’s chest.
“Just like his father,” she answered.
Shariff translated her response. Although Wassim said nothing, from the way his jaw twitched, her message had hit the target.
A plump little hand grasped Wassim’s ear, pulling it closer to his tiny mouth. The boy pointed back at her as soft words floated through the room, far from the whisper he intended. “Babba, who is she?” he asked in Urdu.
Wassim put an arm around the child, pressing him close, and rested his cheek against the boy’s as his icy stare returned to Ally. “No one you need to be afraid of, son. As long as Babba is here, no one will hurt you.”
Her chest tightened. His words also hit their target. Only his was a lie. She scanned the space and the men standing around her. So much evil surrounded them, and in the center of it all was a tiny boy with green eyes who had good reason to be scared. They all did.
In the back of the space, an open door led into the hallway. At the threshold stood a woman with the same beautiful green eyes as the child, but this pair was filled with fear. In the three-plus years since their paths had crossed, the sharp edges of Alyah’s face had rounded. Her once pale skin had warmed to a soft brown. As beautiful as she was before, she was even more so now.
She wore a short-sleeved paisley salwar in pale yellow and matching leggings. Unlike the Alyah of the past, her dark hair was left uncovered, pulled away from her face. A scarf draped around her neck, the edge of which she twisted.
The woman’s neck turned a deep red under Ally’s gaze. There was no doubt she wished it was all a bad dream. Up until a few minutes ago, Alyah believed Sayeed’s second wife had died, and the only people alive who knew about her affair and the truth about the child seated in her husband’s lap was herself and Wassim.
“Alyah Bhaabi! You look stunning as ever.” Ally looked over her shoulder at Shariff. He leaned against the banister of the stairs, arms crossed, a smirk on his face. “And look at the surprise I brought with me.”
Alyah glanced at him briefly before staring back at the floor. “It has been a long time, Shariff.”
He laughed. “I know. I have been busy but hopefully bringing Sara Bhaabi will earn my forgiveness? She is a miracle, isn’t she?”
“We were told she died three years ago with Sayeed,” Wassim said flatly. “How did she survive?”
Ally looked around the opulent home, pretending to not understand the conversation around her. When Shariff started to translate, Wassim silenced him. “Hassan will ask her what happened.”
“Wassim would like to know if Sayeed is alive.” Eddie spoke in English, but his words were thick with accent.
Ally cleared her throat. “I was told he died in the explosion.” She kept her hands clasped and head down as he translated her response to Wassim.
“Who told you this?”
“The American soldiers,” she said.
“Did she actually see him dead?” Ally’s heart tugged at the fear in Alyah’s voice.
After Eddie translated her question, Ally met her gaze. “No. I was hurt in the explosion, and when I woke up, I was in a hospital in Germany with no memory of what happened.”
“And everyone else?” Eddie asked.
Ally sucked in a breath. “Dead.”
“Liar,” Wassim growled. “She has always been a liar. There were over fifteen people with her in the house. And only she survived? Impossible. Unless she had a hand in killing the rest.”
Her body tensed. Three other men stood around the room. Although she couldn’t see their guns, she was confident they were armed and would do whatever their boss commanded. She held her hands together in front of her and forced herself to stay still.
“He asks how you survived and no one else did?” Eddie translated.
“I don’t know. I went back to the States after recovering from my wounds.”
“She hated us all. The woman is here only for money,” Wassim snapped upon hearing her response. “She should be dead, not standing in my home.”
“The length of her life is not your decision to make, Wassim. And,”—Shariff stretched out his hands—“as far as this home is concerned, it is not yours. It is my father’s. He will arrive Sunday so he can talk to her personally and hear the story for himself.” He walked to her side and crossed his arms. “Let me be very clear to all of you. She is my bhaabi. My brother’s wife. As such, everyone in this house will treat her with the respect she deserves. If she is hurt in any way, you will have to answer to not only me but my father. Understood?”
Wassim’s scowl deepened, but he did not respond. A heavy silence fell upon the room as most glared and one smirked. “Now, will someone see to it that a nice room is prepared for her?”
Eddie nodded, grabbed her suitcase, and disappeared up the stairs.
“Excellent.” Shariff wandered over and picked up the child from his father. The little boy looked between the lap he left to the face of the man who currently held him, as if trying to decide if he was happy with the change. “You’re not scared of me, are you?” he asked the child in a singsong voice.
Ally remained rooted to the floor, willing the child to cry and run away. Unfortunately, the toddler grinned and shook his head.
Shariff laughed. “Smart boy. We are going to have a lot of fun together.”