Chapter 8 - WHY STELLAN VARO NEVER TRUSTED ANYONE
The fire did not reach the main residence.
Lucian had targeted an equipment building near the east perimeter, apparently hoping the blast would disable part of the compound’s security network.
It worked for eleven minutes.
Eleven minutes was enough for him to disappear.
Again.
By sunrise, Stellan had lost a cousin, two buildings, six vehicles, and whatever remained of his willingness to assume betrayal had limits.
Celia found him alone in the ruined east courtyard.
Smoke still climbed from blackened stone.
He stood without a coat despite the cold.
“You’re going to freeze.”
He did not look at her.
“I’ve been colder.”
Celia stopped beside him.
“That sounded dramatic.”
“It wasn’t intended to.”
“That’s usually when you’re most dramatic.”
His mouth moved slightly.
She had learned that was the Stellan Varo equivalent of laughter.
For several minutes they watched firefighters finish checking the ruined building.
Then Celia asked, “Was Lucian close to your brother?”
Stellan went still.
“Yes.”
“What was your brother’s name?”
“Adrian.”
She waited.
Stellan rarely continued without being asked.
This time he did.
“Adrian was seven years older. Everyone assumed he would inherit my father’s businesses.”
“And you?”
“I was the spare.”
Celia looked at him.
“I’m guessing your family did not use that word affectionately.”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Adrian died in Prague.”
“How?”
“His car left a bridge.”
“Accident?”
“That was the official conclusion.”
“And your father believed Grekov arranged it.”
“Yes.”
“Did Lucian know?”
“He helped investigate.”
Celia felt the pieces move.
“What if that was the point?”
Stellan turned toward her.
“What?”
“Lucian didn’t betray you eight years ago.”
She spoke slowly as the thought formed.
“What if he betrayed Adrian before that?”
Stellan’s face changed.
“If Grekov wanted your brother gone, he needed someone close enough to know where Adrian would be.”
“Lucian.”
“And after Adrian died, your father became suspicious. So Lucian needed him gone too.”
Stellan stared toward the smoke.
“My father trusted Lucian.”
“So did you.”
“That was my mistake.”
Celia shook her head.
“No.”
His eyes moved to her.
“Trusting someone is not the mistake. What they do with it is.”
For a moment, he simply looked at her.
Nobody spoke to Stellan that way.
Celia had understood that by now.
People either feared him, obeyed him, flattered him, or hated him.
She did none of those consistently enough for him to categorize her.
Perhaps that was why he kept listening.
“You should go home,” he said.
She sighed.
“We’ve had this conversation.”
“I mean after this is finished.”
“That sounds almost optimistic.”
“I mean it.”
Celia watched his face.
“Why?”
“Because you have a life.”
She laughed softly.
“You clearly didn’t read the financial section of my file carefully enough.”
“I did.”
“Then you know I have an eviction notice in my car.”
“I know.”
“Collection calls?”
“Yes.”
“Three dialysis appointments a week?”
“Yes.”
“Three hundred twelve dollars?”
“Three hundred twelve dollars and forty-eight cents when you arrived.”
Celia stared at him.
“That is deeply invasive.”
“Yes.”
“And strangely specific.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head.
“My point is, I don’t have some beautiful life waiting outside your gates.”
“You have one that can become beautiful.”
The sentence was so unexpected that Celia stopped.
Stellan seemed annoyed at himself for saying it.
She looked away before he could see how deeply it landed.
“My mother used to say rich men believe money solves everything.”
“It solves many things.”
“Not the interesting ones.”
“No.”
Celia looked back at the ruined building.
“Why did the first six interpreters really leave?”
Stellan was quiet.
Then, perhaps because the compound was burned and his cousin had betrayed him and exhaustion had removed whatever wall he normally used, he answered.
“The first discovered the negotiation involved Grekov and panicked.”
“Reasonable.”
“The second lied on his résumé.”
“Also reasonable. For you.”
“The third was struck by one of Grekov’s men after refusing to change a translation.”
Celia’s jaw tightened.
“You let Grekov leave after that?”
“I broke the man’s hand.”
She looked at Stellan.
“Oh.”
“He did not return.”
“That explains the split lip.”
“Yes.”
“The fourth and fifth?”
“They were married.”
Celia blinked.
“To each other?”
“Yes.”
“That was not in the briefing.”
“They had been hiding the relationship from the agency.”
“Why leave at two in the morning?”
“They heard an argument between two guards and believed an attack was coming.”
“Was it?”
“No. One guard had slept with the other guard’s sister.”
Celia stared.
Stellan remained completely serious.
She laughed.
He looked at her as though laughter were a foreign language he had not prepared to translate.
“The sixth?”
“He was exhausted.”
“Nervous breakdown in the rose garden?”
“He had consumed eight espresso shots and no food in twenty hours.”
“That will do it.”
“I sent him home.”
“And Mara stayed.”
“Yes.”
Celia looked at him.
“The legend is better for you than the truth.”
“What legend?”
“That you terrify interpreters until they vanish.”
“Fear is useful.”
“And inaccurate rumors?”
“Sometimes more useful.”
“That is an exhausting way to live.”
His gaze shifted toward her.
“It keeps people at a distance.”
There it was.
The thing beneath the thing.
Celia’s childhood talent.
People said one thing with their mouths.
Their hands said something else.
Stellan’s hands were motionless at his sides.
But he stood alone in the ruins of something his own cousin had destroyed.
Distance was not simply strategy.
It was protection.
“You don’t have to scare me away,” she said.
His eyes locked onto hers.
“You should be scared.”
“I am.”
That surprised him.
Celia continued.
“Being afraid and leaving are different decisions.”
Something changed in his face.
Small.
Dangerous in another way.
“Why are you still here?”
She could have said money.
Her mother.
The recording.
The job.
Instead she told him the truth.
“Because everybody around you keeps deciding what you deserve to know.”
Stellan said nothing.
“And I hate bad translation.”
A breath of laughter escaped him.
Actual laughter.
Barely audible.
But real.
Celia smiled.
For three seconds, the feared Stellan Varo looked like a man rather than a reputation.
Then Archer appeared across the courtyard.
“Sir.”
Stellan turned.
Archer’s expression erased the moment.
“We found Lucian’s destination.”
“Where?”
“The Grekov estate.”
Celia’s stomach tightened.
Archer continued.
“And Grekov has requested a final negotiation.”
Stellan’s eyes hardened.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“With one condition.”
“What?”
May you like
Archer looked at Celia.
“He wants Ms. Rowe at the table.”
