And apparently, he has a sick sense of irony.
The wrought-iron gates are rusted, the hinges barely clinging to the rest of the fence. It doesn’t look like anyone has touched them since I tore down the driveway and left this place in my rearview almost ten years ago. I’m sure that’s what my father wanted people to think, anyway.
Raoul is already inside the gates. I can see him and a few other men pacing around a concrete dome rising out of the ground. As I get closer, I see the metal door set into the concrete.
“It was all Anatoly,” Raoul tells me as soon as I get out of the car. “After you left the hospital, he looked at the history of the tracker from his car. He could see everywhere Pyotr had been. The i***t left the mansion and drove straight here. He didn’t make any stops or try to
