Mike smiles, and it is, to her horror, the same crooked grin that Grant has. It is the one resemblance between them. “That’s the thing about truth these days—we all get to define it. I’m one of the most powerful men in Russia, when I’m home. The Russian press will take my side—that my son was wrongly stolen from me years ago, that you bribed the judge, then murdered his poor mother, that I have simply taken back my son rightfully. Sasha and I will issue a statement saying that he came willingly because of what you and your murdering husband did. The Russian government will never send him back to you.”

“He’ll be an adult in four years. He won’t stay.”

“Perhaps. Of course, you may all still be in prison, and he may have gotten used to the lifestyle my son is entitled to enjoy. I can give him a life of comfort and luxury you can scarcely imagine. You can give him nothing.”

“You launched a war against us. Against my family.”

“More like an intelligence operation. To show Sasha what you really are. Murderers.” The smile vanishes. “Am I wrong? Did you not leave Anya dead?”

Her voice quivers. “Punish me and Kyle, fine. But my daughter did nothing to you.”

“Sasha doesn’t need any ties here. Plus, you took my child. Do you understand that? You are nothing, and you took something that belonged to me.” Mike pats his own chest. “So, it’s important to me that you understand what kind of special hell that is, Iris.” The flicker again, of the smile. “That is the hell I have made for you.”

“Grant!” she screams. “Mom is here, baby!”

“Mom!” Grant screams on the other side of the door.

“Pilot! Take off now!” Mike yells. “Peter! Tell Sasha it will be all right.”

Both of them hear Peter scream.

And then Iris aims the gun right toward Mike.

Mike shakes his head. “How many people are you going to kill for your son, Iris? Do you think this will make him love you? Or will it just make him afraid of you?”

Iris stares at him.

“Danielle told me how you always insisted she had killed Anya. But she said it was you. You turning the gun close to Anya’s heart, you pulling the trigger.” He looks at the gun, unafraid of it in her shaking hand. “Are you going to kill both of Sasha’s parents?”

“Danielle was lying.”

“Danielle is dead. Take off!” he yells at the pilot. And she hasn’t even noticed the pilot in the cockpit, presumably going through some preflight configurations or whatever they do.

She lowers the gun.