Chapter 8 Dimitri #2
She blinks, surprised, but she doesn't move. She stays perched on that edge, coiled tight with nervous energy.
I sigh wearily. “I’m not going to hurt you, Vera. Relax.”
“You wanted to see me?” Her voice is quiet as she refuses to heed my words.
“I need to ask you some questions about yesterday.” I lean back in my chair, studying her, looking for any sign of deception, any hint that she's hiding something. “About the attack.”
Her face goes, if possible, even paler. “What about it?”
“Did you know it was going to happen?”
“Excuse me?” The word comes out sharp. “No! Of course not. How could you even—”
“Someone knew,” I interrupt. “Someone gave up the information about that meeting. Location, timing, security protocols. All of it. And I need to know if it was you.”
I watch her carefully as I say it. Her eyes widen and her breath catches. Genuine horror floods her expression before her spine straightens and shoulders pulling back in indignation.
“You think I—” She stands abruptly and her hands curl into fists at her sides. “You think I was part of planning an attack that almost killed me?”
“You’re an Ashford,” I say flatly, ignoring the logic of her answer. “Your family has every reason to want this peace to fail. Maybe they decided you were an acceptable casualty if it meant taking out Volkov leadership.”
“You’re—that’s fucking insane.” Her voice is tight with anger now, not fear. “My father wouldn’t— nobody would—” She stops, swallows hard, and takes a breath. “I almost died yesterday. Those bullets were inches from my head. I felt them go past me. If you hadn’t…”
She trails off, her arms wrapping around herself. The anger drains away, leaving only exhaustion and pain. “You saved my life. And now you’re accusing me of trying to orchestrate my own murder?”
I study her for a long moment. The terror in her eyes is real. The trembling in her hands is real. The way she’s holding herself together by sheer force of will—that’s real too.
She’s not lying.
“Sit down,” I say quietly.
She scowls. “I don’t want to—”
“Please.”
The please surprises both of us. She stares at me for a moment, then slowly sinks back into the chair. She’s still on the edge, but at least she’s sitting.
“I don’t think you were involved,” I admit. The words taste strange in my mouth. This might be the first non-hostile thing I’ve said to her since the wedding. “You’re right. You were a target too. But I had to ask.”
She nods slowly, not taking her eyes off me, like she’s trying to figure out if this is a trap.
Smart girl.
“Someone on the inside gave up that information,” I continue. “Someone from my side or yours. And I need to figure out who before they try again.”
She blanches. “Try again?” Her eyes dart around the room. “You think they’ll—”
“Yes.” I don’t sugar-coat it. “Whoever orchestrated this won’t stop just because the first attempt failed. They’ll regroup. Plan better. And next time, we might not be so lucky.”
She’s quiet for a moment, biting her lower lip. I do my best not to watch the movement. “What do you need from me?”
The question surprises me. “Huh?”
“You said you need to figure out who did this. What do you need from me to help?”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on my desk. “Information. About your family. Your father, your uncle, anyone in their inner circle. Have you noticed anything unusual? Any meetings that seemed off? Conversations that stopped when you entered the room? Anything that felt wrong?”
She thinks about it, her brow furrowed in concentration. It’s the first time I’ve seen her truly focused on something other than her own survival.
“My uncle Marcus,” she says slowly. “He’s been... I don’t know. Smug? Since the wedding. Like he’s pleased with how everything turned out. And at the meeting yesterday, before the shooting, he looked almost... satisfied? Like he was waiting for something.”
My hands curl into fists on the desk. Marcus Ashford. Of course he’d be involved in this.
“What else?” I prod.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head, shrugging. “I haven’t exactly been privy to family business since…” She gestures vaguely between us. “Since this. They don’t trust me anymore. I’m a Volkov now, remember?”
The bitterness in her voice is unmistakable and deserved.
“What about before the wedding?” I press. “In the days leading up to it? Did your father have any unusual meetings? Take any calls that seemed important?”
She thinks about it. “There were a lot of calls,” she admits, tapping a slim finger against her thigh. I track the movement. “A lot of closed-door meetings. But that’s not unusual for family business, is it? Most of it was probably about negotiating the terms with your uncle.”
I startle. “With Konstantin?”
She nods. “Yes. He and my father spoke several times. They worked out all the details of the arrangement.” She pauses. “I overheard my father say once that your uncle was very... determined to make it happen quickly. Like he wanted it finalized before anyone could change their minds.”
I nod. That sounds like Konstantin. Once he decides on a strategy, he commits fully. It’s one of the things that makes him such an effective advisor.
“Anything else?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not that I can think of. But if I remember something, I’ll tell you.”
We sit in silence for a moment. This is the longest civil conversation we’ve ever had. It’s the first time we’ve worked together instead of against each other.
It feels strange. Wrong in some ways. But also... right?
“I still need more information,” I say finally. “About your family. Their patterns, their relationships, how they operate. Things I can’t learn from surveillance or intelligence reports.”
She looks at me warily, brown eyes narrowing. “What are you asking?”
“I’m asking you to help me understand them.
” I lean forward slightly, watching as a strand of her auburn hair slides down her shoulder.
“You grew up in that world. You know how your father thinks, how your uncle operates, what their tells are when they’re lying or hiding something.
That’s information I can’t get anywhere else. ”
Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “You want me to betray my family?” she asks sharply. “When you know as well as I do that loyalty is the highest currency in this world?”
“I want you to help me keep us both alive,” I correct. “Look, I know I haven’t given you any reason to trust me. I know I’ve made your life shitty since you came here, but right now, we’re in this together, whether we like it or not.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her fingers still intertwined tightly. “What kind of information?”
“Anything that might help me understand who would want the peace to fail. Your uncle Marcus—tell me more about him. Really tell me, not the intelligence file version. What kind of man is he? What motivates him? Would he sabotage a meeting where his own family was at risk?”
She considers this carefully before sighing, “Marcus is... ambitious. Always has been. He’s my father’s younger brother, and I think he’s always resented being second.
” A bitter smile crosses her full lips. “When my father decided to pursue peace with your family, Marcus was against it from the start. He said it made us look weak.”
Yes, this is what I’m looking for. “So he’d have motive to sabotage it,” I say, writing this down.
“Maybe.” She bites her lip, thinking. “But killing his own brother? Risking Vincent’s life? I don’t know if he’d go that far.”
How naive of her. “People do surprising things for power,” I remind her.
“I know.” Her voice is soft. “I’m living proof of that, aren’t I?”
I suppress a flinch. She’s right. Vera’s here because both our families decided she was an acceptable sacrifice for their own ends.
“What about your father?” I ask, wanting to move away from this uncomfortable line of questions. “His relationship with Marcus. Any tension there? Any signs of conflict?”
She thinks about it, and I can see her mentally going through memories, analyzing them with fresh eyes.
“They argue sometimes. About strategy, about how aggressive to be with territory expansions. Marcus always wants to push harder and take more risks. My father is more cautious.” She pauses.
“But they’re brothers. They’ve always presented a united front to outsiders. ”
“Until now, maybe.”
“Maybe.” She doesn’t sound convinced.
“If your father contacts you, I need to know,” I continue. “Not to use against him, but because I need to understand what they’re planning.”
She laughs bitterly. “He won’t contact me. First, because you’ve forbidden me to have any contact with the outside world.” She fixes me with a piercing look.
Oh yeah, I did do that.
“Second,” she continues, “he made that clear yesterday when he ran without checking if I was alive. I’m not his problem anymore. I’m yours.”
The way she says “yours” hurts. It’s like she’s accepted it and resigned herself to being property that changed hands.
“What about before the wedding?” I ask. “In those ten days between when you found out and when we got married. Did you notice anything unusual? Any meetings, any conversations that seemed off?”
She crosses her legs at the ankles, thinking.
“Like I said earlier, there were a lot of closed-door meetings,” she finally says, like she’s lost in thought.
“My father and Marcus, my father and your uncle. A lot of phone calls. But I wasn’t involved in any of it.
Again, they kept me away from the planning as apparently, it was better if I didn’t know the details. ”
“Did you ever hear them arguing? About the terms, about the arrangement?” I ask, hoping that she eavesdropped. Alexei used to be the king of that.
“Once.” She looks down at her hands. “The night before the wedding. I heard my father and Marcus fighting about something. Marcus said—” She stops, like she’s not sure she should continue.
“What did he say?” I ask urgently, heart thumping.