Chapter 19 Vera #2
“You look beautiful,” he says quietly.
Heat floods my cheeks. After everything he can still make me blush with a simple compliment.
“Thank you,” I manage, my heart thumping.
Six men wait outside, all dressed to blend in but clearly his security team. I recognize a few of them from the night of the car bombing. The ones who threw themselves over us without hesitation.
Dimitri introduces them quickly, Sergei, Viktor, Mikhail, Dmitri, Pavel, and Anton. I try to commit the names to memory, but my brain is too full of fear and adrenaline.
The drive to the mall takes twenty minutes and I spend the entire time gripping Dimitri’s hand in the back of the SUVs. It’s the first time I've left the estate in two weeks, and everything looks foreign. Threatening.
I’m still watching.
The words echo in my head on repeat. Whoever sent that text could be anywhere. They could be following us right now.
Could be waiting for us at the mall.
“Breathe,” Dimitri murmurs, squeezing my hand. “I’ve got you.”
I force air into my lungs and then out again. Try to calm the racing of my heart.
It doesn’t really work.
The mall is massive. It was recently renovated to encompass three stories of gleaming glass and polished marble, anchored by department stores at each end.
Sunlight streams through the enormous skylight overhead, creating patterns on the white floors that shift as clouds pass.
The second and third levels wrap around the central atrium, connected by escalators and glass elevators that glide up and down like mechanical heartbeats.
Even at 11 a.m. on a Tuesday, it’s bustling, which isn’t a surprise as the holidays are approaching.
Families push strollers past window displays.
Teenagers cluster around the Apple store in hoodies and too-loud laughter.
Elderly couples walk the perimeter for exercise and a group of women with shopping bags emerges from Nordstrom, already planning their next stop.
So many people. So many faces. So many potential threats.
My breath comes shallow as we enter through the main entrance.
The blast of air conditioning raises goosebumps on my arms. The noise hits next—a wall of sound that’s almost physical.
There’s conversation and music and footsteps and the electronic chirping of arcade games from somewhere on the second level.
Dimitri’s security team maintains a subtle perimeter around us. Two men in front—Sergei and Viktor, both built like walls disguised in casual clothes. Two behind—Mikhail and Pavel, their eyes constantly scanning. Two on the flanks—Dmitri and Anton, positioned to intercept any threat from the sides.
Close enough to intervene if needed. Far enough not to draw attention.
But I notice them. And if I notice them, won’t whoever sent that text notice them too?
I’m still watching.
The words pulse in my head like a heartbeat. Watching. They’re watching. Maybe even right now from somewhere in this crowd.
We start walking through the main concourse, heading toward the central atrium.
We head towards Victoria’s Secret with its pink lighting and lingerie displays.
Past a jewelry store where diamonds glitter under halogen lights.
Past a group of teenagers who barely glance our way, too absorbed in their phones.
Dimitri keeps his hand on the small of my back. The touch is warm through my sweater, a constant point of contact that reminds me he’s here, I’m safe, and we’re doing this together.
But I can’t stop cataloging every face we pass. That man in the business suit (is he walking too close)? That woman with the coffee cup—is she actually shopping or just watching us? Those teenagers by the fountain—are they really just kids or something more sinister?
My pulse hammers in my throat. Sweat prickles along my spine despite the air conditioning.
“Breathe,” Dimitri murmurs, too quiet for anyone else to hear. His thumb traces small circles against my back. “You’re doing fine.”
I’m not doing fine. I’m scared shitless. But I force myself to keep walking.
We pass a Starbucks packed with people on laptops. A toy store blasting children’s music. A kiosk selling phone cases where a bored employee scrolls through their phone, not even looking up as we pass.
Nothing unusual. Nothing threatening. Just normal people doing normal things on a normal Tuesday morning.
So why does every instinct I have scream danger?
We reach the central atrium where a massive fountain dominates the space. Water cascades down three tiers, the sound almost drowning out the ambient noise. Children throw pennies and make wishes. A elderly man feeds the coins to his granddaughter, one at a time.
The food court is on the second level, and the smell drifts down—cinnamon from Cinnabon, grease from the Chinese place, coffee and sugar and fried food all mixing into something overwhelming.
My stomach turns. Morning sickness has mostly passed, but right now I feel nauseated, but whether it’s from fear or the smells, I can’t tell.
“You okay?” Dimitri asks, his gray eyes sharp on my face.
I nod, taking a breath. “Yeah. I just—”
A child screams.
I whip around, heart in my throat, already imagining gunfire or explosions or—
But it’s just a little girl who dropped her ice cream cone. It splattered pink and white across the marble, and she’s wailing like the world is ending while her mother tries to console her.
I let out a shaky breath. False alarm. Just a kid and spilled ice cream.
But my hands are trembling. Dimitri notices (of course he notices) and catches one of my hands in his, squeezing gently.
“We can leave,” he says quietly as his thumb strokes my knuckles. “Right now. Just say the word.”
Part of me wants to. I want to run back to the car and the estate and the safety of walls and guards and locked doors.
But the larger part knows he’s right. We can’t hide forever.
“No,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. “I’m okay. Let’s keep going.”
We continue past the fountain, heading toward the west wing. The crowd thins slightly here as there are fewer stores, which means there are more service corridors and restrooms. Sergei and Viktor stay close, their eyes constantly moving.
A man in a maintenance uniform pushes a cleaning cart past us. An older woman examines sunglasses at a kiosk. Two college-age girls take selfies near a potted plant, giggling at their screen.
Normal. It all looks so normal.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Clearly, whoever sent that text isn’t here. They’re still at the estate, or somewhere else entirely, laughing at how they’ve made us jump.
Maybe—
The thought cuts off mid-stream as my eyes snag on a figure across the mall corridor, maybe twenty feet away.
He’s standing in front of a store window but he’s not looking at the display. He’s looking directly at me.
Tall. Lean. He’s wearing dark jeans, a gray jacket and a baseball cap pulled low over his face, the brim shadowing his features.
But I can see the sharp line of his jaw. The way he’s standing with his weight on one leg, hands in his pockets. Casual. Relaxed.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
My heart stutters in my chest.
The man shifts slightly, and a beam of sunlight from the skylight catches under the brim of his cap and illuminates his face for just a second.
Blond hair. Just visible beneath the cap, the color of wheat in summer sun.
Blue eyes. That specific shade that’s seared into my memory, like the sky over the ocean on a clear day.
No.
No, it can’t be.
I stop walking. I actually freeze mid-step like someone hit pause on my life.
Dimitri doesn’t notice immediately. He takes another step before realizing I’m not beside him anymore. His hand drops from my back. “Vera? What’s wrong?”
But I can’t answer. I can’t move or do anything except stare across the mall corridor at the impossible.
The man is completely still now. Not browsing. Not shopping. Just standing there with his hands in his pockets and his face angled toward me.
Watching me.
The baseball cap keeps most of his face in shadow, but I can see enough. The shape of his nose. The curve of his mouth. The set of his shoulders.
I know this body. Know it in the way you know something you’ve touched, held, and been held by.
My hands start to shake.
“Vera?” Dimitri’s voice has an edge now, concern bleeding into alarm. “What’s wrong? You’re as white as a sheet.”
I only stare at the man.
The man shifts his weight again and tilts his head just slightly to the right—a gesture so achingly familiar it makes my chest hurt.
He smiles.
It’s a small smile. Barely there. Just the corner of his mouth quirking up beneath the shadow of the baseball cap’s brim.
But I know that smile. I know the exact way his lips curve and how it looks in candlelight, in moonlight, in the moment before he kisses me. I know the way it made my heart flutter the first time I saw it across a crowded bar nearly a year ago.
I’ve dreamed about it for nearly three months since—
Since he died.
It’s like I’ve just been body slammed by that thought.
Alexei Volkov is dead. I went to his funeral.
This can’t be Alexei. It’s impossible.
But those eyes. That smile. The way he’s standing like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s waiting for me to recognize him.
Like he wants me to recognize him.
My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. The mall around me starts to blur at the edges. The noise fades to white static.
The man (Alexei, it’s Alexei, but it can’t be Alexei because he’s dead) holds my gaze for one more heartbeat. Two.
Then he does something that makes me want to cry out.
He raises one hand from his pocket and brings it up to touch the brim of his hat in a small salute. The gesture is playful. Intimate. The exact same way he used to greet me when we’d meet in secret before everything fell apart.
Hey beautiful. Miss me?
I can almost hear his voice in my head. That low, warm tone that used to make me feel special.
Then he casually turns and disappears into the crowd.
“Vera!” Dimitri’s hands are on my shoulders now, shaking me slightly. "Vera, what’s wrong?”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. How do I explain what I just saw? How do I tell him that I just watched his dead brother salute me from across a mall corridor?
How do I say the words when I don’t believe them myself?
“Vera, you need to breathe.” Dimitri’s face is close to mine now, his eyes searching, but he sounds so far away, like he’s underwater. “You’re having a panic attack. What did you see, Vera?”
I stare at the spot where the man was standing just moments ago. How do I tell Dimitri what I saw?
I just saw Alexei Volkov.
And Alexei Volkov is supposed to be dead.