Chapter 20 Aleksander
ALEKSANDER
I ignore the throb in my shoulder and the heat under my skin. Pain is background noise; the board in front of me is the only thing that matters.
On the side, we’ve pinned the passenger manifest. Every name has a mark next to it—green for cleared, yellow for unknowns, red for problems. Kirov’s line is boxed in black.
Nikolai is the only one who can keep up with the way my mind moves when I’m like this—obsessive, relentless, unwilling to rest until I have answers.
He stands beside me, tracing a line between two faces, eyes sharp.
“We’ve accounted for almost everyone. But this one—” He taps the grainy ID photo of a flight attendant.
“Elena Morozova. She was working first class. We were going to check her out before everything went to hell and Irina’s people grabbed Bella. ”
Her name comes back to me. She was the one who was watching me on the flight. Something about the way she looked at me didn’t sit right with me.
“She disappeared after the flight,” Nikolai continues. “Didn’t sign back in at her apartment, didn’t call in sick. We have a last known address—could be nothing, could be she’s already halfway to Cyprus.”
A pulse of energy cuts through my exhaustion. “We can go check her out right now,” I say.
We drive in silence, Nikolai at the wheel. My shoulder aches with every bump in the road, but adrenaline keeps me alert. I keep replaying the timeline in my head, every minute on that plane, every face in first class.
Elena’s building is a squat, anonymous complex in a working-class part of town. Nikolai parks a block away and we walk the rest, blending in, keeping our heads down.
We buzz up, no answer. The lobby smells like floor cleaner and burnt toast. Her apartment’s on the fourth floor, end of the hall. I don’t bother with the doorbell—I can see the splintered frame before I even reach it.
“Someone got here first,” Nikolai mutters, low.
The door swings open when I press it. Inside, the place is chaos.
Couch overturned, drawers yanked out, clothes and papers strewn everywhere.
A TV sits cracked on the floor. Even the refrigerator stands open, a carton of milk leaking across the tiles.
This isn’t a search for valuables—it’s desperate, unhinged.
Someone looking for something very specific, or trying to make a point.
I scan the room, adrenaline humming. “Check the windows,” I say.
Nikolai heads to the back, careful not to step in anything wet. I walk the living room, picking up scattered IDs, a torn flight schedule, a single gold earring. Every sign says Elena Morozova left in a hurry—if she left at all.
Nikolai calls out from the bedroom, voice grim. “Aleksander.”
He’s by the window, curtain pushed aside. The sill is smeared with something dark. He touches it with a gloved finger, brings it up to the light.
“Blood,” he says.
I study the latch, the faint streaks down the side of the building—someone climbed out, or was dragged. There are red droplets leading to the fire escape, fading fast, but not so fast they’re old.
“Someone came for her,” I say, piecing it together. “They didn’t find what they wanted.”
Nikolai scans the alley below, already calculating. “Either she ran and got hurt, or they took her and she fought.”
I look at the mess around us. “Somebody’s tying up loose ends,” I murmur.
I take one last look at the room—the shattered phone on the kitchen counter, the keys still in the lock, the open suitcase spilling uniforms onto the floor.
“Elena Morozova knows something,” I say. “Something worth killing for.”
We slip out the back entrance of the building, boots echoing on the grimy tile. The hallway is narrow, the kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it—emergency exit, fire escape, a perfect route for anyone running scared or trying to disappear.
Nikolai checks the landing for footprints or blood. I scan the door for scratches, broken locks, any sign Elena made it out or someone forced her. My pulse thumps in my ears, adrenaline sharpening every sense.
Suddenly, footsteps thunder above us—quick, heavy, too loud for anyone meaning to be quiet. Nikolai swears under his breath, drawing his weapon. I do the same, my shoulder aching but steady.
“Down!” I hiss, flattening myself against the wall as a dark figure barrels into view on the stairwell.
Gunshots explode, ricocheting off cinderblock and metal rail. I duck instinctively, glass shattering overhead. Nikolai returns fire, two quick pops, his face grim.
The figure stumbles, hits the banister, and in a blink they’re tumbling—legs, arms, a flash of a pale hand, the clatter of a gun. They land hard at the bottom of the stairs, motionless.
Smoke stings the air. I keep my weapon trained, moving down the steps with Nikolai behind me, every muscle coiled.
The shooter’s face is twisted, blood pooling beneath them, their eyes wide and unseeing.
For a moment, all I hear is the wild rush of my own heartbeat. I turn, scanning for movement. Then, above me, a soft laugh echoes—a woman’s laugh, cool and amused.
I glance up.
Selene leans over the rail a flight above, her hair falling forward, an inscrutable smile curving her lips. She looks like she’s stepped out of a dream—or a nightmare—unbothered by the gunfire, the body, the chaos below.
She meets my eyes, her smile widening, as if we’re sharing a private joke. “Aleksander,” she calls softly, “you’re getting slow.”
I stare at her, pulse still racing, blood roaring in my ears. Nikolai lowers his weapon, eyeing her with suspicion and something like resignation.
Selene descends the stairs slowly, her heels echoing on the metal. She steps over the body like it’s nothing more than a spilled drink. She’s dressed too well for this neighborhood—tailored coat, hair perfectly smooth, eyes sharp and bright, taking in every detail.
She stops a few steps above us, looking down. “If you two are finished making all that noise, maybe we should have a conversation somewhere less…exposed.”
Nikolai doesn’t lower his gun. “Who was he?” he asks, jerking his chin at the body.
I keep my gun trained on the body for a full second longer than I need to. The guy is done, but habits like mine do not switch off cleanly.
Selene’s smile stays in place, but her eyes flick to the dead man like she’s cataloging him, not mourning him. “A cleaner.”
I frown. “That’s not an answer.”
She shrugs. “That’s all I know. Seen this guy around for the last couple of days.” She looks down at the corpse. “I really wanted to do that. Kind of annoying, really.”
“So you don’t know who he is?” I say.
She shakes her head. “No.”
Nikolai snorts. “And you just happened to show up?”
Selene’s smile turns sly. “I was looking for Elena. She stole something that belongs to Irina.”
I take a step forward, watching her face. “What did she steal?”
Selene sighs, lowering her voice. “Not here, Aleksander. Let’s move.”
We hustle out the back, keeping to the shadows, Selene leading the way. Ten minutes later, we’re in a crowded café, tucked into a corner booth. I sit opposite her, arms folded, still tense.
“Talk,” I say.
She leans in, voice just above a whisper.
“Kirov wasn’t just a passenger on that flight.
He was smuggling something for Irina. Something valuable.
But it disappeared after he was killed. Elena was the last person seen near his seat and the lounge.
Now she’s missing, and Irina is convinced she took it. ”
Nikolai’s eyes narrow. “You know what it is?”
Selene shakes her head. “Not exactly. But Irina’s tearing apart half the city looking for it. And now she thinks I know where it went—or that maybe you do.”
I look at her, trying to read the truth in her eyes. “She thinks I have it?”
She nods, a grim smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Why else do you think you and Bella became such a target, Aleksander? Irina believes you’ll do anything to keep your family safe—including using whatever Kirov brought over.”
Nikolai leans back, arms crossed, waiting.
I ask, “What the hell was it? A weapon? Money? Blackmail material?”
Selene shrugs, eyes serious now. “Something valuable enough to kill for. And dangerous enough that no one can know what it really is. That’s all I know.”
“And now everyone thinks I have it,” I mutter, jaw clenched. “And that I killed Kirov because of it.”
Selene’s expression shifts. The smile fades like it was never there. “Yes,” she says plainly.
I stare at her, trying to keep my temper in check. “You’re saying Kirov was carrying something for Irina, it goes missing, and suddenly I’m the thief and the murderer.”
“Convenient, isn’t it?” Selene says. “Kirov dies in a way that makes you look guilty just by proximity. The item vanishes. Elena disappears. Irina gets a reason to come for you without having to justify it to anyone.”
Nikolai’s eyes narrow. “Irina doesn’t need reasons.”
“She likes them anyway,” Selene replies. “It keeps the rest of them in line. If she can say you betrayed her first, she can do whatever she wants and call it justice.”
I press my fingers to my temple, feeling the pulse there. “What was the item?”
Selene shakes her head. “I don’t know the exact thing. I know the shape of it, not the name. I know it was small enough to move in cabin baggage, valuable enough that Kirov didn’t trust cargo, and sensitive enough that Irina didn’t want it touching official channels.”
“That narrows it down to half the world,” I say.
Nikolai cuts in. “Why would Elena steal it?”
Selene doesn’t answer right away. She looks toward the café window as a couple walks past, laughing, normal. Then she looks back at us. “Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she saw who did. Either way, she became a loose end.”
I feel my shoulder throb, the bandage pulling as my hand tightens into a fist. “If Irina thinks I have it, she won’t stop until she gets proof I don’t.”
Nikolai’s voice goes colder. “So what do we do?”
Selene leans in, speaking like she’s telling us the weather. “We find Elena first. Not the police. Not Irina. We find her. Because she’s the only person who was close enough to Kirov at the right time and still alive after.”
“And if she’s not alive?” I say.
Selene’s eyes don’t flinch. “Then we find out who wanted her dead. Because that person either has the item, or knows exactly where it went.”
I sit back, breathing through the anger, through the pressure building in my chest. Bella’s face flashes in my head, Lily’s small body asleep in that room. I promised Bella I’d let her go after this. I can’t do that if Irina keeps hunting shadows.
Then Selene says quietly, “I believe Kirov didn’t die for nothing. I believe someone planned this with care. And I believe they want you blamed, Aleksander, because you’re the easiest match to throw into a room full of gasoline.”
Nikolai’s jaw tightens. “We need a lead, not poetry.”
Selene gives him a look. “Fine. Elena’s sister. Lives in Brighton. Works nights at a pharmacy. If Elena ran, she’d run to family first. And if someone grabbed her, they’d check family too. We’ll go right there. You don’t mind if I come with you, do you?”
She says it like it’s already decided, like she’s sliding into my plans the way she always does. She takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes on me over the rim.
I stare at her.
Nikolai watches her the way he watches a weapon someone left on a table. Calm, wary, ready. “No,” he says flatly, before I can answer. “I mind.”
Selene’s mouth curves. “Nobody asked you.”
Nikolai leans back in the booth, broad shoulders blocking half the view from the aisle. “If you’re coming, you’re coming because Aleksander says so. Not because you like the sound of your own voice.”
Selene’s eyes flick to me again. “So?”
I should say no. I should keep this tight: me, Nikolai, and nothing else. Less variables, less risk. But Elena’s sister is a fragile lead, and Selene knows my mother’s habits in a way I don’t like admitting. She knows how Irina thinks. She knows where Irina hides knives.
I also know something else, and it sits under my ribs like a hot stone.
There’s something I haven’t told Bella. Selene and I have history.
I look at Selene. “If you come, you follow my rules.”
She lifts her brows. “Go on.”
“No games. No side deals. No disappearing act.” My voice stays low, steady.
Nikolai’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t like this. He will tolerate it because he trusts my instincts, but he’s filing it away as a mistake that might get us killed.
Selene sets her cup down and leans in just enough that her perfume reaches me. She nods decisively. “Agreed. Let’s go.”
We leave cash on the table. The café noise swallows us as we step outside, the cold air biting at my lungs. Nikolai moves ahead toward the car.
Selene falls into step beside me, close enough that it feels deliberate. “You look like hell,” she says softly.
“Don’t,” I reply.
She hums, amused. “You’re worried about the wound or about her?”
I don’t answer. I keep walking. My shoulder aches, fever simmering under my skin.
Selene keeps pace. “If Irina thinks you killed Kirov, she’s going to make sure everyone else thinks it too. That’s the point. It isolates you.”
“I know,” I say.
“And if the item is missing,” she continues, voice still light, “someone else has it. Someone who can use it. That makes this less about revenge and more about control.”
I stop near the car and turn on her. “Why are you really coming with us?”
Selene’s smile disappears. For once she looks almost tired. “Because it was my plan to get Kirov onboard.”
We drive toward Brighton, the city blurring past. I watch the streets, the intersections, the faces at crosswalks. Normal people, normal lives. The contrast makes my teeth grind.
My phone buzzes once. A message from home security. Bella is in the living room. Lily is awake. For a second, I imagine Bella at the window again, trying to make sense of what she’s fallen into. Trying to decide if she should run.
Selene’s voice cuts into my thoughts from the back seat. “You haven’t told her everything.”
I don’t look back. “No.”
“Good,” Selene says. “She’s not ready.”
Nikolai’s eyes flick to me in the mirror. A warning. A question. I give him nothing.
My hands curl into fists on my knees. A storm is coming, and I don’t know how we’re going to survive it.