Chapter 22 - Tony
Tony
Adrian’s name appears on my phone screen at seven in the morning, and I let it ring three times before answering.
“Where the hell have you been?” he barks out. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”
“Deep cover,” I reply, taking care to sound almost bored. “Sasha’s been suspicious. I couldn’t risk communication.”
“Suspicious of what?”
“Of me asking too many questions. Of being too interested in family business. I had to pull back. Let her come to me instead of pushing.”
Adrian’s breathing changes. “And did she?”
“She did. Things have escalated.” I pause for effect. “Dmitri moved me from the safehouse into the main compound.”
Silence on the other end. Then: “You’re inside the family compound?”
“As of three days ago. They’re bringing me deeper into operations. Dmitri wants me involved in planning.”
“That’s significant progress.” Adrian’s voice goes eager. “What have you learned?”
“Plenty. But Adrian, we need to be smart about this. If I start passing you detailed intelligence too quickly, they’ll know something’s wrong. These people are paranoid for good reasons.”
“I’m not paying you to be cautious. I’m paying you for results.”
“And you’ll get them. But if I burn this position by moving too fast, you’ll get nothing.” I let frustration creep into my voice. “Do you want me to complete this job or not?”
Another pause. “Fine. What can you give me now?”
I pull out the folder Dmitri provided and start feeding Adrian the false information about art acquisition networks. He interrupts with questions. I answer each one, providing just enough detail to sound credible.
When I mention the Geneva contacts, Adrian asks about verification methods. I explain the authentication process Dmitri supposedly uses, pulling from the memorized details in the folder. Every word has to sound natural. Unrehearsed.
“This is good,” Adrian praises. “This is what I need. How’s the target?”
The target.
He means Sasha.
“Conflicted,” I tell him. “She’s torn between loyalty to her family and her desire for something all her own. The brothers are protective, but they’re also using her expertise for their own purposes. She resents it.”
“Can you exploit that?”
“I’m working on it. But Adrian, she’s not stupid. If I push too hard, she’ll shut down.”
“Then don’t push too hard. Be patient. Make her think you understand her in ways her family doesn’t.” His voice turns colder. “That’s what I’m paying you for, isn’t it? To make her fall for you completely before we pull the rug out.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Good. I want another update in forty-eight hours. We’ll extend your contract as needed to make sure this goes smoothly, with extra pay, of course. And Tony? Don’t make me chase you down again. I don’t like feeling ignored.”
He hangs up before I can answer.
I set the phone down and sit on the edge of the bed. My hands won’t stay still. Not from fear—from rage at having to pretend I’m still working for that bastard. From disgust at hearing him talk about Sasha like she’s just a target.
I need to move. Need to walk off this feeling before I do something stupid like put my fist through a wall.
I leave my room and head through the compound corridors. No particular destination in mind. Just walking.
The compound is larger than I realized during my first visit. Multiple buildings connected by covered walkways. Gardens between structures. Guard posts at strategic intervals. It’s impressive work—secure without looking like a fortress.
I pass a kitchen where staff are preparing lunch. A library that looks like it actually gets used. A gym where two of Dmitri’s men are sparring. Normal spaces that remind me these people have lives beyond the criminal enterprise they run.
I find myself heading toward the east wing without consciously deciding to go there.
That’s where Sasha’s room is. I was just there yesterday, standing in that hallway while she told me she needed time. But here I am again, drawn back like I can’t help myself.
I stop at the end of the hallway that leads to her door. Don’t go closer. Just stand there like an idiot, staring at a stretch of empty corridor.
This is pathetic.
But I can’t make myself leave.
I think about St. Petersburg. The morning after we spent the first night at that hotel, when we had breakfast in a café near the Neva River. Sasha told me about her guilt over leaving her brothers to handle the family business alone while she built her life in London.
I told her that leaving wasn’t cowardice. That building something legitimate was exactly what her brothers wanted for her. That she honored their sacrifice by becoming someone beyond the Bratva world.
She looked at me with such gratitude. Like I’d given her permission to forgive herself for something that never needed forgiveness.
And I meant every word I said to her that morning. It wasn’t part of Adrian’s job. It was just me wanting her to stop hurting herself over choices that were never wrong.
God, I miss that smile.
That memory feels more real than anything from my CIA years. More real than missions I completed or operations I ran. More real than the life I thought I was building before Chechnya destroyed it.
“You’re not supposed to be in this wing.”
I turn to find Boris behind me.
“Just walking,” I explain.
“Walk somewhere else. This is the family’s private area.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it.” Boris jerks his head back toward the main building. “Dmitri wants to see you. He’s waiting for you in his office.”
I nod and head back through the compound. When I arrive at Dmitri’s office, he’s alone.
“Sit,” he says without preamble.
I do.
“How did the call with Adrian go?”
“He bought it. Wanted more details about compound security and family operations. I gave him what was in the folder.”
“And he didn’t suspect anything?”
“No. He’s too eager for results to question whether I’m still loyal. He thinks moving me into the compound is proof that I’m succeeding.”
Dmitri settles back in his chair. “Good. Now we wait to see if the information appears through other channels.”
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Depends on how often the mole reports to him. Could be days. Could be weeks.” He studies my face. “How are you holding up?”
The question surprises me. “Fine.”
“Are you? Because lying to someone you’re working for is one thing. Lying to someone you used to work for while they still think you’re loyal—that’s psychologically taxing. Especially when that person is as unstable as Adrian.”
“I’ve done worse.”
“I’m sure you have. But this time you’re emotionally compromised. That makes it harder.”
I don’t deny it. No point lying to someone who already knows the truth.
“I can handle it,” I reply instead.
“I hope so. Because if you can’t, people die. Including my sister. I’m trusting you with her safety, Tony. Don’t make me regret that decision.”
“I won’t.”
He waves his hand in dismissal.
I leave his office and head back toward my room, but halfway there I change direction and go to the gardens instead.
The evening air is cool. Guards patrol the perimeter, but they ignore me. I’m not important enough to warrant attention.
I find a bench near the rose bushes and sit down. This is where I saw Sasha reading yesterday. Where she was wearing the scarf I bought her in St. Petersburg.
The roses are in full bloom. Red, white, and pink. Someone tends these gardens carefully. Probably not something Dmitri handles personally, but he hired someone who knows what they’re doing.
Sasha would appreciate that attention to detail. She’s always noticing things other people miss.
I sit there until the sun sets completely and the compound lights come on. Then I force myself to stand and walk back to my room.
Boris is waiting outside my door.
“Package for you,” he states, holding out a small envelope.
I take it. “From who?”
“Does it matter?” He walks away without explaining.
I go inside and close the door. Lock it. Then I open the envelope.
A single piece of paper is inside. Sasha’s handwriting. Just one line.
It was real for me, too.
I read it three times. Four. Five.
Then I sit on the bed and hold that note like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
Because right now, it is.
She believes me. Or at least she’s starting to. And that means I haven’t completely destroyed everything between us.
I fold the note carefully and put it in my wallet.
Right next to the photo of my uncle that I’ve carried for fifteen years. The picture is faded now, edges worn from being handled. My uncle standing in front of his restaurant, grinning at the camera like he owned the world.
He taught me that some things are worth more than money or success. Worth more than any mission or operation. He taught me about loyalty and family and what it means to protect the people you love.
I forgot those lessons somewhere along the way. Let the Agency turn me into someone who valued efficiency over humanity. Who saw people as assets or targets instead of human beings with their own stories and pain.
Sasha reminded me who I used to be. Who I could be again if I’m willing to do the work.
The two most important things I own. The two pieces of my life that matter.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Tomorrow I’ll call Adrian again. Feed him more lies. Play the part of the loyal operative.
But tonight, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—Sasha and I still have a chance.
And that belief is worth more than any contract Adrian could ever offer me.