Chapter 27 Sasha
Sasha
Boris drops a file folder on the conference table, and the name on the tab makes my stomach turn.
“Ivan Abaturov,” he announces to the room. “Fifteen years with the family, trusted with every financial record we have, and he’s been feeding information to Adrian Belmont for at least six months.”
Dmitri stands at the head of the table with his arms crossed. Alexei is beside him, and Tony sits across from me. We’ve all gathered in the compound’s secure meeting room for what Boris promised would be a breakthrough in the mole investigation.
“You’re certain?” Dmitri asks.
“The pattern is undeniable.” Boris flips open the folder and spreads several documents across the table.
“Every time Tony files a report with Adrian, Ivan accesses related files within seventy-two hours. He’s cross-referencing, filling in gaps, and confirming details that Tony provides.
He has no legitimate reason to access these accounts in the first place since they’re fabricated.
Couple that with the timing, and I’d call it irrefutable. ”
I should be focused on this. Ivan’s betrayal affects everything we’ve been working toward, and exposing him means we’re one step closer to ending Adrian’s operation for good.
But my mind keeps drifting to last night.
I woke around two in the morning and couldn’t fall back asleep.
When I wandered out to the compound’s interior courtyard for fresh air, I found Tony sitting alone on one of the stone benches.
He looked hollowed out, like something had scraped him empty from the inside.
I almost turned around and left him to his privacy, but he spotted me before I could retreat.
He’d had a night terror. Chechnya again, he said. The faces of the men he lost.
I expected him to dismiss me or change the subject. Instead, he asked me to sit with him.
We didn’t talk about Adrian or the investigation or any of the danger circling our lives. He asked me what I wanted to do when all of this was over. What kind of life I imagined for myself.
I think my brothers have been assuming I’d stay close to the family. My colleagues at Christie’s assumed I’d come back and continue my work. But Tony wanted to know what I wanted, separate from everyone else’s expectations.
I told him about the authentication consultancy I’ve been dreaming about since my second year in London.
Working with museums and private collectors on my own terms, building something that was entirely mine.
I described the kind of clients I’d want to work with, the specializations I’d focus on, the reputation I’d want to build.
He listened like my dreams mattered.
He asked thoughtful questions about how I’d structure the business, what kind of overhead I’d need to manage, whether I’d want to stay in Moscow or split my time between cities.
The conversation went on for over an hour, and by the end, I felt seen in ways I hadn’t expected.
Not as a Kozlov. Not as someone who needed protecting.
Just as Sasha, a woman with ambitions that had nothing to do with the Bratva.
“Sasha.”
Dmitri’s voice pulls me back to the present.
“Sorry. What?”
“I asked if you’ve noticed anything unusual in Ivan’s behavior recently.”
I shake my head and try to focus. “Nothing obvious. He’s always been quiet, kept to himself. I wouldn’t have suspected him.”
“That’s what makes him effective,” Boris replies. “He’s been invisible all this time. The perfect mole.”
“What’s our play?” Tony asks. “Confront him or use him to feed Adrian false information?”
“The second option,” Dmitri decides. “If we tip Ivan off that we know, Adrian will just find another source. Better to control the information flow.”
The tactical discussion continues around me, but I’m only half-listening. Tony catches my eye across the table, and something passes between us. An acknowledgment of last night, of the conversation that had nothing to do with any of this.
Boris assigns tasks and timelines. Dmitri approves the plan to use Ivan for counterintelligence.
Alexei volunteers to oversee the modified documents.
I nod along and take mental notes even though my thoughts keep circling back to that bench in the courtyard, to the way Tony’s voice sounded when he asked about my future like it was something worth planning for.
The meeting wraps up after another twenty minutes, and everyone starts gathering their materials. I stack the papers in front of me, trying to look like I was paying attention the entire time.
Tony approaches my side of the table while the others file out. He moves like he just wants to review something in the documents, but when he reaches past me to grab a folder, he slips a piece of paper into my hand.
“Read it later,” he whispers, so quietly that only I can hear.
Then he’s gone, following Boris and Alexei out of the room.
I pocket the paper and wait until I’m alone in the hallway before unfolding it.
My breath catches.
It’s a handwritten list of Moscow galleries and auction houses. At least a dozen names, each with notes beside them in Tony’s cramped handwriting.
Tretyakov Gallery—expanding authentication department, hiring consultants for special exhibitions.
Pushkin Museum—new director interested in provenance verification for recent acquisitions.
Volkov Private Collection—family looking for independent authenticator after dispute with previous expert.
Krasnov Auction House—growing reputation, might need consultant for Old Masters department.
The list goes on. Each entry includes details about the organization’s current needs, potential contacts, and how my background might appeal to them.
He spent the morning researching this. While I was sleeping off the exhaustion of our late-night conversation, he was compiling information about my dream instead of catching up on his own rest.
I fold the paper and hold it against my chest.
This is different from the apologies and the promises. Those gestures felt like penance, like he was trying to earn back trust he’d shattered.
But this? This is about my future. A future he’s already thinking about, already trying to help me build.
He’s not just trying to make up for the past. He’s investing in what comes next.
I find him twenty minutes later in the small office Boris assigned him for reviewing security. He’s hunched over a laptop, frowning at something on the screen, and he looks exhausted. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and I wonder how much sleep he got last night after I finally went back inside.
“You should be resting,” I tell him from the doorway.
He looks up, and his face softens when he sees me. “I’ll rest when Adrian’s not a threat anymore.”
I step inside and close the door behind me. “I read your note.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know what to say.”
He leans back in his chair and studies me. “You don’t have to say anything. I just thought the information might be useful. I couldn’t sleep after you went back inside.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Seemed like a better use of my time than staring at the ceiling.”
“So instead of resting, you compiled a list of potential clients for a business I haven’t even started yet.”
“Someone should be thinking about your future, Sasha. Might as well be me.”
I don’t know what to do with the warmth spreading through my chest. Part of me wants to dismiss it, to remind myself that he lied to me for weeks and that I’d be foolish to trust him completely. But another part of me recognizes what this gesture means.
He’s not trying to make me forget what he did. He’s trying to show me who he wants to be.
“You know this doesn’t fix everything,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
“I still have questions. Doubts. Moments when I wonder if any of this is real.”
“I know that, too.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “I’m not asking you to forget, Sasha. I’m just asking you to let me prove myself. One day at a time.”
“And if I can’t? If the doubts never go away?”
“Then at least you’ll have a really thorough list of potential clients for your consultancy.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Consider it a parting gift.”
I laugh despite myself. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
I look down at our joined hands. His thumb traces circles on my palm, and the simple touch grounds me in ways I don’t fully understand.
I should pull back. Protect myself. Remember all the reasons this man is dangerous to my heart.
Instead, I lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead. Just a brief brush of my lips against his skin.
“One day at a time,” I whisper.
“One day at a time,” he agrees.
I stand and smooth my shirt, trying to regain some composure. “You should still get some rest. Boris has another briefing scheduled for this evening, and you look like death warmed over.”
“Such flattery. How will I survive?”
“I’m serious, Tony.”
“I know you are.” He releases my hand with obvious reluctance. “I’ll try to sleep. Happy?”
“Getting there.”
I pause at the door and look back at him. He’s already turning back to his laptop, but I catch the small smile on his face before he hides it.
This doesn’t erase the lies or the betrayal. It doesn’t magically resolve all the doubts that still plague me at three in the morning when I can’t sleep.
But it’s a start.