Chapter 31 Sasha
Sasha
The invitation arrives while we’re eating breakfast.
Tony’s phone vibrates against the table, and he frowns at the screen before turning it toward me. The message is brief, just a name, a time, and an address in Surrey.
Adrian wants both Tony and I to come to his estate tomorrow evening for dinner under the guise that he’s one of Tony’s “old colleagues” who’s interested in meeting me.
“Thornfield Manor.” I pull up the location on my phone and study the map. “He picked somewhere forty minutes outside the city so he can control everything about this meeting.”
Tony sets down his coffee and nods. “He still thinks I’m working for him. The cover story is meant to keep you ignorant until we’re already through his gates and it’s too late to back out.”
“Too bad for him we’ve been planning for exactly this moment.”
“Too bad for him.” Tony picks up his fork and pushes eggs around his plate without eating. “Though I’d be lying if I said walking onto his property doesn’t concern me. We’ll be surrounded by his people, on ground he knows better than we do, with security measures he’s spent months installing.”
I’ve been expecting this ever since Tony’s meeting at the Knightsbridge club. Adrian gave him a week to deliver me, and that deadline is fast approaching. This invitation is his way of forcing the timeline while maintaining the illusion that he holds all the cards.
“We should loop in Dmitri,” I suggest.
Tony nods again and pulls up the video app on his phone. My brother answers on the second ring, and his face fills the screen with that concentrated scowl I’ve known my entire life. Katya appears behind him and rests one hand on his shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Dmitri asks without preamble.
Tony gives him the rundown while I watch my brother’s face cycle through comprehension, analysis, and ultimately rejection. By the time Tony finishes explaining the invitation, Dmitri is already shaking his head.
“Absolutely not. You’re not setting foot on his property. We’ll find another approach.”
“What approach would that be?” I swivel the camera toward me and press, “We’ve spent weeks waiting for an opening like this, Dmitri. Adrian is finally inviting us in instead of hiding behind intermediaries and hired thugs.”
“An invitation to his estate where he controls every variable isn’t an opening, Sasha. It’s a trap dressed up to look like an opportunity.” Dmitri crosses his arms over his chest and adds, “We draw him out on our terms, not his.”
“How do you propose we do that? He’s been building his coalition for months. Every day we wait, he adds another ally to his network. Another resource to throw at us. Another contingency plan if his first approach fails.”
Katya speaks up in that matronly tone she uses when she’s trying to mediate between Kozlov stubbornness and common sense. “She has a point, Dmitri. We’re better off confronting him now than after he’s finished consolidating power across half of Europe.”
Dmitri turns to give his wife a look that promises extensive discussion later when they’re alone. “There has to be something between walking directly into his trap and sitting here waiting for him to attack us.”
“There isn’t,” I declare. “Adrian’s obsession with me is the reason our family is in danger.
He wants me, Dmitri. He won’t be satisfied with anything less than confronting me face to face and making me understand exactly why he’s destroying everything we’ve built.
If I don’t show up at Thornfield Manor tomorrow, he’ll keep escalating until he finds another way to get to me. One we haven’t prepared for.”
Boris appears in the frame behind Dmitri, and his grizzled face tells me he’s been listening from somewhere just off camera. “The estate has tactical possibilities. Wooded areas around the perimeter, multiple access points we could use for extraction if things go sideways.”
Dmitri turns to his head of security and demands, “You’re entertaining this idea?”
“I’ve known Sasha since she was born, and that look on her face means she’s going whether we give our blessing or not.” Boris rubs his stubbled jaw and adds, “Better we control the backup plan than find ourselves scrambling to catch up after she’s already inside.”
Tony pulls up satellite imagery on his tablet and angles it toward the camera so everyone can see.
“There’s a service road on the eastern edge of the property that connects to the neighboring estate.
The tree line provides cover almost all the way to the main house, which gives us excellent positioning for a response team. ”
“How many men would you need?” Dmitri asks Boris.
“Twelve at minimum. Six dedicated to perimeter surveillance, six ready to breach if something goes wrong inside.”
“What about communication?” Dmitri questions. “If Sasha and Tony are inside the house and your team is positioned outside, how exactly do you plan to coordinate?”
“Adrian’s security will sweep them for electronics before they get past the front door,” Tony answers.
“Earpieces and wires are out of the question. But the ground floor has several rooms with large south-facing windows—the main study, the reception areas, and the drawing room according to the property records. If Boris positions spotters in the tree line with binoculars, visual signals should work for basic communication.”
“Should work,” Dmitri scoffs. “Should isn’t good enough when my sister’s life is on the line.”
“It’s the best option available given the constraints,” Tony responds. “Adrian’s paranoid about surveillance. Any electronic device we try to smuggle in will be discovered and confiscated, which says we came prepared for trouble. Visual signals preserve our cover.”
Dmitri lets out a long huff and hangs his head. He’s not happy about any of this, but he’s professional enough to understand this is our best shot despite his personal objections.
“What happens if Adrian takes them somewhere without windows?” he asks Boris. “Some interior room or basement where your spotters can’t see what’s happening?”
“He won’t,” I answer before Boris can respond.
“Adrian’s entire motivation for this vendetta is making me understand why he’s doing it.
He needs an audience. He needs a stage worthy of his grand revenge fantasy.
Whatever he’s planning will happen somewhere he considers appropriately dramatic, with plenty of room for him to gloat. ”
Katya nods her agreement and adds, “She’s right about his psychology.
Viktor was exactly the same way. He needed me to know precisely why he was destroying my life, to see my face when I finally understood the scope of his betrayal.
It gave us the opening we needed to stop him before it was too late. ”
The comparison to Katya’s former FSB handler lands with my brother exactly the way she intended. His shoulders drop half an inch, and I recognize the moment he starts transitioning from outright resistance to reluctant acceptance of the inevitable.
“If we do this,” Dmitri carefully begins, “and if anything feels wrong, anything at all, you signal Boris immediately and extract. No heroics, no trying to finish this on your own. You get out and we regroup for another approach.”
“Agreed,” I agree immediately.
“Tony.” Dmitri fixes his gaze on the man beside me with a glare that could melt steel. “You’re responsible for my sister’s safety inside that house. Whatever else happens tomorrow night, whatever opportunities present themselves, Sasha comes home alive. Do you understand me?”
“I understand completely,” Tony responds without hesitation. “Nothing else matters if she doesn’t walk out of there.”
Boris promises to send detailed positioning plans within the hour, and the call ends with my brother extracting one final promise that I’ll contact him personally the moment we leave Adrian’s estate tomorrow night, regardless of what time it is or what has happened.
Tony sets down his phone and turns to face me. “That went about as well as could be expected.”
“Dmitri will worry himself sick until this is finished. That’s what he does.” I manage a small smile and add, “But he trusts Boris with his life, and Boris seems to trust your tactical assessment. That’s enough foundation to build on.”
We spend the rest of the day buried in preparation.
As promised, Boris sends estate schematics with marked positions for each member of his twelve-man team.
Tony walks me through the layout of Thornfield Manor based on property records and aerial photography, making sure I understand where the exits are and which rooms offer the best sightlines to the tree line.
We discuss contingencies for various scenarios, from Adrian having more security than expected to the possibility that his coalition partners might attend tomorrow’s dinner.
By evening, my head aches from information overload and my nerves feel stretched thin. Tony orders room service that neither of us manages to eat. The food sits on the table between us, growing cold.
I try to go to bed around eleven, but my mind refuses to quiet down.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Adrian’s face from the surveillance photos Tony showed me.
Gaunt from weight loss. Hollow around the eyes.
Consumed by obsession. After an hour of staring at the ceiling, I finally give up and slip out of bed.
Tony is sitting in the armchair by the window when I make my way barefoot into the living room. He’s changed into a worn t-shirt and gray sweatpants, and the city stretches beyond the glass behind him.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asks without turning around.
“What gave me away?”
“Your breathing changed about twenty minutes ago, and then the sheets started rustling.” He glances over his shoulder and says, “You’re not exactly subtle when you’re restless, Sasha.”
I drop onto the sofa beside his chair and pull my knees up to my chest. “What have you been thinking about out here?”
“Honestly? I’ve been thinking about Moscow. About what happens when we go back, assuming everything goes according to plan tomorrow.”
“What about Moscow?”
“Your brothers offered me a permanent position. Head of counterintelligence for the organization.” He pauses before adding, “I haven’t given them an answer yet.”
This is news to me. “When did this happen?”
“Dmitri brought it up during our last tactical briefing, before we flew to London. He said if I proved myself during this operation, the job was mine.” Tony runs a hand through his hair.
“It’s a good offer. Legitimate work, at least by Bratva standards.
Steady. Something I could build a life around. ”
“But?”
“But taking it means committing to your family’s world. There would be no exit strategy. No pretending I’m just passing through.” He glances over his shoulder, and his eyes search my face. “I wanted to know how you felt about that before I made any decisions.”
The question catches me off guard, though it probably shouldn’t. We’ve been dancing around conversations like this for weeks, trading hints and implications without ever stating anything directly.
“How I feel about you working for my brothers?” I ask.
“I’ve spent my whole adult life moving from one assignment to the next, never putting down roots anywhere or letting myself get attached to places or people because I knew I’d eventually have to leave them behind.”
“And now you’re asking if I want you to stay.”
“I’m asking if you want me to stay for you,” he clarifies. “Not just for the job. Not just because your brothers are offering good money and interesting work. I need to know if there’s something here worth building, or if I’m reading this whole situation wrong.”
I take a breath before answering. “You’re not reading it wrong.”
“Then tell me what you want, Sasha. Not what’s practical or what makes sense for the family business. What do you want?”
“I want you to take the job,” I blurt out before I can talk myself out of it. “I want you in Moscow, working with my brothers, being part of our lives. I want to find out what this could become if we gave it a real chance instead of treating everything like it might end tomorrow.”
Tony is quiet for a moment, and he swallows hard. “Your brothers might have opinions about us being together. Dmitri especially.”
“Dmitri’s opinion on my love life stopped mattering a long time ago.” I allow myself a small smile. “Besides, Katya likes you. That counts for a lot in our family.”
“And Alexei?”
“Alexei will come around once he sees you’re serious. He’s protective, but he’s not unreasonable.”
The rest of the night, we sit together in the quiet of the hotel room, not talking about tomorrow or Adrian or the plan.
Tony tells me about an apartment complex near Patriarch Ponds that he noticed during one of his early surveillance runs in Moscow.
Good neighborhood, reasonable security, walking distance from several galleries that might need authentication consultants.
We stay up talking until the city outside begins showing signs of approaching dawn. By the time my eyes finally grow heavy, I’ve learned that Tony hates mushrooms, prefers whiskey to vodka, and once got lost in Prague for six hours because he was too stubborn to ask for directions.
Small things. Ordinary things. The kind of details that only matter when you’re planning to keep someone around.
I haven’t let myself want something this badly in years, and I’m not sure if that scares me or thrills me more.