Elena
Iwake in his bed alone, a blanket pulled over me.
I stay still for a second, my hand resting where he was, the sheet still warm enough to tell me he hasn’t been gone long.
We talked deep into the night, and I drifted off somewhere between his voice and my own exhaustion.
He pulled the blanket over me before he left.
I push up slowly as it slips down my shoulders.
His shirt lies crumpled on the chair. I reach for it and pull it over my head, the fabric falling heavy against my skin, his scent still there, close enough to make me pause.
I take the throw from the foot of the bed and wrap it around my hips, then slide my feet into the slippers by the rug and step into the hallway.
The house has snapped back into order. Guards hold their posts, and every corridor moves under watch. No one speaks as I pass. Inside my room, I shut the door and lean back against it for a second, then head straight to the bathroom and turn the shower on.
I step into the shower, and hot water hits my shoulders, then runs down my back and over my chest. I close my eyes and stand under it until my breathing slows.
I tilt my head back and let the water soak through my hair.
My shoulders ease first, then my spine. My hand moves to my stomach and rests there for a second, warm skin under wet fingers.
Then I let my hand slide away and reach for the soap.
I work it slowly over my arms, over my breasts, down my waist. My nipples tighten under my palm, and I draw in a breath I don’t try to hide. The water keeps falling, warm and steady, washing off sleep, and fear, and I stay there longer than I need to.
When I step out, cool air hits my wet skin.
I dry off, water still trailing down my legs, and stand on the rug while I work the towel through my hair, then drop it to the floor.
A knock lands at the door.
I turn. “Yes?”
“It’s me,” Lidiya says. “There’s a call for you. Secure line.”
My stomach tightens.
“Give me a minute.”
I move fast, pulling on clothes without thinking about them, dragging a comb through my damp hair, tying it back, and pushing my feet into shoes.
The mirror catches me halfway through. My cheeks have color, my eyes are clear, and my hair is neat enough to pass.
I don’t stop to fix anything else. I open the door.
Lidiya steps back. “Legal room. There’s a call waiting.”
I nod once and walk ahead, already bracing for whatever’s on the other end of that line.
I walk into the legal room. The secure phone sits on the table with its red line blinking, one short ring cutting through the room, then another.
Abramov stands beside it with his tablet open, watching the signal, but he hasn’t touched the receiver. He looks at me, then at Maksim, waiting.
Maksim stands over a spread of registry copies with his sleeves rolled up, his jaw locked hard enough to show me this call is bad.
I look around the room. Leonid has stopped mid-page with one finger holding his place. Dima is by the door with one hand near his jacket, two guards stand at the far wall. Every man looks braced for the next order.
Maksim reaches the phone first. He listens for three seconds, and his face closes before he speaks. “No.”
My throat dries, and my pulse starts beating hard in my ears. He looks at me, and I know.
I stand before he can decide for me. “It’s him,” he says.
Maksim covers the receiver with one hand. “He says he’ll only speak with you.”
“Then put him through.”
“No.”
The answer comes fast enough to sting.
I walk toward him, and every guard inside suddenly finds the floor very interesting. “He’s my father.”
“He’s the man who listed you.”
“He’s the man who built the structure we’re trying to break,” I say, stopping close enough that he has to look down at me. “If he’s calling, he wants something, and if he wants something, he may give us something.”
“He may get inside your head.”
“He built half of it,” I say, and Maksim’s face changes. “Now let me use that.”
His nostrils flare once, and the hand over the receiver tightens. For a second I think he will refuse anyway. Then he pulls the phone from his ear and hits the speaker.
“Three minutes,” Maksim says.
Sergei’s voice fills the room, calm and smooth enough to make my skin recoil.
“Elena.”
One word. My name in his mouth. A whole childhood folded into one controlled breath.
I put both hands on the table because standing without support suddenly takes work. “You wanted to speak.”
“I wanted to hear that you are well.”
“You sent men to take me.”
A pause. Small. Measured. “I sent men to retrieve you before Volkov turned you fully against your own blood.”
Maksim moves beside me, but I lift one hand without looking at him.
Sergei hears the silence and uses it. He always did. “You have been frightened, and I regret that. The men involved overreached.”
“You picked men who overreach for a living.”
“That’s the world we’re in, Solnyshko.”
My teeth lock around the word.
Bastard.
“No,” I say. “That’s the world you kept feeding and calling family.”
Leonid looks up from the far side of the table.
Sergei sighs softly. “You always had your mother’s temper.”
“Do not bring her into this.”
Sergei lets my anger pass without reacting, and his voice stays smooth and bored while he keeps talking.
“I built everything because I understood what weak men do to families without structure.”
I can’t hold back anymore. “Family? What did I ever ask for except a way out of your sick world?”
Sergei sighs and takes his time with it. “You think freedom is a clean apartment, a law degree, and distance from my name. Yes?”
“No,” I say. “Freedom is not being yours.”
Sergei talks over me like he didn’t hear a word. “I let you believe that because you needed ambition, and I encouraged it because one day, you would need to understand what I was giving you.”
Still the operator. My fingers dig into the table edge as that old voice comes through the line, patient, disappointed, and certain I’ll eventually return to his version of sense.
“Giving me,” I say.
“Yes,” Sergei answers. “Protection, continuity, and a place no one could simply take from you. I put your name where it would matter.”
“You buried my name where it could be used.”
“I placed you beyond erasure.”
“You placed me on the Blacklist and then disappeared.”
Sergei says nothing for one beat, and that beat tells me more than his speeches ever did.
I lean closer to the phone. “Say it. Tell them it was for my future too.”
“Elena,” he says, lower now, “you’re young enough to confuse harsh tools with cruelty.”
“No. I can read the filings you buried. I know what a proxy chain does, and I know a dormant company can still move if the right clause is touched.” My voice shakes once, and I steady it. “You sold access to my body and called it continuity.”
Maksim’s hand lands on the back of my chair. He doesn’t touch me. He gives me the line of him behind me, and I hate how much strength I take from it.
Sergei’s voice cools. “You’re emotional. I gave you the ability to survive men like Volkov.”
I look at Maksim. He stands beside me, eyes on the phone, and he doesn’t interrupt.
“You forced me into his house,” I say. “You put my name in places he couldn’t ignore, and then you called that protection.”
Sergei goes silent for the first time.
My throat burns, but I keep going.
“You didn’t protect me. You set it up so I could be used. My name went on it, then you vanished and let them come for me.”
“Elena, listen to yourself.”
“I am,” I say. “For once, I’m listening to myself before you explain me back into obedience.”
Leonid’s pen lowers to the table, and Abramov’s eyes flick toward Maksim.
Sergei’s voice hardens. “Volkov has filled your head.”
“No,” I say, calmer now. “You did. You taught me law, patterns, clean wording, and routine documents. You forgot I was paying attention.”
The line goes still. Maksim feels it too, and his hand moves flat against the table.
Sergei speaks carefully. “You know enough to be dangerous and not enough to be safe.”
I grip the table harder. “Then teach me more.”
Maksim’s head turns toward me.
Sergei says nothing.
I smile. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To be asked. To be the only man at this table who knows the map. So explain it.” I bend over the page, then look up at Maksim and let my mouth tighten like I hate needing the answer. “Tell me which clause I missed.”
Sergei’s voice lowers, and the calm turns almost pleased. “If you think you understand the structure, Elena, you still know only the skin of it.”