Chapter 19
Valerie
Three weeks.
I've been living in this fortress for three weeks, and every day I feel the walls close in a little tighter.
I can’t breath.
Patrick calls every three days like clockwork. Demands more. Better intel. Faster results.
I give him what I can—guard schedules, vehicle patterns, the names of men who come and go from business meetings. Small things. Nothing that could get anyone killed.
Or so I tell myself.
But it's never enough. It's never going to be enough.
And the deadline he gave me three weeks ago? It came and went. Now there's a new one. Always a new one. Always Ethan's safety hanging in the balance.
Just survive one more day. Just get through one more week.
That's what I tell myself every morning when I braid Mila's hair and pretend I'm not planning to betray her father.
Today is Thursday. Lev has a security meeting at the east perimeter—something about upgrading cameras, Mikhail mentioned it at breakfast. He'll be gone for at least two hours.
Two hours is enough.
I've been watching his study for three weeks. Memorizing his patterns. The door is locked, but I've seen Sofia use the keypad. Six digits. I couldn't see the exact sequence, but I saw enough. Her hand moved in a pattern—down, left, down, right, up, center.
I can figure this out.
I have to figure this out.
Because Patrick's latest demand isn't for guard schedules or car routes. He wants Lev's calendar. Wants to know where he'll be and when. Wants specifics.
And I know what that means. I'm not stupid.
He's planning something. An ambush. An attack. Something that requires knowing exactly when and where Lev will be vulnerable.
I can't do this. I can't give him that information.
But then my phone buzzes with a photo of Ethan leaving school, and the message is clear: Tick tock, Valerie.
So, with rubbery legs, I'll walk into that study, photograph whatever I can find, and hand my brother's safety over to Patrick one more time.
And I'm going to hate myself for it.
I wait until I hear the front door close. Lev's voice drifting back as he gives Mikhail instructions. The sound of multiple footsteps heading toward the east wing.
Then silence.
I give it five more minutes, heart hammering the entire time, before I move. The hallway to his study is empty. Security cameras blink red in the corners, but I've learned their blind spots. Learned how to move through this house like a ghost.
Three weeks of practice.
The keypad glows beside his door. Six digits. I replay Sofia's hand movement in my mind—down, left, down, right, up, center.
Numbers on a keypad. Down-left is 1. Down is 2. Down-right is 3. Left is 4. Center is 5. Right is 6. Up-left is 7. Up is 8. Up-right is 9.
So the pattern would be... 1, 4, 2, 6, 8, 5.
I punch it in with shaking fingers.
The lock clicks.
Oh God. It worked.
I push the door open and slip inside, closing it quickly behind me.
Lev's study is exactly what I expected—dark wood, steel accents, everything meticulously organized. His desk dominates the center of the room, laptop closed on top. Filing cabinets line one wall. Windows overlook the grounds where I can see guards patrolling.
I have maybe ninety minutes before he returns. Less if the meeting finishes early.
Move. Focus.
I head for the desk first. Pull out my phone and open the camera.
The laptop is password-protected—I'm not stupid enough to try that. But there's a physical planner beside it. The kind important people keep for meetings they don't want digitally tracked.
I flip it open to this week.
Thursday—today—shows the security meeting. 3:00 PM. East perimeter.
But Friday has something else: Shipment arrival. Pier 17. 11:00 PM. M + 4.
My hands shake as I photograph the page. Then the next week. And the week after that.
Meeting locations. Times. Names I don't recognize but Patrick probably will.
This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong.
But I keep photographing. Keep gathering exactly what Patrick demanded.
Because Ethan's life is worth more than my conscience.
I'm flipping to next month when I hear it.
A voice. Low and cold and coming from directly behind me.
"Looking for something?"
My blood turns to ice.
I spin around, and Lev is standing in the doorway.
Not at the east perimeter. Not at the security meeting. Right here. Watching me with those pale gray eyes that see everything.
How long has he been there?
"I—" Words die in my throat. There's no explanation. No excuse that would make sense. I'm holding his planner, my phone in my other hand, clearly photographing his private schedule.
I'm caught.
This is death.
He steps into the room and closes the door behind him with a soft click that sounds like a
I back up instinctively. My hip hits the edge of his desk.
Nowhere to go.
"I set traps for you, Valerie." He's close enough now that I can smell his cologne. See the cold calculation in his eyes. "Left doors unlocked. Made sure you saw Sofia's keypad entry. Scheduled a meeting I had no intention of attending."
A trap. This whole thing was a trap. I’m such a fool.
"And you walked right into it." His mouth curves into something that isn't quite a smile. "Just like I knew you would."
My phone slips from my shaking hand and clatters onto the desk. The planner follows.
"Please—"
"Please what?" He takes the final step, crowding me against the desk, hands bracing on either side of my hips. Caging me. "Please don't kill you? Please let you go? Please believe whatever bullshit excuse you're about to give me?"
I can't answer. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but stand here trapped between his body and the desk while my heart tries to hammer through my ribs.
"Who sent you?" The question comes out quiet. Deadly.
I can't tell him. Patrick will kill Ethan. Will kill Mom. Will make me watch.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
His hand comes up to my throat so fast I don't see it coming. Wraps around my neck—not squeezing yet, just resting there, a promise of what he could do if I keep lying.
"Try again, mouse."
"I'm not—there's no one—"
His grip tightens slightly. Not cutting off air, but making it harder to get. Making the threat very, very clear.
"Last chance, Valerie. Who. Sent. You."
Tears burn my eyes. I shake my head because I can't speak with his hand on my throat, can't explain that answering him means death for my family, can't make him understand that I'm trapped between two monsters and there's no right choice.
His grip tightens. Not cutting off air completely, but making it harder. Making the threat very, very clear.
"I can make this very painful, Valerie. Or you can tell me the truth and maybe—maybe—I'll let you live." His thumb presses against my pulse. "Who. Sent. You."
Tears burn my eyes. I can't answer. Can't breathe. Can't—
"Last chance." His voice drops to something colder. "Or I call Mikhail in here and we do this a different way. You know what I’m capable of, Valerie, do not test me. I’ll find your family—”
No. No no no—
"My father!" It tears out of me. "My father owed money. A lot of money. To someone—I don't know who. And when he couldn't pay, they killed him."
His grip loosens slightly. Enough to let me breathe. "Go on."
"The debt didn't die with him. It transferred to us. To me, my mom, and my brother." The lie pours out mixed with truth. "They said if I didn't pay it off, they'd kill my family. Kill Ethan."
"How much?"
"I don't know exactly. Hundreds of thousands. Maybe more."
"And spying on me pays this debt how?"
"They said—" I swallow hard. "They said if I gathered information on you and reported back, they'd consider it payment. That each piece of intel was worth money off what we owe."
His eyes narrow. Searching my face for lies. "Who are 'they'?"
"I don't know." This part has to sound convincing. "I never met them directly. Just got phone calls. Instructions. They never gave names."
"Bullshit." His hand tightens again. "You're working for someone, and you don't know who?"
"I swear! I only ever talked to one man on the phone. He never said his name. Never met face-to-face. Just calls and tells me what to find and where to send it."
"What phone?"
"Burner. He gave it to me after—after my dad died."
His jaw clenches. He doesn't believe me. I can see it in his eyes—he knows I'm lying, or at least not telling the whole truth.
But he can't prove it.
"You're a terrible liar, Valerie." His voice is soft. Dangerous. "But that story is just believable enough that I can't dismiss it entirely."
"It's the truth—"
"Part of it, maybe." His thumb brushes across my jaw. "The part about your family being threatened? That I believe. The terror in your eyes is real. But the rest?" He leans closer. "You're hiding something."
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." His other hand slides into my hair, gripping tight. "And I'm going to find out what."
His eyes search mine for a long moment.
Then something shifts in his expression. His grip on my throat loosens slightly, and his other hand comes up to my face. Thumb brushing across my cheek, wiping away a tear that escaped.
"You're terrified." It's not a question. Observation. "Shaking. Crying. Convinced I'm about to kill you."
I nod because what else can I do?
"And yet..." His thumb drags across my jaw, and I feel the roughness of his skin catching on mine. "Your pulse isn't just racing from fear, is it?"
What?
"Your pupils are dilated. Your breath keeps catching. Your thighs are pressed together like you're trying to hide something." His face is so close now I can feel his words against my lips. "You're turned on. I have the power to always turn you own.”
"No—" The denial is automatic. "I'm not—"
"Liar." But he says it almost fondly. "Your body doesn't lie, Valerie. Even when your mouth does."
His hand slides from my throat down to my collarbone. Then lower. Palm pressing against my chest where my heart is trying to escape.