Chapter Thirty-Six
Sabrina
The next few days blurred together.
I barely left my bed. Whenever I closed my eyes, I was back outside that room, listening to Yuri and Olga talk about Dario as though he were something to be claimed.
I didn't have an answer for what had happened. I only knew that I couldn't keep sitting in my room pretending I was going to find one.
My family refused to let me disappear into my own head. When I wouldn't leave my room, they came to me instead.
Dario stayed close. Every morning, he'd look at me and ask, “Are you sad today, Bina?”
Sometimes I'd tell him I was tired. Other times, I'd promise I was okay.
He never believed me.
Instead, he'd press himself against my side, slip his tiny hand into mine or place his favourite teddy in my lap, convinced it would somehow make everything better.
The days settled into a quiet routine. Nobody asked me to explain anything. They simply refused to let me face it alone.
Dario was the worst at giving me space.
One afternoon, he fell asleep beside me beneath his dinosaur blanket. He shifted in his sleep, mumbling something I couldn't make out before instinctively reaching for my hand. His tiny fingers wrapped around mine without ever opening his eyes.
I looked down at him for a long moment before carefully intertwining our fingers.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered.
He smiled in his sleep.
And somehow, that hurt most of all.
On the sixth morning, I finally got out of bed.
The house was already awake by the time I made my way downstairs. Conversation drifted through the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of cutlery against plates and the smell of fresh coffee.
The moment I stepped through the doorway, the room fell noticeably quieter.
Everyone looked up.
Mum was the first to smile.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
Dad lowered the newspaper he'd been reading, studying me carefully.
“You look better.”
I gave the smallest shrug.
“I've been thinking.”
One corner of his mouth twitched.
“Dangerous.”
A few quiet laughs circled the table, easing some of the tension that had settled over the house during the past week.
“I want to go into New York today.”
The laughter faded.
Dad held my gaze for a long moment.
“Why?”
“I just do.”
He was quiet for a moment before asking, “You'll be with Asher, Mario and Lillian?”
“Yes.”
“You'll answer your phone?”
“Yes.”
“And you'll come home tonight?”
“I will.”
For a moment, I thought he was going to refuse.
Instead, he folded his newspaper, leaned back in his chair and nodded once.
“Alright.”
I frowned slightly.
“That's it?”
A faint smile crossed his face.
“You've spent the last week locked in your bedroom.”
His expression softened.
“I don't think keeping you here is helping anymore.”
Something tightened in my chest.
“Thank you.”
He nodded towards the coffee pot.
“Just come home.”
“I will.”
Less than an hour later, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Asher's SUV as Manhattan slowly came into view beyond the windscreen.
No one spoke for the first twenty minutes. They knew me well enough to recognise the difference between Sabrina and Morana.
Mario was the first to break the silence.
“I found her.”
I turned towards him.
“Olga?”
He nodded.
“Olga Petrova.”
Hearing her full name sent something cold settling in my chest.
“There wasn't much to find once we had her surname. She's been using false identities for years, but she's currently checked into a hotel in Midtown under one of them.”
He turned his laptop towards us.
A photograph filled the screen.
She looked older than I remembered, but I'd know that face anywhere.
“The hotel's security is decent,” Mario continued. “Four cameras cover the corridor outside her room, another two watch the stairwell.”
“Can you take them down?”
He gave me a flat look.
I almost smiled.
“Right. Stupid question.”
“They'll be offline for ninety seconds.”
“That’s enough.”
Lillian looked across at me.
“You sure about this?”
“Yes.”
She studied my face for a moment longer before nodding.
Nobody tried to talk me out of it.
Olga had spent years beside Sergei. She knew things.
I intended to make her talk.
By the time Asher parked two streets away from the hotel, Sabrina no longer existed.
Black tactical clothing replaced our everyday clothes. My hood was pulled low, the mask concealing everything except my eyes.
Morana had returned.
The same cold focus settled across Asher, Mario and Lillian.
Without another word, we slipped through the service entrance at the back of the building.
Mario crouched beside the security panel, connecting a small device to the network.
“Thirty seconds.”
The hallway remained silent.
A few moments later, he disconnected the device and stood.
“Cameras are down.”
We moved immediately.
The emergency stairwell was empty, our footsteps barely audible against the concrete as we climbed towards the ninth floor.
Asher produced a lock-picking kit.
“We're in.”
He eased the door open just enough for us to slip through before quietly pushing it shut behind us.
The room was almost completely dark. Heavy curtains had been left partially open, allowing pale morning light to spill across the carpet.
The steady sound of breathing drew my attention to the bed.
Olga was asleep.
For a brief moment, nobody moved.
Lillian crossed the room first. Without making a sound, she reached the windows and slowly pulled the curtains together until every strip of daylight disappeared. The bedroom sank into shadow, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the room.
Asher and Mario searched the room with practised efficiency. Within seconds, they'd recovered three handguns and two knives.
“That's all of them,” Mario murmured.
I nodded once.
“Good.”
Neither of them asked what came next.
They already knew.
I crossed the room without hurrying.
An armchair sat in the corner opposite the bed, angled towards the sleeping woman. I lowered myself into it, crossing one leg over the other as though I had every right to be there.
The room fell silent.
Lillian positioned herself beside the door. Asher leaned casually against the wall while Mario remained near the wardrobe, his laptop tucked beneath one arm.
For years, I'd known her as the cold-faced headmistress who had thrown me out of the orphanage.
Now I knew exactly who she was.
Olga Petrova.
A loyal servant of Sergei Volkov.
The woman who had spent years smiling at children while helping the people who wanted to take one of them away.
She shifted beneath the duvet, murmuring something unintelligible before rolling onto her back.
None of us reacted.
A few more seconds passed.
Then her eyelids fluttered open.
For a heartbeat, she simply stared at the ceiling, still caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness. Slowly, her gaze drifted across the room.
It found Lillian first.
Then Asher.
Mario.
Finally, me.
The confusion vanished from her face, replaced by recognition.
For the very first time since I'd stepped into the room, I smiled.
“Good morning, Olga.”