Chapter 31
ASTRID
The second the message sends, I know I can’t wait.
It’s not just a gut feeling. If I’ve found the beginning of a financial trail between a cartel financier and a corrupt FBI agent, and if Elena’s just been locked out of the system that holds the rest, then the clock isn’t ticking. It’s already ticked.
I slip the highlighted data onto a USB drive. The plastic clicks softly into place, a sound that feels too small for the weight it carries. My hands move on autopilot—encrypt, eject, label it with a red dot from Elena’s drawer of stickers.
My mind’s already ahead of me, planning the route. Rehearsing how I’ll explain it and wondering how Yuri will look at me when I tell him.
Not with suspicion, I hope. Not this time.
As I start to stand, something tugs at me, a flicker of memory more than thought. My thoughts drift to the nightstand beside my bed.
I know what I have to do.
Soon, I’m back in my room, my eyes on the drawer where the other USB drives are hidden.
I step over to the nightstand and slowly slide out the drawer.
The false bottom lifts with a little pressure, just like Elena showed me.
She helped me carve the space out weeks ago, saying every smart woman in a house like this needs somewhere no one else can reach.
But she has no idea what’s hidden there.
Beneath the panel, tucked against the cool wood, are three USB drives.
The ones I never told Yuri about.
I stare at them for a moment, breath caught between decision and doubt. They gleam faintly in the low light. Silent. Waiting.
I hesitate.
They’re backup copies of old documents I pulled during our early searches. Some tagged with asset maps, others with internal Ivanov Holdings metadata. It’s information that could do damage to the Bratva if the wrong people were to get a hold of them.
I never planned to use them against anyone. That was never the point. They were for me only. For the version of me who still thought she might need a way out.
And maybe I did think that, once. Maybe some part of me needed to know I had leverage. That I could walk if I had to.
But I don’t want to walk.
Not from this. Not from him.
This world is brutal, complicated, and nothing like the life I thought I wanted. But it’s real. The choices matter. The stakes aren’t abstract. And Yuri—whatever darkness he carries—has become my axis. The fixed point everything else orbits.
I take all of them. No hesitation this time.
If I’m doing this, I’m doing it clean. It’s time for Yuri to have them and to know why I’ve been hiding them.
I text Elena.
Where’s Yuri?
She replies almost instantly.
Meeting at Ivanov Tower. 43rd floor. Long one. Should I ping him?
No. I’ll find him.
I slip the drives into my bag and zip it shut. There’s a thrum beneath my skin. Not fear but more like momentum. Like gravity’s shifted and everything’s pulling in one direction—forward.
I head downstairs, cutting through the long hallway that leads toward the foyer. The floorboards creak beneath my heels, the old wood never subtle, no matter how quietly I try to move.
As I pass one of the arched windows, I catch my reflection—serious, pale, resolute. Not the girl who came here weeks ago. Not the outsider.
This is my life now and I want it to be.
“Heading out?” Tatiana’s voice stops me cold. Her heels click softly on the tile as she approaches, the sound too delicate for the kind of tension it causes in my chest.
I shift my bag against my side, trying not to be obvious. There’s no way she knows. She can’t know. The USBs are buried under papers and a zipped interior pocket. Nothing about my face says betrayal because it isn’t betrayal. Not really.
Still, I can feel my pulse in my throat.
“Hey,” she says, tone unusually gentle. Her makeup is perfect, as always. Not a hair out of place. But her eyes are hard to read.
I blink. “Hey.”
There’s a strange beat of silence before she glances toward the tall windows. “You mind joining me for a walk?” she asks. “It’s not raining for once, and I could use some air. I came here to retrieve a file and was just heading back to the office when I spotted you.”
A thousand excuses bloom but none make it out of my mouth. Telling her no would draw more suspicion. Besides, she looks… off. Not dramatic, not icy. Just off.
“Sure,” I say, managing a smile. “Fresh air sounds good.”
We step through the side doors and into the back garden.
The scent of wet stone and roses hangs in the air.
Sunlight filters through the thinning clouds, scattering across polished flagstone paths and low hedges trimmed with ruthless precision.
Beyond that, the land stretches—terraced walkways winding through formal landscaping, leading deeper into groves of magnolia and beech.
It’s expansive. Ornamental in the front, almost wild at the edges. Easy to vanish from view once you’re in.
Tatiana walks slowly, her hands clasped in front of her. She looks thoughtful as she gazes down at the path. I follow half a step behind, not liking how far we’re drifting from the house. Still, I force myself to stay composed. Calm and neutral.
“You’ve been here a while now,” she says eventually. “In the mansion. With Yuri.”
I nod. “I have.”
We pass a stone bench wrapped in flowering ivy. A little bird startles from the underbrush, and I flinch before I can stop myself. Tatiana doesn’t seem to notice.
“So, how is he?” she asks. The question is innocent enough, but there’s a suspicious undertone to it.
I hesitate before answering. “He’s fine.”
Her lips curve into a wry smile. “You don’t have to be coy. I know something’s happening between you two.”
I say nothing. My mouth feels dry.
She keeps walking, turning down a path lined with lavender and ornamental cypress. The scent of it clings to the air, calming and fragrant. I glance back. The mansion’s out of sight now, blocked by the thick hedges and a narrow bend in the path.
And for the first time since encountering her, I wonder if I’m in danger.
Tatiana’s voice is softer now, but there's an unmistakable edge beneath it. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I just think it’s funny how quickly things can change. How someone can become indispensable so easily.”
I glance at her hands. They’re loose at her sides. No weapon. No trembling.
I can’t see the house anymore.
Tatiana gestures ahead with a graceful sweep of her hand, pale against the sun-dappled green. “This way.”
I follow, though every step makes my nerves light up. There’s a subtle incline, the stone path giving way to soft earth beneath carefully scattered gravel. We’re deeper into the estate grounds now, beyond the hedges and sculpted trees, into something older and less defined.
I suddenly feel foolish for coming with her. I didn’t have to say yes. I could’ve begged off—said I had work, a headache, a call to make. But now we’re so far from the house and I find myself beyond uncomfortable.
I glance sideways at her. If she notices my tension, she doesn’t show it.
“I remember the first time Yuri took me out,” she says, a sudden change of subject. “It was late September. Crisp air, golden leaves, all that romantic nonsense.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Oh?”
She nods. “He took me to a book shop. Not dinner. Not a club. A book shop downtown, full of dust and too many cats. He said he wanted to see what I picked first—poetry or politics. I think he thought of it as a test.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. I can picture him doing that.
“I chose a book of Osip Mandelstam poems,” she continues. “He didn’t say anything at the time, just paid for it and handed it to me. But months later, he told me that was the moment he started taking me seriously.” She gives me a sidelong glance. “He said he liked the darkness in my taste.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
Tatiana exhales slowly, eyes scanning the trees ahead. “Yuri’s not what people think. Everyone sees the cold. The silence. The violence. But there’s more to him. There always was.”
The air is lighter here, sun rays slicing through the branches overhead, dappling the path in gold and shadow. But I feel heavier by the second.
“I never wanted this life,” she says suddenly. “The Bratva. The blood. The weight of all these men making decisions and pretending it’s for our benefit.”
I glance at her, startled by the bitterness in her tone.
“I mean, I am Bratva,” she says. “By blood. By name. But I still loathe it.”
It’s said plainly, like a confession. And it’s confusing. Her tone isn’t accusatory. Just tired. Like someone speaking aloud to hear the sound of their own truth.
I realize, belatedly, that I’ve stopped paying attention to where we are. The hedges are long behind us now. The garden has given way to the deep woods, the trees old and wild with ivy.
My pulse kicks up. I glance around. I have no idea where we are. I stop walking.
“That was a nice story,” I say carefully, keeping my tone light. “And I appreciate the walk. But I really need to get going. I have to be somewhere.”
Tatiana stops too. She looks at me, almost studying me, and smiles. Not cruelly. Not warmly. But knowingly. “Of course,” she says. “Maybe we could do lunch sometime. Somewhere with fewer trees.”
“Sure,” I say, turning. “Lunch sounds great.” I take a step, then another, but her voice stops me again.
“You know, maybe in another life,” she says softly, “we could’ve been friends.”
I freeze. My spine prickles. I turn back toward her. “What the hell is going on, Tatiana?”
She tilts her head. “The Ivanov estate has one of the best security systems money can buy. Cameras, sensors, facial recognition. Nothing gets in or out without being seen.” She steps back, just slightly. “But even the best systems,” she says, “have blind spots.”
My blood runs cold. I spin, heart pounding. But I’m too late.
Figures burst into view from the tree line, four, five, maybe more. All dressed in black, moving fast. Tactical. Clean.
I run. Or at least try to.
The first one grabs me by the arm and I twist hard, driving my elbow into his neck. He grunts and staggers, but two more are on me instantly. I lash out with a boot and catch one in the knee, but it only buys me seconds.
A gloved hand yanks my hair. Another pins my wrist. Then I see the glint of a syringe. No time to scream. Pain lances through my arm as the needle plunges in. Ice blooms beneath my skin.
Tatiana’s voice is somewhere behind me. Calm. Unhurried. “Don’t fight it. We need you alive.”
I struggle, but I’m slipping away fast. Muscles failing, vision clouding, trees spinning skyward.
The last thing I see is Tatiana’s face, framed by sunlight through the leaves.
Then everything goes dark.