22. Elena
The phone vibrates again in my palm, a live thing, angry, impatient to be answered.
Alexei’s voice cuts sharply through the room behind me, already in motion. “Trace it. Now. Get Mitchell back on the line.”
Maurice’s fingers erupt over the keyboards, pausing long enough to grab the phone and dial back Mitchell, Zurdonia’s security expert and computer hacker. The screens shift, and the room leans in as the phone continues to vibrate in my hand.
I answer before fear can talk me out of it, thumb stabbing the screen as I flip it to speaker.
“Hello.”
The word slides through the speaker like silk over a blade.
My stomach drops.
That voice. Smooth. Intimate. Poisonously familiar.
For a heartbeat, I’m not in Petrova’s palace.
I’m somewhere else entirely; darker, colder, standing across from Ivan for the first time, that same honeyed menace curling around a single word.
My skin prickles, memory lighting up nerve endings I’d rather have burned away.
Even now, even after everything, it makes me flinch.
A ghost in my dreams since it all ended, it isn’t a whisper anymore.
It presses against my ribs, threatening to split me apart right where I stand.
“Oksana.” My voice comes out in a growl.
I can’t see her, but I feel her smile. It presses against my spine, against the back of my eyes.
“So,” Oksana murmurs, pleased. “You finally know who I am.”
The most unsettling part is that she isn’t angry.
There’s no pain in her voice, not even a tremor.
Instead, she sounds almost… curious, as if she’s genuinely intrigued by how I unraveled a riddle she intended to keep buried.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she sounded almost impressed that I’d uncovered her secret.
“I’m intrigued,” she continues lightly. “It took you longer than I expected. I wonder how you managed it.”
My grip tightens on the phone.
“I know it wasn’t you,” Oksana goes on, almost thoughtfully. “Or your husband, who came for your little friend.” She pauses long enough to let the words settle, but not sink in. “So, who was it?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer.
“If I had to guess, Clara Ryder—” She cuts herself off with a soft laugh.
“Yes, yes. I know who she is. She played her part well.” Her next pause feels sharper.
“But the one you scraped together who looked almost like your king?” Amusement flickers in her tone.
“That one is still a mystery. He hid himself well.”
“This call isn’t about guessing names,” I tell her, my voice steady despite the heat crawling up my neck. “What do you want?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “You.”
My pulse kicks hard. Eerily, they were the same words Ivan once spoke.
“And your husband. That was the agreement. You didn’t show.”
I let out a breath that tastes like iron. “I thought you were smart. You couldn’t have actually believed we would.”
She laughs, low, delighted. “I did. Especially once you knew who I was.” Her voice dips, intimate. “And knowing your habit of giving yourself up for the people you love.”
My eyes narrow. My fingers curl tighter around the phone until my knuckles ache. “I got her back.”
“Yes,” Oksana agrees softly.
My eyes narrow at the overly placating lilt in her voice, as if I’m some child who needs praise and coddling. She’s about to learn, like Ivan did, that I’m one member of this family you never, ever underestimate.
“Because I allowed it.” Her sweetness sharpens. “You betrayed my kindness. And now you’ll pay for it.”
I scoff. “Let me guess. Another death threat?”
A sardonic laugh ripples through the speaker. “Oh… no. Death is implied. It will come.” She pauses, savoring the silence. “But now, because you didn’t follow through, things are going to get so much worse. For you. And for Alexei. For the people of Zurdonia.”
“I’m tired of your threats,” I snap. “But I have one of my own. I will stop you. You and Wendell. I’ll put you behind bars where you belong, just like I did my dear, late grandfather.”
The line goes quiet.
When Oksana speaks again, the teasing is gone. The warmth evaporates, leaving something flat and vicious in its place. “There are far worse things than death,” she warns calmly. “You’re about to find out.”
Rage surges hot and wild. “Keep Alexei and my family out of this,” I growl. “If you want me, come after me.”
I can feel Alexei’s gaze on me, sharp, furious, demanding in my invitation to every danger within a hundred miles straight to my chest. His shoulders bunch forward, his expression hardening, jaw setting.
His eyes lock onto the phone in my hand with the same predatory intensity he brings to a punching bag after a long workout.
Alexei never treats a threat lightly, but one this bold has crossed the line.
This isn’t a concern anymore. This is wrath.
Oksana cuts me off, sharp as a slap. “I thought Ivan warned you about this. About what feelings do. About love.” Disappointment drips from her voice. “Apparently, I’ll have to revisit that lesson with you soon.”
“If you want a war,” I say, breath shaking now, “if you go after the people I love, I’ll bring it straight to your doorstep.”
She laughs.
Not loud. Not rushed. That same cocky certainty Ivan always had, both from years of skirting consequences and feeling untouchable. That arrogance gives us an edge.
“Oh, Elena,” Oksana croons. “This is a war you cannot win. I’m not coming straight for you.” Her voice lowers, deliberately. “When I’m finished, you will come to me.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“I will do what my father could not,” she continues, unbothered. “I’ll burn Zurdonia down piece by piece until there’s nothing left for you and Alexei but surrender.” A smile slips into her words. “And you will.”
I lift my eyes to Alexei.
Fear claws up my chest, hooking between my ribs. He’s watching me like he already knows, like he’s bracing for the same impact I am.
“I’ll see you soon,” Oksana says. She pauses briefly. Then, almost kindly, the blade twists. “Oh—and the rose?” she adds. “It looks far better on you than it ever did on your mother.”
The line goes dead.
Silence crashes into the room, thick and suffocating.
My hand is still clenched around the phone while the other finds the rose charm beneath my blouse.
And for the first time since this began, I know deep in my bones, Hannah was the beginning of how much worse things would get.
As badly as I want to leave Petrova behind, the clock didn’t care as the hours dragged.
The palace was vibrating. Not with joy, but with that frantic, post-mission buzz.
Footsteps hammered against the floors. Doors slammed.
Servants darted between security teams, carrying Alexei’s sharp, clipped orders like contraband.
A heavy fog settled over the main room, thick and suffocating.
My patience snapped, thread by thread, with every second that ticked by.
Alexei and Maurice stood over a table. Mitchell was on the screen.
The surface was a disaster of monitors, tangled cables, and notes scrawled in haste.
Blue light washed over their faces, cold and unfeeling.
Code scrolled endlessly, a digital waterfall they couldn’t drink from.
Mitchell didn’t blink. His fingers flew across the keyboard, then tapped the speakerphone.
The rhythm got sharper with every failed search.
Every digital trail vanished. Just like that. Oksana knew how to erase herself. Left nothing but silence where answers should be.
Mitchell wouldn’t quit. I know him. He’s the best. There’s no one else.
An hour passed. Then another. Finally, news came: Ruslan, Clara, Braydon, and Hannah were back at the palace. The knot in my chest loosened. Just enough. I pulled air into my lungs. Safe. They’re safe.
The final hours blurred. Report filed, security details confirmed, and our bags loaded. Goodbyes stretched out, longer than I wanted. We thanked Max and Elizabeth. I meant it. But the gratitude felt small. Pathetic, really, against the size of the debt we owed them...
Then, at last, we boarded our plane headed back to Zurdonia, as the engines roared to life.
I knock once, soft, automatic, and push the door open before my better judgment can rethink it.
I stop short.
Braydon is leaning over the bed, one large hand braced carefully at Hannah’s side, his head bowed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. It’s reverent. Protective. The kind of tenderness that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. It reminds me of Alexei and my relationship.
“Oh—” I blurt, heat rushing up my neck. I turn halfway back toward the door, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry. I’ll come back later.”
Hannah laughs, bright and real, the sound loosening something tight wedged in the center of my chest. “Don’t you dare,” she warns through a cough.
“Besides,”—she tips her head to look up at Braydon, affection written all over her face—“it’ll give him a chance to take a break. He hasn’t let me out of his sight.”
Braydon grunts, low and stubborn. He and Alexei could be twins at this point. “Don’t think I ever will.”
Hannah smiles. I do too. The kind of smile that comes with relief so sharp it almost hurts. We both laugh softly, the tension easing a fraction.
Braydon squeezes her hand once more, like he’s memorizing the feel of it, then straightens and turns toward me. He gives a small, formal bow. My hand shoots out, reaching for his elbow before he can step past, forcing him to look at me.
I want him to see it. Every ounce of sincerity. Gratitude so deep it borders on reverence.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For saving my family. I will never forget it.”
His expression barely changes, but his voice drops, meant only for me. “She’s my family too.”
Then he steps away, closing the door gently behind him, leaving the room hushed and warm and painfully real.