Chapter 4 #2
I grab my coat from the hook and pause at the door.
“Anna?”
She lifts her head.
“Thank you. For… just being here.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “Of course, milaya. Go before you’re late again.”
I step out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind me.
As I descend the stairs, the warmth starts to fade. Because the second I step back outside, I’m not just me anymore.
I’m a girl with a mission. A girl walking into a den. But for now? I let the warmth stay with me a little longer.
The walk home is cold, but I barely feel it.
The city stretches around me, tall and golden, buzzing faintly with life that has nothing to do with mine. Neon signs flicker above restaurants and storefronts. Cars blur past with headlights like moving ghosts. Somewhere, a siren wails in the distance.
But inside me?
Silence.
The kind that feels like something’s coming. Not loud. Not obvious. Just… inevitable.
I wrap my coat tighter and keep walking, my boots clicking softly against the pavement. I don’t take the main road. I never do. I take the alleys I know. The shortcuts no one thinks to use.
The ones where I don’t have to pretend.
When I reach the entrance of my building, I nod at the doorman and step into the lobby, the warm air curling around me like a temporary shield.
The elevator hums softly as it rises.
Floor thirty-five.
Penthouse.
The second the doors slide open and I step into my apartment, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath since I left Anna’s.
The space is dark and quiet, just how I left it. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, the sky streaked in fading pinks and blues.
My heels echo faintly across the marble floors as I head toward the bedroom.
I don’t turn on the lights. I just move by memory.
My uniform hangs neatly where I left it—black pencil skirt, tailored black vest over a crisp white blouse, and the slim waist apron Rafael insists all female servers wear in the high-stakes VIP section of the casino.
I stare at it for a moment longer than usual. It’s simple. Elegant. Sharp. But every time I wear it, I feel like I’m stepping into armor made of silk and thread.
A role.
A lie.
But one I’ve perfected.
I peel off my clothes and head into the bathroom, washing my face in cold water before brushing out my hair, pulling it into a neat low ponytail.
Dark brown strands. Light brown eyes.
A face Rafael has started watching too closely.
I smooth out the front of my blouse and slide the skirt over my hips, buttoning the vest and slipping the apron ties behind me.
A breath in. A breath out.
She’s back.
The girl who’s going to burn an empire from the inside out.
I step back into the bedroom and grab my phone just as it buzzes in my hand.
Kellan: We’re outside.
Of course they are. They’re never far.
Neither is the war I’m walking into.
I slip my phone into my clutch, grab my coat from the chair by the door, and head out of the apartment.
The elevator is already waiting. As the doors close behind me, I catch my reflection in the mirrored panel—composed, poised, a ghost of the girl I used to be.
The floor numbers light up one by one as I descend. By the time I reach the lobby, the mask is already on.
I push the door open and step into the night air.
Kellan is behind the wheel of the black SUV parked at the curb. Ash is in the passenger seat, glancing down at his phone. The moment they see me, both doors unlock with a quiet click.
I slide into the backseat.
Ash twists around slightly to look at me. “You look like someone who’s about to ruin someone’s life.”
I raise a brow. “That’s oddly specific.”
“It’s the eyes,” Kellan mutters, pulling away from the curb. “You get that look when you’re thinking too much.”
“I always think too much.”
“Yeah,” he says under his breath. “But tonight it’s louder.”
I glance out the window. The city is alive around us—lit up and humming like it knows something I don’t. The tension under my skin has been growing all day, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t quite push it down.
I press my fingers lightly against my thigh, grounding myself.
“I’m just working,” I murmur.
Ash snorts. “You’ve never ‘just worked’ a day in your life.”
I smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach my chest.
Kellan glances at me through the rearview. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
My eyes flick to his.
He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to.
Because I do.
Something is different tonight.
I don’t know what. I don’t know when. But something is going to shift.
And we’re already past the point of turning back.
The drive doesn’t take long, but every minute that ticks by, the weight in my chest coils tighter.
When we pull into the underground lot beneath Hotel Obshor, the usual security scans our plates and waves us through. Kellan parks in the same space as always, and I step out before either of them can open my door.
The cold air wraps around my ankles, biting at my skin beneath the hem of my skirt.
Ash moves beside me, brushing invisible lint off my shoulder. “Be careful.”
I nod.
Kellan leans against the hood of the car, arms crossed. “You’ve got your mic?”
I tap my ear once.
“I’m not saying anything unless I have to,” I tell them.
“You won’t have to,” Kellan says. “Unless it goes wrong.”
“It won’t.”
But I’m not sure I believe that anymore.
I walk through the back entrance of the hotel, my heels silent against the smooth marble floor. I pass by a few familiar faces—staff members I’ve seen in passing, never long enough to remember their names.
They don’t stop me.
No one ever does anymore.
I know the route. I know the layout. I know how long it takes to get from the hallway to the casino doors without anyone seeing you hesitate.
And I don’t.
But the second I push through the doors of the casino— the noise hits. Music. Laughter. The faint hum of money being lost and power being played with like it’s nothing more than a card on a table.
But even through the sound— I feel it.
The shift.
Something is different tonight.
The lights are lower. Golden. Muted. Like the room is trying to seduce every secret out of the people inside it.
The casino is full, but quieter than usual—like everyone here knows they aren’t just here to play. They’re here to watch.
To listen.
To be seen without ever being named.
I move through it like I belong—because by now, I do.
My heels barely make a sound against the velvet-trimmed floors. The uniform clings to me in the right places, not revealing, just sharp. Intentional.
Eyes follow.
They always do.
But none of them matter. Not when the only one I can feel watching me is already waiting.
Rafael sits at his usual table. Corner booth. Best view.
Flanked by shadows and men in expensive suits who laugh too loudly and drink too slowly. The kind of men who hold power in the way they flick an ash tray or nod to a server.
Nikolai is there too, as always. Calm. Silent. Razor-sharp behind the eyes.
I walk to the table, keeping my gaze steady. Rafael’s fingers are resting on the base of a crystal glass, his thumb circling the rim once, slowly, like he’s waiting for something to begin.
He looks up as I approach. And I know he knows.
He’s already watching me before I stop at the edge of the table, nodding once, waiting for the orders.
He doesn’t speak.
He just lifts his glass slightly—silent instruction.
I take the request like I’m used to it, even though every time he does it, it feels like a game he’s winning.
I turn without a word and head for the bar.
When I return, drinks balanced neatly on the tray, Rafael’s leaning back in the booth while the others talk. I set the drinks down silently, letting the men murmur thanks or not at all.
Rafael takes his without breaking eye contact with the man across from him.
Then I move behind him. My place. At his shoulder.
Silent. Still.
Listening.
“—the shipment moved out of Belgium on Tuesday,” the man across from him says, swirling amber liquid in a glass that probably cost more than most people’s rent. “I spoke to Anton myself. It was clean.”
Rafael doesn’t blink. “And Paris?”
The man hesitates.
Nikolai shifts beside him.
“Paris was… delayed.”
“Delayed how?”
“A few of the customs agents asked questions.”
“Did they get answers?”
“No.” The man swallows. “But someone’s asking on the Italian side.”
My pulse tightens.
Paris.
It’s the second time I’ve heard that in a week.
The first time was when Nikolai whispered it into Rafael’s ear before he stood and ended the night without warning.
And now it’s here again, wrapped in lies and hesitation and too many eyes glancing in every direction but mine.
I stand perfectly still.
Rafael doesn’t say anything for a long time.
Then, quietly, “If anyone touches that route again without telling me, I’ll burn every inch of it and salt the ground.”
The man nods quickly. “Understood.”
Conversation shifts.
Another man starts talking about a recent fallout in Prague. Someone flipped. Someone died. Another name gone from the books.
But I’m not listening anymore. Because my thoughts are already spinning.
Paris. It means something.
And I need to know what.
My fingers twitch at my sides. I shift my weight just slightly. No one notices.
I glance to my left, eyes skimming the room like I’m checking for a server or listening to music in the background.
Then I move. Not fast. Not suddenly.
Just one step at a time, like I’ve done a hundred times before.
I walk toward the hallway that leads to the private bathrooms. I keep my face composed. My pace even.
But my heart is not steady.
I feel it pounding in my chest, a beat too loud, too fast, as I slip through the last set of double doors and out of the casino.
The noise dulls behind me instantly. I scan the hallway once—empty. Then again—faster.
And then I turn right and walk fast, heels quiet now, almost silent as I head down the narrow passage that leads toward the back stairwell.
Toward Ash.