Chapter 30
TERESA
Iwake the next morning to a tray on the credenza. Oatmeal, berries, ginger tea, and a note in Dmitri’s neat handwriting. The bedroom fireplace crackles gently. For a second, everything feels normal, nice.
Then I remember yesterday. The bodies, the blood in the snow, how close we all came to… God, I don’t even want to think about it. I look over at the empty side of the bed, wishing Vlad was laying there beside me.
Working. Call if anything feels off.
He didn’t add where he was or what he was doing, and I appreciate the omission. The less I know, the safer I am. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I sip the ginger tea and watch the snow fall. I think of Vlad out there, calculating, hunting.
I try to work. Nika has pushed the morning meetings to video, and my laptop chimes with calendar invites—all remote. I answer two emails, then slam the laptop shut, nausea rolling in on a slow, queasy wave.
I breathe through it. Ginger helps, just like Vlad said it would. So does the promise I made myself at three in the morning when sleep wouldn’t come—hold it together for the baby. I lay my palm low on my stomach and imagine something the size of a blueberry. I can’t help but smile.
My phone buzzes with a text from Trina.
You okay? I’ve heard Vlad is on a tear through the city. What’s happening?
God, where to even begin?
I hesitate. Guards are here, one posted outside the foyer doors, one at the elevator, probably one on the roof. I’m not supposed to talk to anyone but Vlad until this blows over and only on the encrypted phone he gave me.
But Trina was the only person from my old life who didn’t turn into a ghost when Maxim died. She brought me flowers when I had no one. She answered calls at two a.m. She wrangled her uncle long enough for me to breathe. She has to be safe.
I’m okay. It’s just a lot.
Can you talk? On the phone, not text. Better for… everything.
I glance toward the double doors to the study, where someone in a silver tie is pretending not to hear me live my life. I take my personal phone into the master bedroom bath and close the door. Ridiculous but necessary. I sit on the edge of the tub and call Trina.
She answers on the first ring.
“Teresa,” she answers warmly. “I’ve been sick with worry. Are you alright? I saw the shooting in Central Park on the news. It had Bratva written all over it.”
“It was bad. They tried to kill us.”
“My God. At least you’re all okay. You, Vlad, and the baby. I met with Jack.”
Hearing his name is like a punch. “What? You met with him?
“Last night.” It sounds like she’s moving through a room, closing a door. “He reached out, said he talked to you. He told me about trying to meet up with you, how he snuck into the Christmas gala. God, what an idiot. I know he’s your brother, but still.”
“Yeah. That’s Jack.”
She lowers her voice. “Anyway, he said he has something you need to see.”
“I know. He has some pictures that supposedly connected Vlad to what happened to our parents. But they weren’t all that convincing. Vlad says they were forged, photoshopped or something.
“No, there’s more than that,” she says quickly. “Much more. He has actual paperwork. Copies, ledger sheets, maintenance logs, bank transfers. He says it proves what he said about your parents, about the crash.”
I can’t breathe. The bathroom spins for a moment, then rights itself in little, angry shudders.
It couldn’t be true…
“What paperwork?”
“He tracked the mechanic your father used. The one who handled the jet’s last overhaul.
” Trina’s tone is soft, apologetic. “There’s a line item, a consulting fee paid to a shell company three days before your parents’ flight.
The shell ties back to an Angeloff affiliate.
The name’s different, but the founding docs, the officers—it’s all a matryoshka doll.
Angeloff inside Angeloff inside Angeloff. ”
“No,” I say, half denial, half plea. “Those kinds of webs are… they’re everywhere. Everyone uses shells. It doesn’t mean—”
“There’s more.” She exhales sharply. “A work order for a nonstandard part. Jack showed me a photocopy. Same maintenance date, same tail number as your parent’s plane.
The stamp on the lower right corner has the Angeloff crest. It’s faint, but it’s there.
I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. ”
My fingers feel like ice around the phone. Somewhere in the penthouse a door opens and closes, the sound echoing through the wide foyer. I picture Vlad’s hands, rough yet gentle; his mouth, careful with me though ruthless with everyone else.
I picture a crest pressed in ink on a form that shouldn’t exist.
“No,” I whisper. “He wouldn’t. He said—” Tears sting. I try my best to blink them away.
“I know what he said,” Trina mutters. “And I know what you want to believe. But Jack didn’t just bring me gossip. He brought me proof. He said there’s more, digital stuff he can’t risk sending. He wants to give it to you in person. He says it’s enough to make you change your mind about Vlad.”
The room narrows. I remember the envelope in the motel. Jack’s eyes when he said he had evidence. Vlad’s expressionless face when my brother accused him of sabotage. The way he asked if I was alright before he decided what to do with the accusation.
My stomach flips. I breathe through it, palm flat against the cool stone of the tub.
“Teresa.” Trina’s voice is gentle. “You can’t stay there.”
“I’m safe here,” I say automatically.
“Safe or caged?”
I close my eyes. I can picture the helipad above us covered in snow, men guarding the elevator. I hear Vlad’s voice in my head. Not a request. I hear my own voice. I hate this. I press the heel of my hand to my sternum to ease the ache.
“I don’t know what to think,” I admit. “One second, I’m sure Jack’s trying to sell me a line, and the next I feel cracks in things I was sure were solid.”
“Of course you don’t know. You’re in the middle of his fortress, and he’s very good at making the inside feel like the whole world, like he’s the only one you can listen to and trust. That’s how powerful men work.
” She pauses. “And you’re—” She doesn’t say the word.
She doesn’t have to. “You have more to protect now. So does he. People do very dark things when they think family makes their cause righteous.”
Something inside me wants to defend him. Another part—smaller, meaner, born the night Maxim bled in my hands—hisses, “Look out for yourself, the baby.” I don’t know which voice to trust.
A knock on the bedroom door makes me jump. “Ms. Winslow?” a man calls. “Lunch.”
“Just a minute,” I say, a little too brightly. I wait for his footsteps to recede.
Trina lowers her voice. “I can help you.”
“How?” The word comes out hoarse. “I have six men in silver ties between me and the elevator. The roof has a helicopter on standby to take me upstate. I can’t even get fresh air without permission.”
“Then don’t ask for permission,” she says, her tone sharp, determined. “Ask me for help.”
I press my forehead to my wrist, the phone warm against my ear.
“If I leave and I’m wrong, if Jack is wrong…
” The rest doesn’t need words. If I leave, I shatter what might be the only good thing I’ve found since Maxim died.
If I stay, I could be sleeping next to the man responsible for everything bad that’s happened in my life.
“I’m not telling you to burn your life down,” she says. “I’m telling you to get all the information you can before making a final decision. It’s the smart call, right?”
Silence stretches. The snow outside has thickened into a steady sheet, blurring the skyline into a painter’s gray.
It feels like I haven’t seen the sun in months.
Vlad’s tie is draped over a chair where he left it last night, silver silk catching the firelight.
I pick it up without thinking and wrap it around my fingers until the fabric bites.
“What’s your plan?” I whisper. “Because I can’t—” My voice cracks. “I can’t stay here without knowing the truth.”
On the other end of the line, I hear Trina’s exhale—a slow, satisfied sound. “Leave it to me.”