Chapter 47
MARIYA
The estate feels different now. Quieter. Like the air itself has finally stopped holding its breath.
I stand at the window in Andrey's study, watching morning light spread across the grounds while he works at his desk behind me. The sound of his pen scratching against paper is steady and familiar, grounding me in this moment of unexpected peace.
It's been weeks since anyone tried to kidnap me. Weeks since the other families made their last desperate play for control. And Bogdan is gone.
There was a small funeral. Private, mostly for Sophia's sake.
She needed closure, needed to say goodbye to the father she'd loved despite everything he'd become.
I stood beside her while she cried, holding her hand as they lowered the casket into the ground.
Andrey was there too, silent and watchful, his presence a reminder that even in death, Bogdan's actions had consequences that rippled through all of us.
That was the end of it. No grand ceremony, no public acknowledgment. Just a quiet burial and the understanding that we were moving forward.
I turn from the window and let my gaze drift to Andrey.
He's focused on whatever document he's reviewing, his blue eyes sharp with concentration.
The morning light catches the strong line of his jaw and the broad set of his shoulders beneath his fitted shirt.
Even doing something as mundane as paperwork, he radiates power and control.
My mind drifts back to a few weeks ago, to the morning I went jogging and saw my father. For a moment, I thought I was imagining it. The man looked older, more weathered. But his eyes were the same, warm and familiar, filled with the kind of love that doesn't fade even when everything else does.
I'd stopped running and walked toward him slowly, my heart pounding so hard, I could barely breathe. He stood still when he saw me, his expression shifting from cautious to relieved in the space of a heartbeat.
"Mariya," he'd said quietly, and just hearing my name in his voice made my throat tighten with emotion.
We didn't have much time. Maybe five minutes before Andrey's security detail caught up with me. But in those five minutes, my father told me he loved me. That he was proud of the woman I'd become, and that this would all be over soon, once Andrey and I figured out the clues he'd left behind.
"You need to do this," he'd said, his hands gripping mine tightly. "Especially Andrey. He needs to understand that I had nothing to do with the massacre. He needs to know why I testified against certain families."
Then Andrey had appeared, his presence cutting through the moment like a blade. My father had pulled away immediately, disappearing into the trees before Andrey's men could reach him.
I'd been furious. Andrey had sent men to follow me, to track my father down and capture him. We'd argued about it later, my anger clashing against his cold logic until he'd finally promised that no harm would come to Yegor if they found him.
"I just want answers," Andrey had said, his voice tight with frustration. "I want to know the truth."
I'd believed him. I still do. But I'm torn between wanting my father safe and wanting him here with me, protected by the same men who once hunted him.
Andrey's voice pulls me back to the present. "You're thinking about him again."
It's not a question. He knows me too well now, can read the shifts in my expression even when I'm trying to hide them.
"Yeah," I admit quietly. "I just wish I knew he was okay."
Andrey sets down his pen and leans back in his chair, his dark eyes studying me. "We'll find him eventually. And when we do, we'll get the answers we need."
"And then what?"
"Then we decide what comes next." His tone is careful, measured.
I move closer to the desk, my fingers trailing along the polished wood. "Are we really going to Bogdan's property today?"
"Yes." Andrey stands, closing the distance between us. His hand finds my waist, pulling me against him. "The gold key should open something there. Hopefully, another clue."
I tilt my head back to meet his gaze. "And if it doesn't?"
"Then we keep looking." His thumb brushes along my hip, the touch possessive and grounding. "We're close, Mariya. I can feel it."
I hope he's right. I hope this nightmare is almost over and we can finally move forward without the weight of the past crushing us.
An hour later, we're in the back of the SUV with Matvey driving. The city gives way to the countryside, trees lining the road as we head toward Bogdan's estate. Now that he's gone, there are no guards at the property, no one to stop us from entering.
The building we're looking for sits in the middle of the grounds, half-hidden by overgrown vegetation. It's old, the stone walls weathered by time and neglect. Andrey pulls the gold key from his pocket as we approach, the metal catching the sunlight.
"This is it," he says quietly.
I take a deep breath as he fits the key into the lock. The mechanism turns with a heavy click, and the door swings open on rusted hinges. Musty air rushes out, making me cough and cover my nose.
"Jesus," Matvey mutters from behind us.
The interior is dim, lit only by the light filtering through cracks in the walls. As my eyes adjust, I realize what we're looking at.
A crypt.
Coffins line the walls, some resting on stone platforms, others sealed into wall burials. The air is thick with dust and decay, and the silence feels oppressive, like the dead are watching us disturb their rest.
Andrey moves forward first, his flashlight cutting through the darkness. "Start searching. Look for anything that might be a clue."
I follow him deeper into the crypt, my boots echoing against the stone floor. The first coffin I open contains a skeleton, the bones yellowed with age. There's no way to identify who it was. No nameplate, no personal effects. Just remains that have been here long enough to become anonymous.
The second coffin is the same. And the third.
I move to the wall burials, carefully opening the sealed compartments. Some are empty, just hollow spaces carved into stone. Others contain old papers that crumble when I touch them or jewelry that's tarnished beyond recognition.
"Mariya."
Andrey's voice is tight and strained. I turn and find him standing in front of one of the wall burials, his expression dark with fury.
"What is it?"
He steps aside so I can see the contents. Jewelry and icons, carefully arranged inside the compartment. The pieces are ornate, expensive, and clearly valuable. But it's not the monetary worth that has Andrey's jaw clenched tight.
"These belonged to my family," he says quietly. "The heirlooms I've been looking for. Yegor knew where they were all this time."
I stare at the items, my stomach twisting. Bogdan had them all along. He'd stolen from Andrey's family and hidden the evidence here, in this crypt where no one would think to look.
"Andrey—"
"Found something!" Matvey's voice echoes from the far corner of the crypt.
We move toward him quickly. He's standing beside one of the larger coffins, his flashlight pointed at the floor beneath it. There's a seam in the stone, barely visible unless you're looking for it.
A trap door.
Andrey and Matvey work together to shift the coffin aside, revealing the door fully. The hinges are old but functional, and when Andrey pulls it open, a ladder descends into the darkness below.
"Stay close," Andrey says, his hand finding mine.
We climb down one at a time, the air growing colder with each step. When we reach the bottom, Matvey shines his flashlight around the space.
What we find makes my breath catch.
A mass burial. At least ten bodies, maybe more, laid out in a shallow pit carved into the earth. The remains are old, skeletal, but there's something deliberate about the way they're arranged. This wasn't a random dumping ground. This was intentional.
"Fuck," Andrey breathes beside me.
I move closer, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. That's when I see it.
A small podium stands next to the burial, carved from the same stone as the walls. On top of it rests a plaque, the metal tarnished but still legible.
Names are engraved into the surface. Ten of them, listed in careful script.
Andrey steps forward, his flashlight illuminating the plaque. I watch his expression shift as he reads, the color rapidly draining from his face.
"No," he says quietly. Then louder, angrier. "No. Fuck. No."