Chapter 19 – Kat
I woke up to the soft weight of a blanket and the smell of old paper and leather. It took a moment for my mind to catch up, to remember the emotional whirlwind that had been the night before. I was on the library sofa, exactly where I had fallen asleep in Danil’s arms. He was gone.
A pang of disappointment, sharp and unexpected, twisted in my gut.
I sat up, pushing the blanket aside, and the coolness of the morning air hit my skin.
My body ached, but it wasn’t the same angry soreness from yesterday.
It was a pleasant, satisfied ache, a quiet reminder of the truce we had found.
I stood and walked to the study, hoping to find him.
I felt a new need to see him, to hear his voice, to confirm that last night wasn’t just a fever dream.
The study was empty. The morning light streamed through the large windows, illuminating dust mites dancing in the air, but there was no sign of him.
My eyes fell on his desk. It was neat and tidy, just as he had left it.
My mind, trained by years of suspicion and mistrust, immediately went to the thumb drive.
I had given it to him last night. But, just as my mind began to spin, I reminded myself that I wasn’t just a captive anymore; I was a partner, a part of this now. I was done suspecting him..
Sure he must have stepped out, I went back to the bedroom with a decision to freshen up and just have a pause.
I instinctively stopped by the dresser as I entered the room, giving my reflection in the mirror a close-up look.
I looked just like I felt—refreshed and relieved yet tired and apprehensive.
I turned to leave, but my eyes caught on something on the corner of the broad dresser table. A small, folded handkerchief with a distinct crest—the Voryv crest, the symbol of Danil’s family. It was a strange place to leave it, not his pocket or a drawer. It felt deliberate.
I picked it up, my brow furrowed in confusion. I had no idea why he would leave this here. A message? A sign? Or was it just a random handkerchief he had forgotten?
“What is this?” I muttered to myself, turning the square of cloth over in my hand. It was full, and something fluttered to the floor.
It was a small, plain white envelope. My heart pounded. It had no name, no address. Just a small, neatly written S-H on the front. I was so used to my life being a series of threats and cruelties that I could only think of this as another one. But something felt different. This felt like a clue.
I stared at the small, plain envelope in my palm, its weight strangely heavy.
No name, no address, just the two letters: S-H.
My mind, still fuzzy from sleep, struggled to make sense of it.
What did “S-H” mean? My eyes darted to the empty desk drawers, to the missing thumb drive.
A cold note of suspicion tightened in my gut.
He was gone. The thumb drive was gone. And this was all he had left for me.
My fingers trembled as I opened the envelope. Inside, a small slip of paper held a single address: a storage unit. Tucked behind it was a small flash drive, like the one I had found before, with the letters “S-H” written on it in black marker.
My breath hitched. “S-H” Sivella Holdings. The company my father had accused Feliks of using to launder money. The company that had been at the heart of this entire mess.
“What is this?” I whispered to the empty room, my voice a shaky echo. Was this a test? A trap?
My mind raced as I ran through a dozen terrifying scenarios.
Had he set me up? Was he intentionally letting me find this, knowing I would be desperate enough to follow the lead, only to have me caught?
The white mark on my neck still felt like a brand of ownership, a warning. Maybe this was a warning, too.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, my voice more firm this time. “He wouldn’t. He gave me a confession. This has to be a clue.”
But a small, cynical voice in the black of my head argued otherwise: He’s a Mafia boss. They don’t give clues. They don’t trust anyone. Maybe he’s watching you right now. Maybe this is a way to see if you’ll betray him. To see if you’ll run with this information.
I clenched my hand around the envelope, my knuckles turning white.
The memory of his eyes last night and the quiet honesty in his voice when he confessed flooded my mind.
He had been vulnerable. He had told me his truth.
And he had taken the thumb drive, the one piece of evidence that could have destroyed him, and put it somewhere safe.
He has trusted me with the truth. Was this his way of trusting me with the next step?
“Okay,” I said, a new resolve hardening my voice. I was no longer a victim. I was no longer a pawn. I was a player. He had handed me the next move. And I would take it.
I slid the envelope into my pocket, the crinkle of the paper a soft confirmation of my decision. The storage unit. The “SH” folder. I had to know what was in there.
My mind was buzzing, a whirlwind of questions and new purpose. I had to investigate. But first, I had to play the part. The dutiful wife, the confused but compliant prisoner.
I made my way to the main living area, where I could hear the murmur of voices. It sounded like a typical midday gathering, likely remnants of brunch, filled with polite chatter and veiled appraisals. I composed my face, plastered on a neutral expression, and stepped into the room.
The first faces I saw were Irene and Sava.
They were standing near a large window overlooking the gardens, laughing together.
Irene was leaning in, her hand on Sava’s arm, her head tilted back, her laughter bright and theatrical.
Sava, for his part, looked uncomfortable, his usual stoic expression replaced by a tense smile.
A knot formed in my stomach.
“Something’s off,” I murmured to myself, watching them. Irene was flirting. Openly. With Sava. And he seemed resistant. Not entirely, but enough for it to be noticeable. Was this part of her game? Another manipulation?
Marielle appeared at my side, a glass of something sparkling in her hand. “There you are! We thought you’d sleep all day. Rough night?” Her eyes twinkled, clearly referring to the tension at brunch, but my mind immediately went to another “rough night.”
“Something like that,” I said, offering a weak smile. My gaze didn’t leave Irene and Sava. “What’s with those two?”
Mariella followed my gaze, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Oh, Irene’s always trying to get a rise out of Sava. She thinks he’s too serious. She’s been trying to ‘loosen him up’ for years. It’s nothing new.”
“Really?” I questioned, my eyes narrowing. “She seems…particularly invested today. And he seems particularly uncomfortable.”
“Sava’s never uncomfortable when it comes to flirting,” Marielle dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Even though he’s also very old-fashioned. And fiercely loyal to Danil. He probably just wants her to back off.”
“Loyal, huh?” I mused, the word echoing my thoughts about him from last night.
He was the one who’d given me the pistol.
The one who watched over me. If anyone knew the secrets of this house, it was Sava.
And if Irene was flirting with him, was it to extract information?
Or simply to annoy him? “So, she’s trying to get under his skin? ”
“That’s her modus operandi, yes,” Mariella confirmed, taking a sip of her drink. “She loves to provoke. But honestly, it’s just Irene being Irene. Don’t let her bother you.”
Irene glanced over at us then, her smile unwavering, but her eyes held a sharp, knowing glint. I felt a chill run down my spine. This wasn’t just “Irene being Irene.” This was a chess game, and I was beginning to see the pieces.
I was still watching Irene and Sava, a hundred new questions forming in my mind, when a new stillness fell over the room. It was the kind of silence that only happens when a person of immense power enters a space. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. The shift in the atmosphere was palpable.
Danil.
I turned slowly, my heart thumping a quiet rhythm against my ribs. He was standing at the entrance to the living room, a commanding presence in his black polo shirt. His eyes swept over the crowd, a cold, indifferent gaze that made every person in the room feel like a minor footnote.
But then his eye found mine.
The coldness vanished. The indifference was gone.
A warmth, open and shockingly vulnerable, flickered in his dark eyes.
It was gone in a moment, replaced by a subtle, possessive intensity, but I had seen it.
A silent acknowledgement of what we had been through, of the truce we had found.
It was a private message, a quiet reassurance that only he and I could understand.
I felt a blush creep up my neck, and I had no idea how to react.
The room, which had been silent, now erupted into a low murmur of whispers. I saw heads turn. I saw glances exchanged. The subtle change in his demeanor had been noticed. Our secret was no longer a secret.
Irene, however, didn’t look at Danil. Her eyes were fixed on me, a strange, calculating look on her face. She excused herself from Sava, walking past Marielle without a word, and came straight to me. Her face was a mask of polite inference, but her eyes held a spark of something urgent.
“Rough day for you, Katria,” she said, her voice a low murmur that only I could hear. It was a statement, not a question.
“You have no idea,” I shot back, my voice laced with a subtle sarcasm.
She leaned in closer, a faint, sweet scent of perfume filling my space. Her voice dropped to a near whisper, her words crisp and clear. “Look for the email. He’s not the only one with eyes on you.”
I froze. An email? And what did she mean, he wasn’t the only one? Was she referring to her father? To Sava? My mind raced, but her demeanor had changed completely. She was no longer a rival. She was a co-conspirator. Or was she?
I was left standing there, her words echoing in my mind, a fresh wave of confusion crashing over me.
Irene, a lady I thought was going to be my enemy, my tormentor, had just given me a clue. And a warning. “Be cautious. He’s not the only one with eyes on you.” Was she referring to Danil? Or to someone else? My head was spinning with the new layers of intrigue. I had to get out of there.
“What…?” I started before she cut in.
“You’ve definitely seen the thumb drive with the footage. How did you think it got to where you found it?”
My eyes dilated for a second before I remembered we weren’t alone. “That was…you? You were willing to put your dad—”
“See you later,” she rushed, disappearing from my line of sight.
Irene was the last person I would have associated with the thumb drive. But my surprise wasn’t the foremost on my mind. I still had something to find—unless she was fucking with me.
I made a series of quick, polite excuses to Marielle and a few others, my mind already a hundred steps ahead of my feet. I walked quickly, my heart pounding, not with fear, but with a new, strange excitement. I was in the game now. I was a player.
I burst into the suite and locked the door behind me, the quiet of the room a welcome relief.
My hand reached into my pocket, fingers closing around the soft linen of the handkerchief.
It felt heavy with secrets. I pulled it out and placed it on the bed, its Voryv crest a stark reminder of the world I belonged to.
“Okay,” I said to myself, my voice a low, determined whisper. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I held the handkerchief up to the light, turning it over and over, looking for a hidden message.
I ran my fingers over the intricate embroidery of the crest, but felt nothing.
Was it code? An anagram? I was about to give up when my eyes landed on it—a faint, almost invisible mark near the corner of the fabric.
It wasn’t a thread. It was a pinprick, so small I could barely see it.
I titled the handkerchief, and in the angle of the light, I saw a faint, shimmering light of almost transparent thread, so fine it was nearly invisible.
My heart leaped into my throat. The thread formed a pattern. A series of letters and numbers. An email address. I copied it down on a piece of paper, my hands shaking slightly. It was a throwaway address, a burner account.
I looked at the address, then at the handkerchief, then at the envelope I had taken from my pocket.
It didn’t make sense. Why would Irene, a woman I was just beginning to suspect was involved in Feliks’s betrayal, give me a clue that could expose her?
Was she a double agent? Was she working with someone else? Or was this a trap?
“Think, Katria,” I said to myself, pacing the room. “What’s the play? What’s the endgame?”
There was no way to know. The handkerchief, the email, the storage-unit address—they were all threads leading into a dark, complicated web. I had to decide. Would I give this to Danil and trust him? Or would I investigate on my own, and keep a secret from him, just as he had kept a secret from me?
I walked to the deck, sat down, and pulled my laptop toward me. I would do both. I would trust him with my life, but I would not trust him with my game. Not yet. I would not be a pawn in his warm, I would be a queen, with my own secrets, my own moves, my own purpose.
I opened my laptop and began to type, a new fire burning inside me. The game was on.
It didn’t take as long as I expected to figure out what the email meant and how it related to me. The few emails received at the address contained receipt details involving large sums of money. What stood out, however, was the lack of a name on the statements. The cover-up was obvious.
I might just have landed the email linked to the account Feliks had been sending money to. But what would I do with the information? Hold it to my chest or share it with Danil?