CHAPTER 1
TERESA
The violins don't stop when the screaming starts.
One moment there's music, champagne, and my husband Maxim's hand warm on my lower back. The next, masked men flood the ballroom with bullets.
Maxim pulls me down hard, his body shielding mine as we hit the floor behind the banquet tables.
My heels catch. I hit marble hard. The pearl bracelet he gave me this morning snaps, and I watch pearls scatter across the floor.
Smoke. Gunpowder. Screaming.
I tuck my dress tighter and crawl.
“Max—”
“Stay down. Don’t move.”
Through a gap in the tablecloth, I see men in tactical gear. A woman in red crawls past, sobbing.
Breathe, Think.
I map the exits. Service corridor at ten o'clock. Terrace doors at two. We could make it if?—
A man in a silver tie moves like water two tables over. Precise. Cold. Dark eyes scanning the room with predator focus.Terrifying.
Vladimir Angeloff.
He fires, covering us. His eyes find mine for a fraction of a second. A command without words:stay low.
Then Maxim makes a sound—low, wrong.
He collapses.
Blood soaks into my dress. My hands shake against his chest. I bite my tongue until I taste copper. Vision blurring.
"Max, please?—"
Vladimir keeps firing. Still protecting me. Maxim doesn't move.
The gunfire stops.
The screaming fades.
Everything goes quiet except for my own ragged breath?—
"Teresa."
The voice cuts through the memory like a blade.
I jolt upright, gasping. My office swims into focus. The hum of my computer, the gray December light through the window, my hand pressed flat against my desk like I'm trying to remember what's real.
Two years without Maxim, and I'm still replaying the nightmare.
"Teresa," Vladimir Angeloff says again through the intercom, "I need you in my office."
My heart's still pounding.
