Another nod. “I’ll get somewhere quiet. Last thing we need is a flight attendant overhearing.”
I drop my voice even lower. “Be careful with that hostess. If she’s connected to Kirov…she might already be thinking about using his death against us.”
Nikolai glances over his shoulder at her—she’s talking to another crew member, expression professional, but those eyes…always scanning.
He exhales, slow. “I’ll keep her in sight. You stay with Bella.”
“I intend to.”
He steps away, moving with that effortless, unremarkable gait that lets him disappear into crowds. No one looks twice at him. He’s just another tired passenger heading toward the lavatory.
I lean against the bulkhead, watching him go, feeling the tightness in my chest settle into a familiar hum. Something is unfolding on this flight. Something planned, careful, and dangerous.
And if Kirov was the first chapter, then the rest of the story is still waiting to break open.
7
BELLA
I don’t believe him.
I nod when Aleksander tells me everything is under control, when he says it’s probably nothing, when he asks me to stay put and lock the door. I do all the right things. But the moment he steps away, that tight, familiar feeling settles in my chest.
He’s hiding something from me.
I don’t know much about Aleksander. Not really. I don’t know where his money comes from, or why people seem to make space for him without being asked, or why his calm feels practiced rather than natural. But I know this much, in the quiet way you know a storm is coming before the sky changes: he’s a dangerous man.
I sit back in my seat, the privacy door closed, my daughter sleeping beside me. I rest a hand on her leg, grounding myself, and stare at the wall while the plane hums on as if nothing has happened. Somewhere above us, someone died. Somewhere not far from here, Aleksander is moving pieces I can’t see.
He told me not to worry. That’s how I know I should.
My mind drifts, uninvited, back to the first time he really saw me.
The parking lot had been chaos, me flustered and apologizing, him amused and irritatingly calm. I’d driven away thinking that would be it. A strange man, a strange moment, filed away and forgotten.
I was wrong.
The second time I saw him was weeks later, at a dinner party I was hosting for a client who liked to remind everyone how important he was. It was one of those evenings where everything had to be perfect. Candles placed just so. Seating charts memorized. My phone buzzing constantly in my pocket.
I was halfway through directing the caterers when I felt it. That sensation of being watched.
I looked up and there he was.
Aleksander stood near the bar, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, glass untouched in his hand. He was talking to someone, smiling politely, but his eyes were already on me. Not surprised. Not confused. Certain.
Like he’d expected to see me again.
My breath caught. I remember thinking, irrationally, that he looked even more dangerous indoors.
I feel him before I see him, that same awareness crawling up my spine the way it did in the parking lot weeks ago. I’m standingnear the sideboard, fixing place cards that don’t actually need fixing, when I feel someone’s gaze on me.
And there he is, the guy from the parking lot.
He’s walking toward me from the bar, jacket open, sleeves rolled to his forearms, glass in hand but untouched. He moves like he owns the room without needing to announce it. People don’t get out of his way so much as drift aside, conversations thinning as he passes.
Second time seeing him. I know it instantly. The parking lot flashes through my mind. The dent. The smirk. The way he looked at me like he’d already decided something.
He stops in front of me, eyes slow and deliberate as they take me in. Not rushed. Not polite. Curious.
