He slides the folder across the desk. I flip it open and peruse the contents. Bank account numbers. Wire transfer schedules. Names of fictional contacts in Geneva and Cyprus. It’s thorough work. And it just might do the trick.
“And the mole?” I ask.
“We’ll monitor who has access to the false information you’re feeding Adrian. When that information shows up in his hands through channels other than you, we’ll know who’s been betraying us.”
It’s a solid plan. Simple. Effective. The kind of counterintelligence operation I’ve run a dozen times myself.
“What about Sasha?” I ask. “Will she be part of the planning process?”
“That’s her choice. If she wants to be involved, I won’t stop her. If she wants nothing to do with you, I’ll respect that too.”
“Fair enough.”
He leans forward in his chair, scowling. “You destroyed my sister’s ability to trust anyone. You took a contract to break her heart and then acted surprised when the job became complicated. So no, I don’t think it’s particularly fair that she has to decide whether to work with the man who betrayed her.”
The rebuke lands exactly as he intended. I deserve every word.
“You’re right,” I concede. “None of this is fair to her.”
“No. It’s not.” Dmitri stands. “You’ll be moved out of the cell. Given a room in the compound. But don’t mistake this for trust, Tony. You’re a prisoner who’s temporarily useful. Boris will haveeyes on you at all times. One wrong move and he puts a bullet in your head. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good.” He walks to the door and opens it. “Boris will show you to your new accommodations. There’s a shower. Clean clothes. Food that isn’t three days old. Consider it an upgrade for cooperation.”
I stand and tuck the folder under my arm. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Sasha. She’s the only reason you’re still breathing.”
He dismisses me with a wave, and Boris escorts me back into the hallway. We walk through more corridors until he stops at a door and unlocks it.
The room is small but clean. Single bed with actual sheets and a pillow. Desk with a lamp. Private bathroom. A window with bars on it that looks out over the compound gardens.
“Clothes in the closet,” Boris grumbles. “You have thirty minutes to clean up. Then we discuss next steps.”
He leaves without another word, locking the door behind him.
I stand in the center of the room and try to process everything that just happened. A week ago, I was convinced Dmitri would kill me. Now I’m being given a room and a mission and a chance to prove myself.
Because of Sasha.
I set the folder on the desk and strip off the clothes I’ve been wearing for seven days. They smell like concrete and despair. I throw them in the corner and step into the shower.
The hot water feels like a luxury I don’t deserve. I scrub until my skin turns red, trying to wash away a week of sitting in that cell replaying every mistake I made. The soap smells like cedar. Normal. Clean. Human.
When I’m done, I stand under the spray for another five minutes, just feeling the heat on my shoulders.
Finally, I turn off the water and dry off with a towel that’s rough but clean. I find the clothes Boris mentioned in the closet. Jeans. T-shirt. Socks. Everything fits well enough.
I get dressed and sit on the bed. The mattress is firm but comfortable. After a week on concrete, it feels like a cloud.
My phone sits on the desk where I left it. I pick it up and scroll through Adrian’s messages again. Each one is angrier than the last. Each one is a reminder of the contract I signed and the consequences waiting for me when he discovers the truth.
But when I think about Sasha in that cell, the way she looked at me, that’s worth whatever Adrian does to me.
A red light above the door blinks. Camera. Boris watching. They’re not handing me a phone without a leash.
I draft a response. The kind of update Adrian expects from a professional operative who’s still on mission.
