But I can’t make myself leave.
I think about St. Petersburg. The morning after we spent the first night at that hotel, when we had breakfast in a café near the Neva River. Sasha told me about her guilt over leaving her brothers to handle the family business alone while she built her life in London.
I told her that leaving wasn’t cowardice. That building something legitimate was exactly what her brothers wanted for her. That she honored their sacrifice by becoming someone beyond the Bratva world.
She looked at me with such gratitude. Like I’d given her permission to forgive herself for something that never needed forgiveness.
And I meant every word I said to her that morning. It wasn’t part of Adrian’s job. It was just me wanting her to stop hurting herself over choices that were never wrong.
God, I miss that smile.
That memory feels more real than anything from my CIA years. More real than missions I completed or operations I ran. More real than the life I thought I was building before Chechnya destroyed it.
“You’re not supposed to be in this wing.”
I turn to find Boris behind me.
“Just walking,” I explain.
“Walk somewhere else. This is the family’s private area.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it.” Boris jerks his head back toward the main building. “Dmitri wants to see you. He’s waiting for you in his office.”
I nod and head back through the compound. When I arrive at Dmitri’s office, he’s alone.
“Sit,” he says without preamble.
I do.
“How did the call with Adrian go?”
“He bought it. Wanted more details about compound security and family operations. I gave him what was in the folder.”
“And he didn’t suspect anything?”
“No. He’s too eager for results to question whether I’m still loyal. He thinks moving me into the compound is proof that I’m succeeding.”
Dmitri settles back in his chair. “Good. Now we wait to see if the information appears through other channels.”
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Depends on how often the mole reports to him. Could be days. Could be weeks.” He studies my face. “How are you holding up?”
The question surprises me. “Fine.”
“Are you? Because lying to someone you’re working for is one thing. Lying to someone you used to work for while they still think you’re loyal—that’s psychologically taxing. Especially when that person is as unstable as Adrian.”
“I’ve done worse.”
“I’m sure you have. But this time you’re emotionally compromised. That makes it harder.”
I don’t deny it. No point lying to someone who already knows the truth.
“I can handle it,” I reply instead.
“I hope so. Because if you can’t, people die. Including my sister. I’m trusting you with her safety, Tony. Don’t make me regret that decision.”
