My hand involuntarily tightened around my glass. She knew too much.
Tatyana seemed to notice my reaction, her smile becoming more complex. "Of course, I trust professional journalists know professional boundaries. After all, press freedom also needs to be exercised within appropriate frameworks, doesn't it? Especially when it involves... family safety."
"Tatyana..." My voice dropped dangerously low.
"Oh, don't misunderstand," she immediately raised her hand with an innocent expression. "I'm just expressing general concern for New York citizens' safety. After all, we all want everyone in this city, whether journalists or children, to live safely, don't we?"
She paused, then leaned closer. "Of course, sometimes proper guidance and protection are necessary. Especially for those who might not fully understand the complexity of current situations."
I could feel her waiting for my reaction, testing my limits.
"I think we all want innocent people to be safe." I finally responded, but with clear warning in my voice.
"Completely agree," she smiled and nodded. "After all, accidentsalways come suddenly, don't they? Car crashes, fires, robberies... this city's full of unpredictable dangers. Fortunately, some dangers are avoidable, as long as people make wise choices."
After saying this, she elegantly raised her glass to me. "Lovely chatting with you, Alexander. I hope we can all make the wisest decisions in this complex world."
Then she turned and walked away, steps graceful and composed, as if we'd just had a casual conversation about the weather.
But her message was crystal clear: she knew about Anna, knew about Sofia, knew everything that had happened today. And she was already prepared to take action.
I stood there with a dark expression, realizing Anna and Sofia faced far greater danger than I'd imagined. This wasn't just simple threats—this was a carefully orchestrated operation.
And every word Tatyana had just spoken told me one thing: the game had begun.
Chapter Seventeen
Anna
The moment I walked into the office, I knew something was off.
My desk looked normal enough, but as a reporter, I notice details. The file folder sat at a slightly different angle. My pen holder had shifted a few centimeters from its usual spot in the upper left corner. Even my computer monitor was angled just a degree off.
Someone had been in my office.
The unease I'd finally managed to shake crept back up my spine like ice water. I quickly checked my computer and files—nothing seemed missing on the surface, but the violation made my skin crawl.
"Morning, Anna." My colleague Mary walked by. "You look pale. Everything okay?"
"Fine," I forced a smile. "Just didn't sleep well."
I sat down and opened my computer, fingers trembling as I typed in my password. The system showed someone had attempted to log into my account at eleven last night. Failed attempt. Thank God for complex passwords.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
"Delete yesterday's photos or face the consequences. You have 24 hours."
My blood turned to ice.
The text confirmed my worst fear—they were onto me. And they didn't just know about the photos. They had my number. Their reach was longer than I'd imagined, and that terrified me more than anything.
I pulled up my camera roll with shaking hands, scrolling through yesterday's shots. Among all the demolition site photos, the ones with those suspicious men stood out like neon signs. I zoomed in, studying their faces, searching for more clues.
One man was definitely staring straight at my lens, his eyes full of warning and menace. And I noticed something else—they seemed to be talking with someone in a government uniform, the kind of intimate body language that screamed corruption.
My reporter instincts kicked in. These photos might have captured something illicit—some kind of deal or conspiracy. This was exactly why our profession existed: to expose the truth, protect the public interest.
But Sofia's voice echoed in my head. I could handle threats, but I couldn't put my daughter in danger.
