I stay where I am, alone in the den, the rain ticking softly against the windowpanes. Somewhere in the mansion, Bratva secrets are being whispered behind closed doors. And here I am, sitting in a stranger’s mansion, carrying a secret I haven’t dared to speak aloud.
I don’t even know if Yuri wants me, let alone a child. What if he saw it as an obligation, a burden to carry rather than cherish?
I want love. Real love. Not the kind you fall into like a trapdoor, but the kind that sees you—mess and all—and stays.
I don’t know if he’s capable of that.
CHAPTER 21
YURI
We’re released with no formal charges, no apologies. Just an agent with dead eyes handing back my watch, wallet, and phone like they’re returning something from the lost and found. The silence is surgical—they don’t want to admit they got nothing.
They thought they had us pinned. They didn’t.
Spalding’s the last to approach. He doesn't smile, just drops one final comment. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’re still under the microscope.”
Then he walks away, leaving the taste of vengeance in the back of my throat.
Outside, it’s raining. Not a dramatic downpour, just a slow, steady bleed from the clouds. If feels appropriate. Everything seems unfinished and frayed at the edges.
The lounge is quiet when we arrive other than the faint hum of jazz vibrating through the oak-lined walls. The front end runs like any other night with craft cocktails and low conversation, but we’re not here for that. We slip through the hidden panel in the storage room, guarded by two men with earpieces, each giving us a clipped nod.
The private room smells like old leather and smoke. It’s comforting, in a way. Home turf.
Lev heads straight for the bar and pours three fingers of Glendronach. Luk paces, cracking his knuckles. Alexei leans against the mantle, staring at the fire as if it owes him an answer.
I sit at the table, steepling my fingers, my mind already moving a few steps ahead. The Feds asked too many precise questions—dates, dollar amounts, names. Stuff buried under layers of shell corporations and NDAs. Either they’ve suddenly become brilliant, or they’ve had help.
“Anyone else feel like they knew too much?” I ask.
Lev grunts. “They were naming entities that don’t even exist on paper yet.”
“They’ve been watching us longer than we thought,” Luk adds, still pacing.
“Or someone fed them,” I say, calm but certain. “We’ve got a leak.”
There’s a beat of silence before Lev slams his drink down on the table. “Then we start looking inside. IT. Accounting. Payroll. Any of them could have been turned.”
“Or been threatened,” Luk mutters. “We’ve got people with families. Not everyone holds up under that kind of pressure.”
“We screen for that,” I remind him. “But no filter’s perfect.”
We run through possibilities—names, departments, anyone with access to sensitive data. Then Alexei, quiet until now, looks straight at me. “What about the girl?”
Time freezes. I don’t move, but the air around me drops a degree.
“Astrid’s not the leak,” I state firmly.
“I didn’t say she was.”
“You implied it.”
Alexei lifts both hands in defense. “I’m just saying, she’s smart, but she’s not in the life. She doesn’t know all the rules. Maybe she said something without knowing.”
“She didn’t.”
“She could’ve.”
