She keeps walking, turning down a path lined with lavender and ornamental cypress. The scent of it clings to the air, calming and fragrant. I glance back. The mansion’s out of sight now, blocked by the thick hedges and a narrow bend in the path.
And for the first time since encountering her, I wonder if I’m in danger.
Tatiana’s voice is softer now, but there's an unmistakable edge beneath it. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I just think it’s funny how quickly things can change. How someone can become indispensable so easily.”
I glance at her hands. They’re loose at her sides. No weapon. No trembling.
I can’t see the house anymore.
Tatiana gestures ahead with a graceful sweep of her hand, pale against the sun-dappled green. “This way.”
I follow, though every step makes my nerves light up. There’s a subtle incline, the stone path giving way to soft earth beneath carefully scattered gravel. We’re deeper into the estate grounds now, beyond the hedges and sculpted trees, into something older and less defined.
I suddenly feel foolish for coming with her. I didn’t have to say yes. I could’ve begged off—said I had work, a headache, a call to make. But now we’re so far from the house and I find myself beyond uncomfortable.
I glance sideways at her. If she notices my tension, she doesn’t show it.
“I remember the first time Yuri took me out,” she says, a sudden change of subject. “It was late September. Crisp air, golden leaves, all that romantic nonsense.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Oh?”
She nods. “He took me to a book shop. Not dinner. Not a club. A book shop downtown, full of dust and too many cats. He said he wanted to see what I picked first—poetry or politics. I think he thought of it as a test.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. I can picture him doing that.
“I chose a book of Osip Mandelstam poems,” she continues. “He didn’t say anything at the time, just paid for it and handed itto me. But months later, he told me that was the moment he started taking me seriously.” She gives me a sidelong glance. “He said he liked the darkness in my taste.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
Tatiana exhales slowly, eyes scanning the trees ahead. “Yuri’s not what people think. Everyone sees the cold. The silence. The violence. But there’s more to him. There always was.”
The air is lighter here, sun rays slicing through the branches overhead, dappling the path in gold and shadow. But I feel heavier by the second.
“I never wanted this life,” she says suddenly. “The Bratva. The blood. The weight of all these men making decisions and pretending it’s for our benefit.”
I glance at her, startled by the bitterness in her tone.
“I mean, I am Bratva,” she says. “By blood. By name. But I still loathe it.”
It’s said plainly, like a confession. And it’s confusing. Her tone isn’t accusatory. Just tired. Like someone speaking aloud to hear the sound of their own truth.
I realize, belatedly, that I’ve stopped paying attention to where we are. The hedges are long behind us now. The garden has given way to the deep woods, the trees old and wild with ivy.
My pulse kicks up. I glance around. I have no idea where we are. I stop walking.
“That was a nice story,” I say carefully, keeping my tone light. “And I appreciate the walk. But I really need to get going. I have to be somewhere.”
Tatiana stops too. She looks at me, almost studying me, and smiles. Not cruelly. Not warmly. But knowingly. “Of course,” she says. “Maybe we could do lunch sometime. Somewhere with fewer trees.”
“Sure,” I say, turning. “Lunch sounds great.” I take a step, then another, but her voice stops me again.
“You know, maybe in another life,” she says softly, “we could’ve been friends.”
I freeze. My spine prickles. I turn back toward her. “What the hell is going on, Tatiana?”
She tilts her head. “The Ivanov estate has one of the best security systems money can buy. Cameras, sensors, facial recognition. Nothing gets in or out without being seen.” She steps back, just slightly. “But even the best systems,” she says, “have blind spots.”
My blood runs cold. I spin, heart pounding. But I’m too late.
