Still no response from Astrid.
I check my phone again. Nothing. I sent a message nearly an hour ago.
We should talk. Let me know when you're back.
Simple. Open.
It’s probably nothing. She’s likely deep in the weeds with Elena. When those two get into a zone, hours can pass with no response. I’ve learned not to take it personally.
I could text Elena, but she has a habit of biting heads off when interrupted mid-hack. And if I distract them and something slips through the cracks, I’ll only have myself to blame.
I pocket the phone and start walking.
The day’s bright in that Chicago way, the sun high, the air cold, casting long shadows between high-rises. My thoughts continueto spiral. A knot is forming behind my eyes, and I haven’t been able to shake it since early this morning.
I need to be at the mansion when they come up for air. Need to be sharp when they bring me what they’ve found.
I only make it half a block before I hear my name.
“Yuri!”
I turn. Tatiana’s crossing the street toward me.
I suppress a sigh. “Tatiana.”
“Don’t look so tense,” she says, brushing a hand through her honey-blonde waves. “I’m not here to bite.”
“What’s going on?”
She slows beside me, falling into step. “Just got off the phone with my father. It’s... been a complicated few days.” She pauses. “Thought maybe we could clear the air.”
I arch a brow.
“A drink?” she adds, voice light. “Just one. Civil.”
It feels like a peace offering. And maybe that’s exactly what it is—her way of stepping back, giving space, accepting things as they are.
I nod once. “Fine. One drink.”
There’s a sleek little bar around the corner—quiet, high ceilings, polished brass. We slip inside and find two seats at the bar. She shrugs out of her coat. Underneath, she’s wearing a little black dress—tight, sexy, intentional.
And just like that I know. This isn’t a peace offering.
She shifts in her seat, the dress hiking up her leg. Her smile curves with practiced ease. Tatiana catches me looking.
“If you wanted to,” she says, voice velvet-soft, “you could see me in something like this whenever you like.” She pauses. “Or out of it,” she adds with a wicked grin.
I don’t smile back. “Tatiana, I spoke with your father, too. About your behavior.”
Her brows lift and she sighs. “I never should have said a word to him.” She tilts her head, pout forming. “Let me guess. He’s worried I’ll embarrass the family name again?”
“He’s worried you’ll cause problems you can’t clean up. For me. For yourself. You reached out to him and asked for help.”
Tatiana scoffs. “No, I didn’t. I may have mentioned a few dissatisfactions to him, some of them regarding you. But I didn’t ask for his help.” She sighs again. “He thinks he still controls me, but he doesn’t. Not anymore.” She picks up her drink and swirls the contents lazily. “If it were up to him, I’d be back in Moscow. Married off to some fat oligarch with a private zoo and a failing liver.”
“Not the worst life,” I reply. “You’d be taken care of.”
Her eyes flash. “By an old man who smells like cigars and thinks he can buy obedience with jewelry? That’s your bar for happiness?”
