“What would you tell him afterward?” Ruslan asked quietly. “That you shot the man who raised him because you were angry?”
The words landed.
Not as manipulation.
But as a calculated strike aimed at my weakest point.
My throat tightened.
Images flashed in my mind — Yannis looking up at me with confusion... asking questions I wouldn’t know how to answer.
My fingers twitched around the grip of the gun.
Then, without another word, I tucked the Glock back into its holster at the small of my back.
The tension between us didn’t disappear.
It just shifted.
I turned away.
Every muscle in my body felt drained now that adrenaline was wearing off.
I walked back toward the house.
My legs were unsteady.
Exhaustion hit harder than the fight had.
As soon as I crossed the threshold into the quiet interior, I pulled out my burner phone.
My hands were still shaking slightly as I dialed Roman.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Elena. You okay?”
His voice was immediate. Alert. Concerned.
“We have a problem,” I replied, lowering my tone.
“He caught you?”
There was no surprise in his question — only concern layered with calculation.
I exhaled slowly.
“Our boss — the one who sent us on this operation — Vincent.”
Silence.
“He’s on Ruslan’s payroll.”
The line went dead quiet.
“High-level,” I continued, pacing slowly through the hallway. “Ruslan’s known everything from the beginning. He knew we were being sent to California. He knew I was Bureau the moment he stepped into that club when that old man slapped me.”
My jaw tightened at the memory.
