I accept the money, ignoring his sexist bullshit. Those women work harder on their bad days than this man does on his best days. The cash is more than enough to make up for missing my shift.
"Sooner is better," Aleksandr says, pulling out his phone. Dismissing me.
I head back to the dressing room, tucking the drive into my corset. My mind works through logistics—I need to know what's on this drive. I need to understand what leverage Father has over this Dimitri. But something nags at me. The name. Dimitri. I've heard it before. I know I have.
I add a tailored jacket over my skirt and corset, but keeping the sky-high heels on. I’m dressed justthisside of too sexy, walking the line between professional and provocative. The ride to the wealthy side of town feels endless. Father's mansion sits on a hill, looking down at the world he considers beneath him. Nothing but desert for miles behind.
In the silence, I practice deep breathing. Will I recognize any of his security? Probably not, Father cycles through men like they're disposable. Maybe some of the staff, though. Panic flareshot in my chest. Irina. She'd recognize me instantly. She spent every day with me before—God, I hope she isn't working tonight.
The town car pulls up to the gate , and after a brief conversation with the intercom, we're through. Rolling up the drive toward the house that holds too many ghosts.
I take a moment. Just sit there. Breathe.
The mansion looms—all dark stone and imposing architecture, designed to intimidate. It works.
Two armed men I don't recognize escort me inside, watching with suspicious eyes. They frisk me, hands impersonal and efficient. Thankfully they miss the USB drive secured in my corset.
They lead me through hallways that smell like old money and darker things. Familiar hallways, though I study them like they're new. Checking for cameras, changes, anything significant. The mansion screams power and control in every expensive piece of art, every piece of statement furniture. Father owns everything and everyone in it and he wants you to know it.
We stop outside the study. One guard opens the door without hesitation, and I'm pushed inside. The past is being mirrored, and I feel the beginning of a panic attack building in my chest. The tightness causing my breath to stutter.
A man sits behind a mahogany desk, reviewing documents. Shadows obscure most of him—I can only see his knuckles clearly; covered in the typical Bratva tattoos I've memorized from surveillance photos.
He looks up, and my entire body goes rigid.
I know his face better than my own. I've seen it a thousand times in my nightmares, burned it into my memory so thoroughly that even with my eyes closed I could trace every line, every cruel angle.
Father.
Ten years of preparation, and I'm still not ready to see him again.
He studies me, expression unreadable. "You're the girl Aleksandr sent over?" His voice is gravelly, cigarettes and age weathered to something that scrapes against my nerves. "The one who saved him."
"Yes." My voice is steady. Inside, I'm screaming.
"Good. Then you aren't new to keeping your mouth shut." He gestures to someone in the shadows to my left. A man I hadn't noticed when I entered, which is sloppy, dangerous, the kind of mistake that gets you killed. A man with brown eyes and familiar features. A man who looks like Father. A man who looks just like me with darker features.
"This is my son." Father's words coat my body in ice. My brother? I knew he remarried but this is a grown man. Older than me. Which means—He didn't just killMomochka. He killed her for doing something he'd done himself.
"Dimitri has been problematic lately. Acting like he has a voice in how this organization operates."
Dimitri steps forward, and I see him clearly for the first time. No darkness in his expression. No anger or aggression. Just resignation. Boredom, almost. The look of someone who's been expecting this moment but doesn't give a fuck that it's arrived.
"Sofiya," Father continues, "I want you to deliver your message to Dimitri. Make clear that I know things. That I have leverage. That I can destroy him if I choose to."
So unnecessarily dramatic. I could've just handed Father the drive. Anyone could have. But that's Father. Always making a performance of his power.
My hands tremble slightly as I pull the drive from my corset. Father's eyes follow the movement, leering. My stomach turns, and I fight the urge to gag.
Please, God, no.
"I'll let you two have a nice chat alone," Father says. "Have a nice little talk and understand what your lack of respect could mean." He sends Dimitri a scathing look. He dismisses us with a wave, returning his attention to his documents like we've already ceased to exist.
The men escort us to the library. Books line the walls that have probably never been read. especially not since I left. This room has been redesigned for privacy, not reading. Everything here is for show.
The door closes behind us and we're alone. But not quite. Something prickles at the back of my neck. The sensation of being watched. I scan the shadows, the corners, the spaces between bookshelves , seeing nothing. But I know that feeling. I’ve felt it before.
Volk. I just know he's here somewhere. The thought should terrify me. Instead, it settles something in my chest. A strange comfort I don't want to examine.
