Black BMW sedan.
Severed power-steering pressure line.
Evidence of tool marks.
Possible deliberate interference.
My eyes raced over the page.
The date was one week after Daniel’s death.
The report had never been shown to me.
At the bottom was the name of the examiner.
And beneath it, in red ink, one word.
RETRACTED.
I looked up.
“Where did you get this?”
“From a man who was killed yesterday.”
My hands began shaking.
“Why would anyone kill Daniel?”
Nikolai’s expression changed.
The hardness remained, but something else settled beneath it.
Recognition.
Pity, perhaps.
That was worse.
“You truly don’t know.”
“Know what?”
He studied me for a long moment.
Then he reached forward and took the report from my hand.
“What did your husband do for work?”
“He was an accountant.”
“For whom?”
“A logistics company.”
“Which one?”
“North Atlantic Freight.”
Roman glanced back from the front seat.
Nikolai’s gaze never left mine.
“North Atlantic Freight moved money for my organization.”
The inside of the SUV seemed to tilt.
“No.”
“Your husband discovered irregular accounts.”
“He never told me anything.”
“He tried to contact federal investigators.”
“That’s impossible.”
“He also tried to contact me.”
The baby finished feeding and released with a soft sigh.
I adjusted my blouse with trembling fingers.
Nikolai took Sofia back, but he did not look at her.
He looked only at me.
“Daniel believed someone inside my organization was stealing from me,” he said. “He was right.”
“Then you killed him.”
Roman’s shoulders stiffened.
Nikolai’s face went still.
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“If I had killed your husband, I would not pretend otherwise.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“It is the truth.”
“You’re a criminal.”
“Yes.”
“You have armed men.”
“Yes.”
“People are dead tonight because of you.”
“Yes.”
Each answer came without shame.
Without denial.
Without excuses.
The brutal simplicity of it left me more unsettled than any lie could have.
“Then why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
The SUV turned sharply through iron gates.
Stone pillars rose on either side, each topped with a security camera. Beyond them, a long driveway curved through dark woods.
I looked back.
The gate closed behind us.
Nikolai held Sofia against his chest and looked out at the trees.
“But you should understand,” he said, “that the person who killed your husband is the same person who tried to take my daughter.”
The house appeared at the end of the drive.
It was not a house.
It was an estate.
Gray stone walls. Tall windows. Iron balconies. A central tower rising above the trees. Security lights illuminated the front courtyard, where more armed men waited.
The SUV stopped beneath a covered entrance.
My door opened.
Roman stood outside.
I did not move.
Nikolai stepped out with Sofia.
He turned back.
“Elena.”
“I’m not your guest.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Say what?”
“That I’m your prisoner.”
The men around us became very still.
Nikolai shifted his daughter higher against his shoulder.
“For tonight,” he said, “you are under my protection.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
“Because you won’t admit it?”
“Because prisoners are kept for punishment or leverage.”
“And what am I being kept for?”
His gaze lowered briefly to Sofia.
Then returned to me.
“Survival.”
He walked into the house.
Roman waited beside the open door.
I looked at the long driveway, the locked gate, the woods.
Running would be useless.
I stepped out.
Inside, the estate was warm and silent.
Marble floors reflected chandeliers. Dark paintings lined the walls. Men moved through the corridors with weapons hidden beneath their jackets.
A woman in a gray dress hurried down the staircase.
She looked to be in her sixties, with silver hair pinned at the nape of her neck.
When she saw Sofia, relief flooded her face.
“Thank God.”
She spoke with a Russian accent.
Nikolai handed the baby to her.
“Galina, this is Elena Carter.”
The woman’s eyes moved toward me.
Something passed across her face.
Surprise.
Then alarm.
“You brought her here?”
Nikolai noticed.
“So you know who she is.”
Galina’s lips parted.
“I know the name.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
No one answered.
Nikolai stepped closer to the older woman.
“How?”
Galina looked toward the armed men.
“Not here.”
Nikolai’s voice dropped.
“Now.”
She glanced at me again.
“Her husband came to this house.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Galina held Sofia more tightly.
“Six months ago.”
I crossed the foyer before I realized I was moving.
“You saw Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible. He never came to New York.”
“He came twice.”
“What did he want?”
Galina looked at Nikolai.
Nikolai looked equally stunned.
“He never reached me,” he said.
“He said he had information for you,” Galina continued. “He refused to tell the guards. He said he would speak only to Mr. Volkov.”
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“You were in Moscow.”
“Someone should have contacted me.”
“Someone did.”
Nikolai’s face hardened.
“Who?”
“Viktor.”
At the name, Roman cursed softly.
I looked between them.
“Who is Viktor?”
No one responded.
The silence gave me my answer.
Someone powerful.
Someone dangerous.
Someone close.
Nikolai turned toward Roman.
“Seal the estate. No calls in or out. Find Viktor.”
Roman pulled out his phone.
Galina spoke quickly.
“He left three hours ago.”
“Why?”
“He received a message.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know.”
Nikolai looked at me.
The calculations behind his eyes were almost visible now.
“You were on that plane by accident?”
“Yes.”
“Your employer arranged the charter?”
