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The knock comes again. And then, a voice, one that I recognize, shouts from the other side.

“For fuck’s sake, Konstantin, open up!”

23

VALENTINA

For a moment, I don’t breathe.

I feel my expression shuttering, all vulnerability vanishing in an instant, replaced by the careful blank mask I've worn for most of my life. The assassin, not the woman. I feel myself tensing, assessing, ready for whatever’s on the other side of that door. For a betrayal, if this is one. If not…

I’m afraid to let myself think about what else it might be.

Konstantin moves to the door, checking through the peephole before undoing the multiple locks. My hand flexes, aching for a gun, a knife, anything to fight back with if this is the moment that shatters the fragile trust between us. When the door opens, I feel myself shift forward on instinct, ready to spring. To pounce, if I’m in danger.

A man enters as Konstantin steps back, a hat tugged low over his eyes, rain dripping from his coat, a waterproof envelope tucked under one arm. When he takes the hat off, revealing damp, wavy, thick, dark hair streaked with faint grey and a sharply handsome face, jaw streaked with salt-and-pepper stubble, I lean back, watching him through narrowed eyes. I don’t know who this is, but I don’t trust the relaxed, devil-may-care aura that I feel coming off of him. No one in our world who has that is using it as anything but a disguise.

"You look like shit," he greets Konstantin cheerfully in a voice laced with a Russian accent, stepping inside as he shakes himself like a dog. Konstantin steps back, frowning at the spray of water.

The man’s eyes find me immediately, narrowing in assessment. "This her?"

The way he says it—like I'm a curiosity, a problem to be solved—makes my spine stiffen. My jaw tightens, and I rise up off of the couch, every muscle in my body coiled. Ready to strike, if need be.

"This is Valentina," Konstantin confirms, emphasizing my real name. The sound of it on his tongue sends a shiver down my spine. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to hearing him say my real name. If he’ll be in my life that long, after this.

I feel a pang at the thought, and quickly shove it down.

Konstantin glances at me. "Valentina, this is Yuri. He's… an information specialist."

"A hacker," I translate flatly. I've worked with people like him before. Used them. Sometimes eliminated them. My heart thuds behind my ribs. A hacker means that envelope is likely for me. Whereas a moment ago I was ready to get away from the man, to attack him if need be, now all I want is to snatch that envelope out from under his arm.

Yuri grins, unperturbed by my coldness. "Among other things." He shrugs off his coat, handing Konstantin the envelope. "Found what you asked for. Wasn't easy, and you owe me big time, but it's all there."

I take a step forward, my fists clenching at my sides as I look at the envelope. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. If Konstantin hasn’t lied to me—and he’d have good reason to—if he kept his word, then it might all be in there.

Everything that I need.

My stomach clenches at the sight of the envelope. The truth about my parents, about my past—it might all be there, reduced to paper and ink. After all these years of wondering, of nightmares, of carrying the weight of their deaths like a stone in my chest, the answers are just… sitting there. I stare at it like it might bite.

“You want to know what I found?” Yuri glances between us as Konstantin closes the door and flips all of the locks again. Konstantin glances at me, clearly giving me the choice, and in that moment, I know what I feel for him is real. To anyone else, it might be a small thing, but I’ve never gotten to make a single choice before in how I heard about what happened to my parents. In how the information was given—or rather, withheld—from me.

But what I feel for him now is irrelevant. Too much has happened. I don’t know if there’s hope for us any longer, no matter what moment we shared on the couch before Yuri arrived, and I don’t know if we’ll have a chance to find out.

I almost just ask for the envelope, but for the first time in my life, I’m afraid. Afraid that I’ll open it, and it won’t be there, or it won’t be enough. Afraid that the name of their killer, the thing I need most, won’t be something Yuri found.

I swallow hard, then give a tight nod. "Tell us."

My voice sounds steadier than I feel. Inside, I'm that terrified eight-year-old again, hiding behind the sofa, watching as strangers took everything from me.

Yuri's jovial demeanor fades, replaced by something more somber. "Your parents, Jacob and Miranda Sawyer—they weren't random victims. Your father was working with Nicholas Kane.”

A cold like ice rushes through my body. I’m frozen in place, staring at Yuri, waiting for him to say more. To unravel my life, bit by bit.

“Kane had some involvement with a human trafficking operation. Big money, powerful clients. Your father was a part of it, but I guess he didn’t know the human trafficking part at first. He was pushing numbers for Kane. An accountant, I guess.”

I swallow hard, feeling tears prick at the back of my eyes. I nod for Yuri to continue, and I see sympathy in his eyes as he does. Not a hard-bitten guy, then.

“He threatened to turn Kane in to the feds if he didn’t get out of the business. Kane must’ve fired him. Maybe he told him just to go home to his family and that he could get out. If he did—” Yuri’s mouth thins. “Well, your father should’ve gotten his family the hell out. But maybe he was going to. I wasn’t there.”