Page 12

Chapter 12

Exactly Where I Want to Be

Galina

D etective Rong corners me in the dressing room after the last dancer has slipped out, leaving behind the scent of perfume and sweat and whatever fantasy she was selling. I feel her presence before I see her. The kind of woman who doesn’t knock. She waits until the silence settles and then walks through it.

She leans against the makeup counter as if we are old friends.

“Miss Olenko,” she says. “Got a minute?”

I don’t flinch. Instead, I gather stray dresses from the counter, folding them with care. I give her my back and my best blank face. “If you’re looking for answers, I can try to help. But it’s late.” My tone is polite. Dismissive. A performance I know by heart.

She doesn’t move, but I can feel her eyes on me, peeling back the layers I’ve spent years perfecting.

I keep folding.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, keeping my voice even.

“That depends,” she says, studying me in the mirror. “Are you here of your own volition?”

The question punches the air out of the room. It shouldn’t surprise me, and yet, it does. I almost drop the satin in my hands.

I spin slowly, giving her a look of confusion. “Do you think someone dragged me back here in chains?”

Rong shrugs, unbothered. “No. I think someone ended that conversation upstairs a little too quickly. And I think you’re smart enough to know what that means.”

She’s fishing. She thinks I’m the key to her puzzle.

“How long have you been working here?” she asks.

“I’m not sure I understand the question.” I set the dress down and meet her eyes. There’s steel behind mine now. Let her see it. Let her misread it as fear.

“Volkov brought you in because of your experience?” she presses.

“Yes.”

“And not because of your family name?”

My pulse stutters, but my expression doesn’t waver. “My family’s legacy has nothing to do with my employment.”

“Of course,” she murmurs, stepping just a little closer. “Including what happened to your brothers?”

That hits its mark. Pain blooms, sharp and involuntary. I let it show. It makes the performance easier.

“None of that was Vasiliy’s doing,” I say, softly but firmly.

“And how do you feel about that?” Rong’s voice is prying.

I lift my chin. “That’s not your business.”

“Fair,” she says. “But I can’t help wondering…is this where you wanted to end up, Galina?”

She uses my name like a tether. Like she’s trying to pull me in.

“I’m exactly where I choose to be, Detective,” I reply, smoothing my dress with trembling fingers I pray she doesn’t notice.

She softens her tone. “I’m Detective Rong, but call me Lai.”

I know this game—offer the illusion of intimacy, then wait for someone to bleed into it.

I sit on the edge of the vanity stool. My shoulders slump. My voice dips into something that sounds just broken enough. “Lai… I appreciate the concern. But I’m not trapped. I’m not some lost girl waiting for rescue.”

She nods. “A lot of women say that. Until they don’t have the chance to say anything else.”

There it is, the threat dressed as compassion. The warning masked as care.

And beneath it? A plea. A deal she’s itching to make.

Good.

Because the moment she believes I’m a crack in Vasiliy Volkov’s armor…

She becomes mine to use.

I straighten, shoulders drawn back, and meet her gaze without flinching. “You’re not going to change anyone’s mind, Detective. But I appreciate the concern. And I suspect you don’t have much of a choice but to offer it.”

Rong doesn’t blink. She just pulls over a stool, dragging it closer until I can smell her perfume, the kind meant to blend in. “Then maybe you can explain something to me,” she says, her voice dropping to something softer. “Why would Boris Olenko’s daughter take a job slinging drinks in the club her family lost?” She leans in. “Unless someone’s making you.”

It’s almost convincing, the worry in her tone. Almost.

But I’ve spent too long crawling through the ashes of my family’s empire to fall for that expression. Pity is a tool like any other, and I’ve seen it sharpened into a weapon by people far more ruthless than this detective.

“You know about Vladimir?” I ask carefully. Watching.

Her eyes flare. Barely. But I catch it—the quick flicker, the subtle twitch of her hand toward the collar of her coat.

She knows him. Or fears him. Maybe both.

“We’re familiar with his...activities,” she says, measured.

That hesitation? That’s gold.

“Then you already know what he’s capable of,” I murmur, dropping my voice low. Letting just enough tremble into the words to make them feel real. “What people like him can do. Regardless of whether they are family.”

“Is that what this is?” she presses, suddenly sharper. “You’re here for protection?”

I give a small laugh—dry, hollow. “Protection?” I echo, the word sour on my tongue. “He’s my uncle. But in our world, blood only goes so far. Loyalty is what matters. And Vladimir—” I pause, letting the weight of his name settle between us, “—knows exactly how to buy it.”

Rong tilts her head, lips pursed. “Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”

I drop my gaze to my hands and give her the moment of silence she’s hoping will unravel me. Then I say, quietly, “The Volkovs aren’t the monsters everyone thinks they are.”

Even as I say it, the truth of it stings. Not because it’s a lie. But because somewhere along the way, it stopped being one.

“Vasiliy—” I catch myself. “Mr. Volkov gave me a chance when no one else would.”

That slips out before I can stop it. And I hate the way it makes me sound. Vulnerable. Grateful.

But Rong hears it. Her expression falters, revealing something desperate beneath her polished surface. “A chance to do what?” she asks. “To prove your loyalty? Or to disappear under someone else’s control?”

I smile, but it’s a sad thing. “To prove I’m more than a name that died with my family’s legacy.”

She studies me like she’s searching for cracks. Trying to figure out where the mask ends. I let her look.

“You know we can help you,” she says finally. “If you’re in trouble—if anything’s happening here—you don’t have to handle it alone.”

The words settle like dust in the air.

I could hand her everything. The ledgers. The whispers. The whole rotted foundation holding this empire up. I could watch it all burn.

But the thought of betraying Vasiliy curdles in my stomach.

I reach out, squeeze her hand like it’s a lifeline I’m considering grabbing. “I appreciate that,” I say, low and careful. “But I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Something flickers behind her eyes—frustration, or maybe disappointment.

She slips a card into my palm. “In case you remember anything. About your employer. Or yourself.”

Ah. There it is.

It was never about me. Not really.

She wants Vasiliy. She wants to crack him open and see what leaks out.

“The Velvet Echo runs clean,” I say softly. “But if anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

And I offer the faintest smile. Just enough to look like a maybe. Just enough to keep her watching.

Because if she’s watching me, she’s not watching him.

And that might be the only way we all survive.

She nods, brisk and businesslike, then offers her hand. “Until next time. Stay sharp, Galina. And watch your back. Men like Volkov—” her eyes narrow slightly, “—they protect what’s useful. The moment you’re not...”

She leaves the rest unsaid. But I hear it anyway.

Once the door clicks shut behind her, I stay still, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back wears vulnerability like a costume—soft around the edges, a little too open. But beneath that, something harder is coiled, watchful. Something Rong didn’t quite see.

She’s right, though. I do need to be careful.

Just not for the reasons she thinks.

I slip her card into my purse. Not because I trust her. Not even because I plan to use it.

But because in this world, having a cop in your back pocket is worth more than sentiment. Just in case.

My gaze flicks to the clock.

6:34 a.m.

Vasiliy leaves at seven, and if I want to catch him before the masks go back on and the night resets itself into silence, I need to move.