Chapter 5 - The Traitor Inside the House
I showed Vadim the photograph.
He stared at Anton’s reflection.
Then he did something unexpected.
Nothing.
No accusation.
No weapon.
No rage.
He simply locked his phone and said, “Nobody leaves.”
Anton looked between us.
“What happened?”
Vadim handed him the phone.
I watched Anton’s face.
Shock.
Then anger.
Then something else.
Recognition.
“You think this is me?”
“I think somebody wants me to think it is.”
That surprised both of us.
Vadim enlarged the image.
“The reflection is wrong.”
I leaned closer.
“What?”
“The watch.”
Anton lifted his wrist.
Silver.
The man in the reflection wore black.
Vadim looked at me.
“Someone staged it.”
The real traitor was still inside.
Over the next two days, the mansion became a pressure cooker.
Twenty-three employees were questioned.
Phones were surrendered.
Security logs were reconstructed.
Nobody was allowed to approach Cleo or Misha without me present.
And Vadim barely slept.
Neither did I.
At 3:00 a.m. on the second night, I found him in the library staring at a photograph of Nikolai.
“Tell me about him.”
Vadim hesitated.
“He raised me more than our father did.”
“You loved him.”
“Yes.”
“What happened between you?”
His jaw tightened.
“Nikolai wanted out.”
“Of the organization?”
“He had Elena. Misha was two. He wanted to leave Chicago.”
“And you?”
“I called him a coward.”
Regret entered his voice.
“Our last conversation was an argument.”
Three days later, the warehouse burned.
I sat beside him.
“If Nikolai survived, why disappear?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if he believed you were responsible?”
Vadim looked at me.
“Then someone worked very hard to make him believe it.”
The next morning, Anton found the breach.
Someone had been accessing the mansion’s internal cameras through an old maintenance account.
The account belonged to Peter Volkov.
Vadim’s accountant.
A quiet man in his sixties who had worked for the Sorokin family for thirty years.
Peter disappeared before they reached his apartment.
But he left something behind.
A ledger.
Names.
Payments.
Hospital employees.
Police officers.
Private security contractors.
And Dr. Evan Hale.
I felt sick.
“He’s on the payroll?”
Anton nodded.
“For eighteen months.”
Vadim said nothing.
I called Evan.
Vadim tried to stop me.
I ignored him.
Evan answered on the second ring.
“Reese?”
“What did you do?”
Silence.
Then, “Where are you?”
“You were paid by Peter Volkov.”
Another silence.
“Listen to me carefully.”
“I am.”
“You need to get away from Sorokin.”
“Why?”
“Because everything happening around you is designed to make him trust you.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You think you met Misha by accident?”
My pulse slowed.
“What are you talking about?”
“Misha was supposed to go to Mercy.”
“What?”
“The ambulance was redirected.”
I looked at Vadim.
He could hear Evan through the speaker.
“You were selected, Reese.”
“By who?”
Evan exhaled.
“Your father.”
The room tilted.
“My father died when I was nine.”
“No.”
I could barely breathe.
“Who are you talking about?”
“Daniel Duval.”
“That was my father.”
“His real name was Daniil Volkov.”
Peter Volkov’s younger brother.
I stared at the ledger.
“No.”
“Ask Vadim.”
Vadim’s expression told me he knew something.
I ended the call.
“You knew?”
“Not until yesterday.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I was verifying it.”
“Stop deciding when I deserve the truth!”
Cleo appeared at the library door.
I lowered my voice immediately.
Vadim looked ashamed.
“Your father worked for mine,” he said.
I felt as if I were listening underwater.
“He left the organization before you were born. Changed his name. Built another life.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“But Peter is my uncle?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly everything rearranged itself.
The hospital.
The gift card.
The bill.
Misha.
Me.
“What if Peter didn’t choose me because I was your nurse?”
Vadim understood immediately.
“What if he chose me because I’m family?”
Anton entered before Vadim could answer.
“We found Peter.”
“Where?”
Anton looked at me.
“Your apartment.”
We arrived forty minutes later.
My apartment door was open.
Nothing looked disturbed.
Peter sat at my kitchen table.
An old man holding a photograph of my father.
Vadim’s men surrounded him.
Peter did not resist.
He looked at me.
“You have your mother’s eyes.”
I wanted to hate him.
Instead, I asked the only question that mattered.
“Why did you put my daughter in danger?”
Pain crossed his face.
“I didn’t.”
“Someone emptied her EpiPen.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“Then who?”
Peter looked at Vadim.
“Your brother.”
Silence.
“Nikolai?”
“He is alive.”
Vadim stepped forward.
“Where?”
Peter laughed bitterly.
“You still think this is about territory.”
“What is it about?”
“Your father.”
“Our father is dead.”
“Yes,” Peter said. “And he left behind something both of you would kill to possess.”
“What?”
Peter looked at me.
“Not what.”
Then at Cleo’s photograph on the refrigerator.
“Who.”
I moved toward him.
“Explain.”
Peter’s eyes filled with regret.
“Your father did not die because of an accident, Reese.”
My blood went cold.
“He died because he stole evidence capable of destroying the Sorokin organization.”
Vadim stared at him.
Peter continued.
“And before he died, he hid it with the only person nobody would ever suspect.”
“Who?”
May you like
Peter looked directly at me.
“You.”
