Chapter 8 - The Truth Behind the Door
Vadim survived.
Barely.
The bullet missed his heart by less than an inch.
I spent fourteen hours outside surgery while Cleo slept against my shoulder and Misha sat beside Nikolai, refusing to release his father’s hand.
Father.
That word still felt impossible.
Nikolai had been dead for most of Misha’s remembered life.
Now he sat twenty feet from me, alive, staring at his son as though every stolen year had become visible at once.
When Vadim finally woke, I was beside him.
His eyes opened slowly.
“Hospital?”
“Yes.”
“You look terrible.”
I laughed and cried simultaneously.
“You got shot.”
“I noticed.”
I leaned close.
“Do that again and I’ll kill you myself.”
His fingers found mine.
“Fair.”
For three days, I almost believed the worst was over.
Peter was dead.
The children were safe.
Nikolai had returned.
The drive was secured.
Then federal agents arrived.
Real ones.
Vadim was arrested from his hospital bed.
The charges were enormous.
Racketeering.
Money laundering.
Conspiracy.
Weapons violations.
I stood frozen while they cuffed one of his wrists to the bed.
“You can’t do this.”
Vadim looked at me calmly.
“They can.”
“But the drive proves—”
“Some things.”
Not everything.
That was the problem.
Peter had committed horrors.
So had Vadim.
Maybe not the crimes Peter framed him for.
But enough.
Before agents took him away, Vadim asked for one minute with me.
“You need to leave Chicago.”
“No.”
“Reese.”
“No.”
He almost smiled.
“You are impossible.”
“You noticed late.”
His expression became serious.
“There are still people connected to Peter.”
“I know.”
“Take Cleo. Start somewhere else.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll handle myself.”
I looked at the man who had spent years believing handling everything alone was strength.
“No.”
He frowned.
“You don’t get to save me and then decide I’m too fragile to stand beside you.”
“Reese—”
“I’m not promising to excuse what you’ve done.”
His face changed.
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Good. Because if there’s going to be anything between us, it starts with truth.”
He nodded.
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
For the next week, I learned more truth than I wanted.
Vadim’s attorney gave prosecutors access to the drive.
Nikolai agreed to testify.
Anton surrendered himself and offered evidence.
Dozens of corrupt officials were implicated.
Dr. Evan Hale disappeared.
That worried me.
Then one evening, as I packed Cleo’s things at the mansion, Evan called.
“I need to see you.”
“No.”
“I can prove who ordered the attack on Cleo.”
“Peter is dead.”
“It wasn’t Peter.”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
“Meet me.”
Absolutely not.
So I told Nikolai.
He smiled.
“Good.”
“What?”
“You’re learning.”
We arranged the meeting with federal agents.
Evan arrived at a parking garage carrying a laptop.
He looked terrified.
“I didn’t know Peter would target Cleo.”
“You gave him information.”
“I owed money.”
“That’s your excuse?”
“No.”
For once, Evan looked ashamed.
“It’s the reason.”
He handed me the laptop.
“Peter had a partner.”
A video file opened.
Samuel Greene.
The corrupt federal official.
But Greene was speaking to someone else.
A woman.
Elegant.
Silver-haired.
I had seen her photograph in Vadim’s house.
His mother.
Irina Sorokin.
I stared.
“She’s alive?”
Nikolai went rigid.
Apparently Irina had been living in Switzerland for fifteen years.
Or everyone believed she had.
The video showed her giving one instruction.
Bring me the Duval girl alive. The child is expendable.
My blood turned to ice.
Vadim had spent his life blaming his father.
Nikolai had spent six years blaming Vadim.
But behind all of them was the person nobody had considered.
Their mother.
Peter had not been the architect.
He had been another piece.
And Irina was coming to Chicago.
That evening, I visited Vadim in federal custody.
A glass wall separated us.
I picked up the phone.
He smiled faintly.
Then he saw my face.
“What happened?”
I placed Irina’s photograph against the glass.
Vadim stopped breathing.
“Your mother is alive.”
Silence.
“She ordered Peter to find the drive.”
Vadim’s face became stone.
“And Cleo?”
I hesitated.
That told him enough.
He stood.
“Vadim.”
He turned away.
“Look at me.”
He did.
For the first time, I saw the child inside the feared man.
The son betrayed by both parents.
“She’s coming here,” I said.
“Then you leave.”
“No.”
His hand pressed against the glass.
Mine met it from the other side.
“Reese.”
“She wants me because she thinks I’m afraid.”
“You should be.”
“I am.”
That surprised him.
I swallowed.
“Courage isn’t the absence of fear. I tell sick kids that every week.”
His eyes softened.
“What are you planning?”
I smiled.
“Something you’re going to hate.”
May you like
“Reese.”
“I’m going to give your mother exactly what she wants.”
