Chapter 27 Marlena
The Next Day
"I have a terrible headache," I said, pressing my hand to my forehead. "I think I need to stay home today."
Nikolai paused in the doorway, his jacket half on, those grey eyes studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"You were fine an hour ago."
"It came on suddenly." I kept my voice weak, breathy. Exactly how someone with a migraine would sound. "The light hurts. I just need to lie down in the dark."
He stepped closer, and I forced myself not to flinch.
His hand touched my forehead, cool against my skin.
"You don't have a fever."
"It's a headache, not the flu." I pulled away, moving toward the sofa. "I'll be fine. Just need rest."
Silence stretched between us. I could feel him weighing my words, looking for the lie.
He knew. God, he had to know I was faking but then he stepped back.
"I'll have Irina check on you," he said. "And Anton will be downstairs if you need anything."
"I just need sleep."
He studied me for another long moment, his expression unreadable, then he left.
I waited by the window, watching the black Mercedes pull away from the building, Nikolai's silhouette visible in the back seat.
Anton was with him. Good.
I counted to three hundred, just to be safe, then moved.
The burner phone was hidden in my closet, tucked inside a boot I never wore, wrapped in a scarf Nikolai had never seen me use.
I'd bought it two weeks ago from a bodega in Brooklyn, paying cash, using a fake name, just in case.
My hands shook as I powered it on.
One contact saved in the directory: Dominic.
I'd memorized his number years ago, back when memorizing important numbers was just another survival skill he'd taught me.
The phone rang once. Twice.
Pick up. Please pick up.
"Hello?"
His voice hit me like a wave. It felt good hearing him once again.
The voice of the only father figure I'd ever had.
"Dominic," I whispered, my throat tight. "It's me."
There was silence for a while, then he said, "Marlena? Jesus Christ, where are you calling from?"
"A burner. I'm safe. I just –" My voice cracked. "I need your help."
"You shouldn't be calling me." His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, like he was afraid someone might hear. "It's not safe."
"What? Why –"
"They're watching, Marlena. Everyone from the old days. Everyone connected to your forgery work." He sounded terrified in a way I'd never heard before. "You need to stop digging. Stop looking for answers. Just play along with whatever Volkov wants and keep your head down."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Who's watching? Nikolai?" I asked.
"Not just him." I heard movement on his end, like he was pacing. "I can't explain over the phone. I can't –" He broke off. "Shit. I have to go."
"Wait!" Panic clawed up my throat. "Dominic, please. I found something. A photo of my mother with Nikolai's father. From 1995. What does it mean?"
The silence stretched so long I thought he'd hung up.
Then he spoke, but his voice was barely audible, "The Volkovs and Rousseaus were business partners long before the big betrayal."
The words hit me like ice water.
"What betrayal? Dominic, what –"
"I can't say more. They're listening. They're always listening." His voice was urgent now, desperate.
"Marlena, listen to me. Whatever you think you know, it's worse. So much worse. Your mother –"
The line went dead, cut off mid-sentence as if someone had physically ended the call.
"Dominic?" I pressed the phone to my ear harder, as if that would bring him back. "Dominic!"
Nothing but empty static.
My hands started shaking uncontrollably.
The phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the marble floor with a crack that echoed through the empty penthouse.
Business partners.
The Volkovs and Rousseaus were business partners before e the betrayal.
I sank to the floor, my legs giving out, pulling my knees to my chest.
The photo made sense now. Elena and Dmitri standing together in that Moscow gallery, comfortable with each other.
It wasn't random, chance meeting.
They knew each other. Their families were connected.
Which meant –
My mind raced, pieces clicking together in ways I didn't want them to.
If the Volkovs and Rousseaus were business partners, what kind of business?
Nikolai's war room flashed through my memory. The files. The evidence of arms dealing, money laundering, violence stretching back decades.
My father hadn't just been a criminal.
He'd been Nikolai's father's partner and something had happened. Some betrayal that destroyed both families.
A betrayal bad enough that Nikolai had spent fifteen years planning revenge.
Bad enough that my mother had ended up in prison.
Bad enough that Dmitri had been murdered.
I pressed my hands to my face, trying to breathe, trying to think.
Your mother –
Dominic's voice echoed in my head, cut off before he could finish.
Your mother what?
What about her?
I'd always believed she died in prison three years ago. That's what the official report said. That's what I'd been told.
She was dead. I'd seen the death certificate. I'd mourned her.
But you didn't see a body, a small voice whispered in my head. You never saw her body.
My breathing came faster, shallower.
The penthouse walls pressed in, too close, too tight.
I was in so much more danger than I'd thought.
This wasn't just about Nikolai using me as bait for Viktor.
I grabbed the burner phone from the floor, checking for damage. The screen was cracked, but it still worked.
For now.
I needed to hide it better, somewhere Nikolai wouldn't think to look.
I needed to be smarter. More careful.
Because if Dominic was right, if they were watching everyone from my old life, then I was already being monitored more closely than I'd realized.
I was trapped in a web I couldn't see, with threads connecting to places I'd never imagined.
I sat on the floor, hugging my knees, the cracked burner phone clutched in my hand, and felt the weight of it all crushing down on me.