Chapter 5
Rain hammered the windows of the penthouse as dawn bled gray across Chicago.
Ava stood near the fireplace gripping a whiskey glass she had no intention of drinking.
Roman stood across the room with his jacket discarded and blood drying near his collar.
Neither of them had slept.
“You’re lying,” Ava said.
Roman leaned against the desk silently.
“She was a translator,” Ava continued. “My mother worked for immigration services after we came to the States.”
“She did,” Roman said.
“Then what was that man talking about?”
Roman looked out at the city.
“When I was nineteen, I worked for a man named Viktor Sokolov.”
The name landed heavily.
Even Ava recognized it.
Russian organized crime.
One of the most brutal syndicates in Eastern Europe.
Roman continued quietly.
“Your mother worked for him too.”
Ava shook her head immediately.
“No.”
“She translated financial records, shipping routes, coded communications. She was brilliant.”
“That’s impossible.”
“She wanted out.”
Roman’s eyes darkened.
“So did I.”
The room fell silent.
Roman poured himself a drink but didn’t touch it.
“Sokolov didn’t allow people to leave.”
Ava’s pulse throbbed in her throat.
“She had a daughter.” Roman looked directly at her. “You.”
Something sharp moved through his expression.
“Your mother knew what kind of world she was trapped in. She spent years hiding money and building evidence against Sokolov.”
Ava stared.
“She planned to disappear.”
“And?”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“She asked me to help her.”
Ava suddenly understood why the tunnel gunman looked at Roman like history itself had crawled out of the grave.
“You loved her,” Ava whispered.
Roman said nothing.
That silence answered enough.
“She trusted me,” he corrected after a moment.
“What happened?”
Roman finally took the drink.
“Sokolov found out.”
The fire crackled softly.
Ava felt sick before he even continued.
“There was a fire at the Odessa docks. Explosives. Bodies everywhere.”
“My mother died there.”
Roman looked at her with unbearable intensity.
“No,” he said quietly. “She made me promise to save you first.”
Ava’s knees nearly buckled.
Roman crossed the room instantly and caught her before she hit the floor.
His hands were warm.
Steady.
Dangerously gentle.
“She carried you through smoke while the building collapsed around us.”
Ava stared up at him.
“She gave me your necklace and told me if she couldn’t survive, you had to.”
Ava touched the silver locket unconsciously.
Roman continued.
“I got you out. But when I went back for her…”
His voice stopped.
For the first time, Ava saw real pain break through his control.
“She was gone.”
The room felt too small.
Too hot.
“You’re telling me,” Ava whispered, “that my entire life is a lie?”
Roman looked at her carefully.
“No.”
Then softer:
“I’m telling you your mother died trying to keep you alive.”
Ava stepped away from him.
Everything inside her screamed not to believe him.
But another part—the dangerous instinct that had pulled her into that parking garage—already knew he was telling the truth.
Then Roman’s phone rang.
He answered immediately.
His face hardened.
“When?”
A pause.
Then:
“Lock the building down.”
He ended the call.
Ava’s stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
May you like
Roman looked at her.
“Sokolov is in Chicago.”
