جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 140

Chapter 131The morning in Murmansk didn’t arrive with a sunrise; it arrived with the rhythmic, bone-deep thrum of the harbor’s diesel engines and the wet, slapping sound of mop buckets in the hallway. I was awake before the first light could even struggle through the grime-streaked window. I lay perfectly still on that sagging mattress, my back pressed against the wall, acutely aware of the steady, furnace-like heat radiating from the man beside me. Caleb, or the ghost inhabiting his body was still deep in the discipline of sleep, his breathing slow and heavy. For a few minutes, I just watched the ceiling, counting the water stains and wondering how many Chairperson of the Sterling Group titles it took to buy a way out of a nightmare that didn't take credit cards.By the time the rest of the household began to stir, the apartment was already a beehive of frantic energy. Children were scrambling over one another, Pavel was grumbling about his boots, and Mischa was already shirtless,

Chapter 133The living room felt smaller than it had ten minutes ago. The air was thick with the lingering scent of tar soap and the metallic tang of the harbor. Caleb, no, Yamelyan remained by the window, his silhouette a dark jagged edge against the pale, frozen light of the Murmansk morning. I stood my ground, my damp hair clinging to the borrowed wool sweater, waiting for the "Knight" to crack."Yamelyan," I repeated, the name feeling like heavy velvet on my tongue. "Is that the name you heard in your dreams while you were playing the part of my nonchalant CEO husband? Or did you bury him so deep that you actually started to believe your own lie?"He didn't turn around. His shoulders, broader and more tension-wracked than I ever remembered, didn't move. "Evelyn, names are just labels we use to identify the bodies we inhabit. Right now, the only name that matters is the one that keeps us alive. Don't play philosopher in a house with no insulation.""You’re doing it again," I said,

Chapter 135The heavy iron shutters of the shop rattled as the Murmansk wind tried to claw its way inside, but the atmosphere within was even more suffocating. I stood paralyzed, the word target ringing in my ears like a funeral bell. Lenochka didn’t let me sink into the panic. She moved with a sudden, jerky efficiency, slamming the jeweler’s loupe onto the table. "Stop it," she barked, her voice a sharp whip. "They failed twenty-five years ago. They failed to kill the Radov name, and they won't succeed now. Boris is a barking dog. Barking dogs don't bite until they think you’re afraid.""He called me a ghost, Lenochka," I whispered, my eyes darting to my children. "He looked at me like he wanted to dissect me.""Then show him you have more than just a ghost's blood in your veins," she grumbled. She reached under a heavy wooden crate and pulled out a tarnished tin box, sliding it across the workbench toward Leo and Luna. "Here. You want to be useful? Stop looking like scared rabbits

Chapter 137The frost on the inside of the windowpane looked like jagged teeth, biting into the view of the Murmansk harbor. For three days, I had lived in a state of suspended animation, moving through Lenochka’s cramped apartment like a specter. The photo of Katerina Radov sat tucked beneath my thin mattress, a secret that pulsed with a life of its own.Yamelyan was a storm that refused to break. He was a constant vibration of lethal intent, slipping in and out of the communal flat at odd hours. He spoke to no one, least of all me. When he did look at me, his silver eyes burned with a ferocity that made my skin crawl as if he were trying to see through my Sterling name, past my American upbringing, into the very marrow of my bones."You’re staring again, Queen," Lenochka’s voice broke the silence. She was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of something that smelled like fermented potatoes and gasoline."He’s leaving," I whispered, watching Yamelyan’s broad back disappear

Chapter 139The world didn't return in colors. It returned in sounds, sharp, jagged sounds that felt like needles piercing through a thick layer of wet wool.Drip. Drip. Drip.Then came the voices. Hushed, urgent, and thick with a tension that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, even as my body felt like it was made of lead and broken glass. Beneath the heavy murmur of the city and the wind, there was a sound that cut through me like a blade: a woman’s whimper. Soft, broken, and terrified.Evelyn.My head throbbed, a rhythmic, agonizing pulse behind my eyes. I tried to move, but my limbs were disconnected from my brain. I felt lightheaded, as if I were floating just an inch above the surface of whatever I was lying on. Slowly, the memories began to rush back, hitting me with the force of a freight train. The docks. Grigory. The mission to scrub the last traces of the Sterling connection. Then, the cold realization that Evelyn had followed us. Boris. The pressure on her ne