Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Lev Sokolov
The name Lev Sokolov felt like a blade dragged across glass. Cassia remembered him from five years ago—a ruthless, unpredictable sadist who had always believed she was a leak inside Viktor’s hierarchy. He had been right, of course. Cassia had passed information to federal informants to secure her exit, an act that ultimately triggered the raid that destroyed Viktor’s empire and paved the way for Adrian to claim the crown.
“Lev doesn't know about Arya,” Cassia whispered, her hands beginning to shake. “He couldn't know.”
“He knows you disappeared while pregnant,” Adrian said grimly. “He’s smart enough to do the math. He’s already liquidated three of my logistics warehouses in Antwerp to fund his search. It’s only a matter of time before his men trace the financial breadcrumbs of the shell company you used to purchase this café.”
“I was careful!” Cassia hissed, stepping closer and grabbing the collar of his coat, forgetting her fear in a flash of maternal fury. “I used three layers of blind trusts! I didn't touch a single dollar of your money!”
“You used a banking firm in Geneva that was compromised two months ago,” Adrian explained softly, covering her trembling hands with his broad palms. His touch was warm, solid, and maddeningly familiar. “I bought the debt on that firm last week just to wipe your paper trail. But Lev’s investigators were already digging. That’s why I’m here, Cassia. Not to drag you back to my life. But to protect you from his.”
The door to the back room creaked open. Arya stepped out, wearing her bright yellow raincoat and carrying a tiny pink backpack shaped like an owl.
“I’m ready, Mommy,” she announced, oblivious to her mother holding the coat lapels of a mafia chief.
Cassia instantly dropped her hands, stepping back and smoothing down her apron. “Good job, sweetie. Let’s get your boots on.”
Adrian watched the effortless transition—how Cassia swallowed her terror in a fraction of a second to present a calm face to her daughter. It was the same discipline that had allowed her to survive inside his father’s dangerous household for years.
“Where are you staying?” Adrian asked quietly as Cassia helped Arya zip up her boots.
“An apartment four blocks away,” Cassia said without looking up. “Above a bakery.”
“It’s not secure,” Adrian noted immediately. “Single entry point? Glass street level door?”
“It’s a home, Adrian,” Cassia retorted, standing up and pulling her own coat from behind the counter. “We don't live in fortified compounds with bulletproof glass and armed sentries on the roof.”
“You will if Lev finds this street,” Adrian said coldly. He turned toward the front door, gesturing to the two men waiting under the awning. One of them—a towering man with a scarred jaw named Ivan—immediately stepped into the doorway, keeping his head low.
“Boss?” Ivan asked in a deep, gravelly voice.
“Secure the perimeter,” Adrian commanded in Russian. “Set up a two-man rotation on the bakery apartment. If a suspicious vehicle idling within two blocks occurs, I want to know within sixty seconds.”
“Understood,” Ivan replied, stepping back out into the rain.
“Don't do that,” Cassia snapped in Russian, her accent crisp despite years of disuse. “Don't bring your army into my neighborhood.”
Adrian turned back to her, his gray eyes flashing with an unyielding intensity. “I lost five years with my daughter, Cassia. I lost five years of watching you breathe without fear. I will let you hate me. I will let you keep me at arm's length. But I will not let you die because of your pride.”
Arya looked up from tying her shoe. “Mommy, why is the tall man speaking the secret language?”
Cassia froze. She had taught Arya basic Russian phrases under the guise of "a fun secret language" so the girl wouldn't be completely alien to her heritage, never expecting she would hear it spoken by her father in a Pittsburgh coffee shop.
Adrian’s lips twitched upward in a brief, poignant expression of surprise. “You taught her Russian?”
“I taught her words,” Cassia said defensively, taking Arya’s hand firmly in her own. “We are leaving now, Adrian. Do not follow us to the apartment.”
“I won't follow you,” Adrian promised. He reached into his inner breast pocket, pulled out an encrypted black smartphone, and set it gently on the wooden counter next to the espresso machine. “This phone connects directly to me. One button. If you see something wrong—anything—press it.”
May you like
Cassia looked at the sleek device, then at Adrian. “We don't need your protection.”
“Yes, you do,” Adrian said softly, reaching out to gently touch the edge of Arya’s yellow hood. Arya didn't flinch; she simply looked at him with those deep gray eyes, sensing something grand and familiar in his presence. “Because whether you accept it or not, Cassia... you are still my family.”
