"Petrov knows you're alive."
Sophia's words hung in the air between us, deadly and cold as the Canadian winter outside. We'd driven to an abandoned hunting cabin thirty miles from town—the emergency location Dominic and I had established for precisely this kind of situation.
I leaned against the rough-hewn wall, Glock still in hand, while Dominic positioned himself between his mother and me. The small wood stove in the corner provided minimal heat, casting dancing shadows across Sophia's face as she sat stiffly on the lone chair.
"Start from the beginning," Dominic commanded, his voice devoid of warmth. "How did you find us? And why should we believe anything you say?"
Sophia's eyes—the same deep brown as her son's—flicked between us. She'd aged since I'd last seen her, new lines etched around her mouth, her normally perfect appearance now deliberately understated. The disguise suited her, making her nearly unrecognizable to anyone who didn't know her intimately.
"After the raid on Petrov's compound, I entered witness protection." She pulled off her gloves with deliberate movements. "The FBI kept me in a safe house while I testified. They were building cases against everyone—Petrov's American contacts, corrupt officials, even remnants of the Castellano organization."
My fingers tightened on the gun. "And in return, they overlooked your involvement in my father's murder."
Her face tightened. "Yes."
"Convenient," I spat.
"Necessary," she corrected, unflinching. "I had information they needed. Just like you did."
Dominic stepped forward. "You still haven't explained how you found us. Or why we shouldn't put a bullet in your head right now."
The threat didn't seem to faze her. "Three weeks ago, I was being transferred to a new location. There was an attack on the convoy. Three agents died." Her voice remained steady, but her hands trembled slightly. "It was Petrov's men. I escaped during the chaos and went off-grid."
"And came straight to us," Dominic observed, suspicion clear in his tone. "How touching."
"I came to warn you," she countered. "The FBI believed you were both dead—your boat wreckage was convincing. But Petrov wasn't so sure."
"That doesn't explain how you found us," I pressed, moving closer. "We've been careful. New identities, minimal contact with the outside world."
Sophia's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I raised him, Valentina. I know how Dominic thinks, how he plans. Remote location near the Canadian border? Limited paper trail? I started searching small towns with recent Russian immigrants and followed the breadcrumbs."
"If you could find us that easily, so could Petrov," Dominic said, a muscle working in his jaw.
"Not easily," Sophia corrected. "And not quickly. But eventually? Yes."
I exchanged a glance with Dominic, our thoughts aligned without needing words. If Sophia was telling the truth—and that remained a significant "if"—our carefully constructed life was about to implode.
"You mentioned an attack on your convoy," I said. "Prove it."
Without hesitation, Sophia pulled up her shirt, revealing a fresh, jagged scar across her abdomen. "Bullet grazed me during the escape. Couldn't go to a hospital, so I stitched it myself."
The wound looked painful but was healing cleanly—consistent with her timeline. Still, it proved nothing about her intentions.
"Why would Petrov come after you now?" Dominic asked. "You've already testified. The damage is done."
"Because I know where it is," Sophia replied simply.
"Where what is?" I demanded.
"The ledger." Her eyes locked with Dominic's. "Your father's real ledger. The one that names every government official, every intelligence agent, every corporate executive on Petrov's payroll. Not just in America—worldwide."
The air seemed to thicken in the small cabin. Alessandro Ricci's journal had been devastating enough, containing evidence that brought down senators and high-ranking officials. But if what Sophia was suggesting existed...
"Bullshit," Dominic said flatly. "If such a ledger existed, the FBI would have found it during their raids."
"They never knew to look for it." Sophia leaned forward. "Viktor kept it separate from everything else. It was his insurance policy—his leverage if he ever needed to disappear. Only three people knew about it: Viktor, me, and Marco Vitali."
"Marco's dead," Dominic said coldly. "You had him killed."
"Yes." She didn't bother denying it. "But before he died, he told me where to find it."
I studied her face, looking for tells of deception. Finding none didn't mean they weren't there; Sophia Castellano was a master manipulator who had fooled federal agents, crime bosses, and her own son for decades.
"And where is this magical ledger now?" I asked.
"In a safety deposit box. In Thunder Bay."
My blood turned to ice. "You're saying Petrov's most valuable possession is half an hour from where we've been living?"
"No coincidence, I assume," Dominic added, his voice dangerous.
Sophia's gaze didn't waver. "Complete coincidence. Viktor has properties and secure locations all over North America. This one happens to be close to the border—easy access to both countries."
"And you want us to help you get it," I concluded. "That's why you tracked us down. Not to warn us—to use us."
"I want us to help each other," she corrected. "The ledger is the only leverage any of us have left. Without it, Petrov will hunt us all down, one by one, until there's nothing left."
Dominic paced the small space, his movements controlled but radiating tension. "Even if we believe you—which I don't—why would we risk everything to retrieve this ledger? We could disappear again. New identities, new location."
"Because you're tired of running," Sophia said quietly. "Both of you. I can see it in your eyes. And because this isn't just about us anymore."
She reached into her coat pocket slowly, mindful of our weapons still trained on her. She withdrew a folded newspaper clipping and placed it on the small table between us.
Dominic picked it up, his expression darkening as he read. Without a word, he passed it to me.
It was an obituary. For Special Agent Harper—the FBI agent who had led the raid on Petrov's compound where Sophia had been captured. Car accident, according to the article. Single vehicle, no witnesses.
"There have been seven mysterious deaths in the past month," Sophia continued. "All people connected to the investigation against Petrov. Accidents, suicides, one apparent heart attack. All too convenient. All too clean."
"He's tying up loose ends," I murmured, the reality of our situation sinking in.
"And we're the biggest loose ends of all," Dominic concluded.
"So what's your proposal?" I asked Sophia directly. "We help you get this ledger, and then what?"
"We use it to negotiate. For our lives, for our freedom." She looked between us. "Petrov has too many powerful connections to be taken down through normal channels. But with the ledger, we can ensure mutual destruction if he comes after any of us."
Dominic laughed, the sound harsh and without humor. "You expect us to trust you? After everything?"
"No," she replied simply. "I expect you to act in your own self-interest. Just as I'm acting in mine."
The honesty was refreshing, if cold. I moved to stand beside Dominic, our shoulders almost touching.
"We need to discuss this," I told Sophia. "Alone."
She nodded, unsurprised. "I'll wait outside."
"It's fifteen degrees below zero," Dominic pointed out.
"I'll survive." She stood, wrapping her scarf around her neck. "I've survived worse."
Once the door closed behind her, Dominic turned to me, his expression a carefully controlled mask of fury and calculation.
"She's lying," he said immediately.
"Parts of it, definitely," I agreed. "But the deaths? Those could be verified."
"Even if those are true, it doesn't mean the ledger exists. Or that she knows where it is."
I paced the small cabin, mind racing. "But it makes sense. Alessandro's journal was devastating enough to bring down senators and expose a Russian network inside the US government. A comprehensive ledger of Petrov's global connections would be worth killing for—worth dying for."
Dominic rubbed a hand over his beard, a gesture I'd come to recognize as his way of processing complex problems. "If it exists, and if we get our hands on it..."
"We'd have leverage against Petrov. Real leverage." I completed his thought. "Enough to stop running for good."
"Or it's a trap," he countered. "She leads us into Petrov's hands, saves herself by delivering us."
I couldn't dismiss the possibility. Sophia had betrayed my father to the Russians. She'd been playing both sides for years. Maternal instinct had never stopped her from using Dominic as a pawn in her games before.
"There's one way to find out," I said finally. "We verify what we can independently. The FBI agent's death, the attack on her convoy. If those check out, we move forward—carefully."
Dominic's eyes met mine, and I saw the weight of the decision in them. "If we do this, we go in assuming she'll betray us. Plan for it. Counter it before it happens."
"Agreed." I moved closer, resting my hand on his chest. "But Dominic, if there's even a chance this ledger exists..."
"I know." His hand covered mine, warm and solid. "We could end this. For good."
The thought was intoxicating—a permanent end to looking over our shoulders, to waking up in the middle of the night reaching for weapons, to carefully constructed lies and borrowed identities. A real life, not just the approximation we'd been building.
"Let's bring her back in," I suggested. "Get more details. Then we decide."
Dominic nodded, moving to the door. When he opened it, Sophia was standing exactly where we'd expect, arms wrapped around herself against the cold.
"Well?" she asked, stepping back inside, bringing a gust of frigid air with her.
"We'll help you get the ledger," Dominic stated flatly. "Under certain conditions."
Relief flickered across her face before her mask of composure returned. "Name them."
"First, we verify your story. The attack on your convoy, Agent Harper's death—everything that can be confirmed."
She nodded. "Reasonable."
"Second," I added, "we plan the operation. Not you. We decide how, when, and where everything happens."
"Also reasonable."
"Third," Dominic continued, his voice hardening, "at the first sign of betrayal, I put a bullet in your head. No hesitation, no second chances."
Sophia's eyes locked with her son's, something unreadable passing between them. "I would expect nothing less."
The tension in the room was palpable, decades of manipulation and betrayal creating an invisible wall between mother and son.
"One more thing," I said. "Why now? If you've known about this ledger all along, why wait until Petrov is actively hunting us to retrieve it?"
Sophia's composure slipped, just for a moment, revealing something that looked almost like genuine fear. "Because I couldn't access it alone. The safety deposit box requires two keys to open. I have one."
"And Petrov has the other," Dominic guessed.
"No." She shook her head. "Marco had the other key. Before he died, he gave it to you, Dominic. You just didn't know what it was for."
Dominic went still, his mind visibly racing through possibilities. "The key Marco gave me before the Bellarosa meeting. Small, old-fashioned."
"Yes."
"I thought it was symbolic. A gesture of trust."
"It was," Sophia confirmed. "The ultimate trust. He knew what might happen to him and wanted to ensure the ledger wouldn't fall into the wrong hands."
"So you need me," Dominic said flatly. "That's why you're here."
"I need both of you," she corrected. "The key is useless without knowing which bank, which box number. And neither of us can walk into that bank alone without raising flags that would bring Petrov's men down on us within hours."
It made a twisted kind of sense. Each piece of the puzzle requiring the others, an insurance policy that no single person could access the ledger alone.
"Where's the key now?" I asked Dominic.
His jaw tightened. "In a secure location. Not far from here."
Another contingency plan I hadn't known about. Despite everything we'd been through together, there were still secrets between us—necessary ones, perhaps, but secrets nonetheless.
"If we're doing this," I said, "we need to move quickly. The longer Sophia's in Thunder Bay, the more likely Petrov's people notice her."
Dominic nodded, already shifting into tactical mode. "We'll need supplies, weapons. A detailed floor plan of the bank."
"I have all of that," Sophia offered. "In my car."
Of course she did. Sophia Castellano never entered a situation unprepared.
"Get your things," Dominic ordered her. "We're not staying here. Too exposed now that you've found it."
As Sophia stepped outside again, I moved closer to Dominic, my voice low. "Do you trust her?"
"Not for a second." His eyes remained fixed on the door. "But if there's even a chance this ledger exists..."
"We have to try," I finished.
He turned to me then, his expression softening just slightly. "This wasn't the life I promised you."
I reached up, my palm against his bearded cheek. "You promised me we'd face whatever came together. That's all I need."
His hand covered mine, warm against the chill in the cabin. "If this goes wrong—"
"It won't," I said with more confidence than I felt. "We've survived worse odds."
"We have," he agreed, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to my palm before stepping back as Sophia returned, arms laden with a duffle bag.
"We have until morning," she said without preamble. "My contact at the bank can get us in during the pre-opening security check at 7 AM. After that, our window closes."
Dominic took the bag from her, quickly checking its contents—maps, floor plans, three bulletproof vests, extra ammunition. "Where's your vehicle?"
"Half a mile down the road. Didn't want to drive directly here in case I was followed."
Smart. Cautious. Expected.
"I'll drive," Dominic said, leaving no room for argument. "Val, take the back seat. Keep a gun on our guest at all times."
Sophia's mouth curved into what might have been pride or amusement. "Just like old times."
"No," Dominic corrected coldly. "Nothing like old times. This isn't family business, Sophia. This is survival."
The smile faded from her face, replaced by the same cool calculation I'd seen the first time we met, when I was still Shade, the mysterious dancer infiltrating the Castellano organization.
"Of course," she murmured. "Survival."
As we gathered our minimal supplies and prepared to leave the cabin, I caught Dominic's eye across the room. The question there needed no words: Are we making a mistake trusting her, even this far?
I had no answer. Only the certainty that whatever came next would either free us from Petrov's shadow forever—or deliver us directly into his hands.
And the clock was already ticking.