Tiffany & Co. on North Michigan Avenue was the kind of place where normal people window-shopped and rich people made impulse purchases that cost more than most cars. Ivy sat at a small café across the street, nursing her third cup of coffee and watching the jewelry store's entrance through the reflection in her phone screen.
She'd been there for two hours, and her target still hadn't shown up.
Marcus Volkov was supposed to be meeting with the store manager at 2 PM to discuss a private sale—according to the intel Clarke had provided, anyway. Volkov was one of Dimitri's business associates, and apparently, he had a taste for expensive jewelry that he paid for with questionable money.
The plan was simple. Follow Volkov, document his activities, gather evidence of money laundering or other financial crimes. Standard surveillance work, except for the part where her target might be a vampire who could tear her throat out if he realized he was being watched.
Ivy checked her watch. 2:47 PM. Either Volkov was running late, or Clarke's intelligence was wrong.
"Excuse me, miss?"
Ivy looked up from her phone to find a delivery boy standing beside her table. He looked about sixteen, wearing a red uniform that belonged to one of those high-end flower shops that charged fifty dollars for a single rose.
"Are you Katherine Mills?" the kid asked.
Ivy's stomach dropped. Nobody should know that name except the people at the Rothschild estate.
"Who's asking?" she said carefully.
"I have a delivery for Katherine Mills. You match the description." The boy held out a long white box tied with a red ribbon. "From a secret admirer, apparently."
Ivy took the box with steady hands, though her mind was racing. "Did you see who sent this?"
"Nah, sorry. Guy paid cash, didn't leave a name." The delivery boy was already walking away, apparently uninterested in the mystery.
Ivy stared at the box. Light weight, about the right size for a single long-stemmed rose. Could be innocent—wealthy men sent flowers to women they wanted to impress all the time. But the timing felt wrong. She was supposed to be undercover, anonymous, just another face in the crowd.
Someone knew exactly where she was and what name she was using.
She untied the ribbon with careful fingers. Inside, nestled in white tissue paper, was a single blood-red rose. The flower was perfect—no wilted petals, no imperfections, like something from a movie about romance and grand gestures.
But when Ivy lifted it from the box, she felt something unusual about the weight. The stem was too heavy, too solid.
She glanced around the café. Normal people doing normal things—a businessman on his laptop, two women gossiping over lattes, an elderly man reading a newspaper. Nobody paying any attention to her.
Ivy turned the rose over in her hands, examining it more closely. The stem looked normal from the outside, but there was a small seam running along one side, barely visible unless you knew to look for it.
Her heart started hammering.
Someone had hollowed out the stem.
Working carefully, Ivy found the tiny catch that released the hidden compartment. The bottom portion of the stem swung open on a miniature hinge, revealing a small cavity inside.
Two items fell onto her palm.
The first was a folded piece of paper, cream-colored and expensive-looking. The same kind Dimitri had used for his note the night before.
The second was a bullet.
Not just any bullet—a silver one, about the size of her thumb, with markings along the side that looked like they'd been hand-engraved. The metal was warm to the touch, and it felt heavier than it should have.
Ivy's mouth went dry. Silver bullets were for killing vampires, according to folklore. But if vampires were real, if everything Dimitri had told her was true, then maybe the folklore was real too.
Someone wanted her to have a weapon specifically designed to kill the creatures she was supposed to be investigating.
The question was whether it was meant to help her or threaten her.
With shaking fingers, Ivy unfolded the piece of paper. Two words were written in elegant handwriting she recognized from ten years of keeping old love letters:
*Trust me.*
"Well, well. What do we have here?"
The voice came from directly behind her, smooth and familiar and entirely too close. Ivy's training kicked in—don't react, don't show surprise, assess the threat level.
She turned slowly in her chair to find Dimitri Rothschild standing three feet away, wearing an expensive gray suit and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Mr. Rothschild," she said, slipping the bullet and note into her purse while keeping the rose visible on the table. "What a surprise."
"Katherine." He moved around to the empty chair across from her, settling into it with the fluid grace she'd noticed at the party. "May I?"
"Of course."
Dimitri gestured to the rose. "Beautiful flower. Secret admirer?"
"Something like that." Ivy kept her voice level, but her heart was racing. "What brings you to this part of town?"
"Business. I own several properties in the area." His pale blue eyes never left her face. "And you?"
"Same. Business."
"Ah. The mysterious art world." Dimitri leaned back in his chair, but somehow managed to look more dangerous when he was relaxed. "Tell me, Katherine, are you enjoying your stay in Chicago?"
The question was casual, but there was something underneath it. A warning, maybe. Or a threat.
"It's been... educational," Ivy said.
"I'm sure it has." Dimitri signaled the waitress and ordered coffee in Italian. Perfect pronunciation, like he'd been speaking the language for years. "Have you given any thought to my auction on Friday?"
"Some thought, yes."
"Excellent. I do hope you'll find something that interests you." He paused while the waitress brought his espresso. "Though I should warn you—some of the pieces in my collection come with rather complicated histories."
"Complicated how?"
"Dangerous previous owners. Bloody provenance. The sort of things that might make a buyer's life... difficult." Dimitri took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of the cup. "Not everyone appreciates owning something that others might kill for."
Every word felt loaded with meaning. He wasn't talking about art anymore.
"I can handle complicated," Ivy said.
"Can you?" Dimitri set down his cup and leaned forward slightly. "Because once you own something dangerous, Katherine, it becomes part of you. Changes you. And there's no going back to the person you were before."
The intensity in his voice made her shiver. He was definitely not talking about art.
"What are you trying to tell me?" she asked quietly.
"I'm trying to tell you that some games are more dangerous than they appear." Dimitri's fingers drummed against the table, a nervous habit she didn't remember from college. "And the players aren't always who they seem to be."
Before Ivy could respond, her phone buzzed with a text message. She glanced at the screen and felt her blood freeze.
The message was from Clarke: *Volkov meeting canceled. Return to base immediately. We have a problem.*
When she looked up, Dimitri was watching her with an expression she couldn't read.
"Bad news?" he asked.
"Work," Ivy said, standing and gathering her things. "I should go."
"Of course." Dimitri rose as well, moving with that predatory grace that reminded her he wasn't entirely human. "Katherine?"
She paused. "Yes?"
"Be careful who you trust. The people who claim to be protecting you aren't always the ones keeping you safe."
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Almost exactly what he'd said in the library last night—that her own government had sent her here to die.
"I don't know what you mean," she said.
"Don't you?" Dimitri stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne and something else underneath it. Something wild and dangerous. "Think about it. Why would they send someone alone on an assignment this dangerous? Why not backup, why not a team?"
Because they wanted her to get close to him. Because they thought her connection to Danny would make her more effective.
Except now she was starting to wonder if there were other reasons.
"I can take care of myself," Ivy said.
"I'm sure you can." Dimitri reached out and touched the rose on the table, his fingers gentle on the red petals. "But sometimes even the strongest people need someone watching their back."
"Are you volunteering?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it. Too personal, too revealing, too much like something Ivy Novak would say instead of Katherine Mills.
Dimitri's smile was sad and sharp at the same time. "I volunteered ten years ago. The offer still stands."
And then he was walking away, leaving her standing beside the café table with more questions than answers and a silver bullet burning a hole in her purse.
Ivy looked down at the rose he'd touched. The red petals were darker now, almost black in the afternoon light. As she watched, one petal fell to the white tablecloth like a drop of blood.
Her phone buzzed again. Another text from Clarke: *Agent Novak, report in immediately. That's an order.*
Agent Novak. Not Katherine Mills.
Which meant either Clarke had made a mistake, or someone had told him that her cover was blown.
Ivy picked up the rose and walked toward the street to hail a taxi, her mind spinning with possibilities. The silver bullet felt heavy in her purse, and Dimitri's words echoed in her head.
*Be careful who you trust.*
The problem was, she was starting to realize she didn't trust anyone at all.
Not Clarke, who seemed to be lying about something fundamental. Not Dimitri, who claimed to be protecting her while hiding secrets that could get them both killed.
And definitely not herself, because every instinct she had was telling her to run away from this assignment as fast as possible.
But she couldn't run. Not when she was this close to answers about what had happened to Danny ten years ago.
Even if those answers might destroy everything she believed about herself and the world she'd sworn to protect.
The taxi pulled up to the curb, and Ivy got in, giving the driver the address of the FBI field office. As they pulled away from the curb, she caught a glimpse of Dimitri through the rear window. He was standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching her go.
For just a moment, he looked exactly like Danny had the morning he'd left her. Lost and heartbroken and completely alone.
Then the taxi turned the corner, and he was gone.
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End of Chapter 5