Page 5 of Crystal Veil

She confirms the orders and disconnects without asking for details she doesn't need to know. Magdalena has worked for my family since before I was born. She understands the value of discretion and the cost of curiosity.

The coastal property is my deepest secret, a slice of hidden paradise tucked along a remote stretch of shoreline north of Miami. No official records connect it to me or any of my legitimate businesses. No addresses exist in any database. The deed is buried under so many layers of shell companies and offshore trusts that even the most dedicated investigator would need years to trace it back to me.

It's the perfect hiding place. A fortress disguised as a vacation retreat.

Elena will hate it, of course. She'll call it another cage, another attempt to control her life and limit her freedom. She'll rage about being kept like a prisoner, about missing her work and worrying her friends. But I don't care about her anger or her resentment. I'd rather she curse my name from behind impenetrable walls than have her blood on my hands.

I walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the estate grounds. Moonlight slashes across the manicured lawns like silver blades, creating patterns of light and shadow that shift with the movement of clouds overhead.The swimming pool glows turquoise in the darkness, its surface disturbed only by the gentle breeze that rustles through the palm fronds.

Somewhere in this sprawling compound, Sergey is in his quarters. Maybe nursing a drink while he reviews tomorrow's schedule. Maybe making encrypted phone calls to coordinate whatever treachery he has planned next. Maybe even laughing at how easily he fooled the man who once called him brother.

But Tuesday night will tell the truth. When he thinks he's feeding crucial intelligence to Bennato, he'll actually be signing his own death warrant.

And when I have proof of his betrayal? When I can confront him with evidence that can't be denied or explained away? The man who swore loyalty to my father, who stood at my side through countless battles, with whom I trusted my life and my secrets, will learn exactly what betrayal costs in my world. The lesson will be brief. It will be final. And it will serve as a reminder to anyone else who might be tempted to bite the hand that feeds them.

I turn away from the window and begin making preparations for Elena's relocation. There are arrangements to be made, security details to be coordinated, and contingencies to plan for every possible scenario. Because in forty-eight hours, I'll know whether my closest ally is actually my deadliest enemy.

3

ELENA

The ocean sings to me every morning, but the melody doesn't bring peace.

It's been two days since Renat moved me to this secluded house perched on the edge of the Atlantic. Two days of watching the horizon stretch endlessly before me, wondering if this beautiful prison would become my permanent home. From the outside, it appears to be something from a luxury travel magazine. Sleek white walls that gleam under the morning sun, towering windows that overlook the turquoise water, and balconies that glow beneath the sun's golden kiss. Modern architecture blends seamlessly with the natural cliff face, creating an illusion of floating above the waves. But to me, it feels like a glass cage. Beautiful. Isolated. Silent.

I stand barefoot on the veranda, my toes curling against the cool stone tiles as the morning breeze lifts strands of my hair. The wind carries the scent of salt and seaweed. I hug Renat's robe tighter around my body, the fabric still holding traces of his cologne. Waves crash against the rocky bluff below, wild and relentless. A reflection of how I feel. Each wave pounds againstthe cliff with such force I can feel the vibration through the stone beneath my feet.

The house sits on a promontory that juts into the Atlantic like a defiant finger. On a clear day, I can see fishing boats in the distance, their white sails catching the light as they navigate the deeper waters. Today, the sky is overcast, clouds heavy with the promise of rain. The water below churns restlessly, changing from turquoise to steel gray as shadows move across its surface.

From behind, I hear the low hum of Renat's security team moving through the property, their presence constant but distant. They're ghosts with Rolexes, stationed at the gate, along the path to the beach, and inside the house at night. Always watching and protecting. I've learned their routines over the past two days. The tall one with the scar on his cheek walks the perimeter every hour. The younger one with kind eyes always tips his head when he sees me, a gesture of respect that makes me feel less like a prisoner. But respect doesn't change what this is. It’s suffocating.

I press my palm flat against my stomach, trying to find comfort in the warmth of my own body. The gesture has become habitual and unconscious. A flutter stirs beneath the surface. Not movement exactly, just a strange awareness. A whisper of life that's still too small to show but loud enough to steal my breath. The realization hits me fresh each time, like walking into a wall I forgot was there. I'm carrying Renat's child. The thought should terrify me, but instead, it fills me with wonder - or maybe dread.

The nausea hasn't gone away. If anything, it's worse. My stomach churns at odd hours, rebellion striking without warning. Even the scent of the ocean, which used to calm me, now makes my throat tighten. The salt air that once felt like freedom now carries undertones that make me queasy.Yesterday, the chef prepared fresh fish for lunch, something that would usually make my mouth water. Instead, I had to excuse myself, rushing to the bathroom with my hand clamped over my mouth. But I haven't mentioned any of this to Renat. What if I voice it aloud, and everything changes? What if he decides I'm more a liability than an asset?

The thought makes my chest tight. I've seen what happens to people who become inconvenient in Renat's world. They disappear. Not always violently, but they disappear, nonetheless. Relocated. Forgotten. Would carrying his child protect me from that fate or make me more dangerous to keep around?

I shake my head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts. The wind picks up, sending my hair whipping around my face. I gather it with one hand, holding it back as I stare out at the churning water. Somewhere out there is the life I left behind. My apartment with its tiny kitchen and view of the neighbor's brick wall. My job at the newspaper, with its controlled chaos of chasing breaking stories and uncovering hidden truths. My co-workers, wondering where I vanished without explanation. Everything feels like someone else's memories now.

The glass door behind me slides open with a soft whoosh. The sound makes me tense, my shoulders pulling tight. I don't need to turn to know it's him. Renat's presence fills any space he enters, commanding attention even when he tries to be subtle. His footsteps are lighter than those of his men and more controlled. Predatory in their precision.

“Elena,” Renat murmurs.

I glance over my shoulder meeting his dark eyes. There's something sharper about his expression today, more intensethan usual. His suit jacket hangs over one arm, sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle and marked with tattoos. He looks less like a mafia boss and more like a man with too many thoughts in his head and not enough time to sort them out. His hair is mussed as if he's been running his hands through it, and dark circles shadow his eyes.

He studies me carefully, the way he does when he's trying to pull truth from silence. It's a look I've grown familiar with, one that makes me feel exposed even when I'm fully clothed.

“You didn't touch your breakfast,” he observes, stepping closer.

I look away, focusing on a seagull that's landed on the railing. “Wasn't hungry.”

He approaches slowly. Each step echoes against the stone, deliberate and patient. “You haven't eaten properly in days. The chef is starting to think he's personally offended you.”

The chef is a kind man named Marcel who came from France specifically to work for Renat. He takes pride in his work, crafting meals that rival those found in five-star restaurants. The waste of his efforts makes me feel guilty, but I can't force food down when my stomach rebels against almost everything I eat.

I manage a faint smile. “He hasn't.”

Renat stops beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he turns his gaze out to the ocean. His warmth seeps through the silk of his robe, reminding me that I'm wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed, and living under his protection. For a moment, we're quiet together. Just breathing the same air. The wind carries his scent to me, igniting a part of me I didn't know existed before him. But the peace doesn't last. It never does with us.