1
OLIVIA
“You’re Natalia Safonova.”
The woman seated across from me shrugs. “I was. Now, I’m just Natalia. The Safonova name carries too much baggage.”
She stands and moves to the window, gazing out at the manicured lawn. The afternoon light catches her profile—and suddenly, I see it. The proud cheekbones. The straight nose. Features softened by age but, if I squint, it’s there, undeniable—she’s cast from the same mold as him.
I stare at the woman I knew as Gen and try to process what she just said.
“You’re not— You can’t be… Look, Stefan’s mother is dead.”
“Is she?” She taps her lips with one finger. “Did you see a body? Attend a funeral? Or did you just take his word for it?”
My mind races. Stefan told me his mother had an affair with his uncle. That he took his revenge on both of them. I never asked for details. Never wanted them. Now, I’m starting to wish I had.
“He thinks he killed me.” She sighs like it’s all some big, silly misunderstanding. “It was easier to let him believe that than to correct him.”
“So you’ve been what? Hiding? Watching?”
“Living,dear. Living.” She turns back to me. “Building my own life, my own resources, and waiting for the right moment to take care of all the things that must be done.”
“And that moment is now?”
“That moment isyou.” She returns to her chair. “You’re the first woman he’s ever cared about. The first real leverage anyone’s had on him in years.”
“I’m not leverage. I’m a person.”
“Of course you are, dear. A person carrying my grandchild.” Her eyes drop to my stomach. “That makes you very important indeed.”
The fake or not-fake or I-don’t-even-know FBI agents have disappeared into other rooms. We’re alone now, just two women in this staged domestic scene. It should feel less threatening without the men, but somehow, it’s worse.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“My son’s attention. A conversation seems in order, don’t you agree? I ought to have the chance to explain things before he does something irreversible.”
“You could have just called him.”
She laughs, genuinely amused. “You think Stefan Safonov takes calls from the dead? No, I needed something to make him listen. Someone.” She gestures at me. “You.”
“You know, I didn’t exactly dream of being ‘bait’ when I was a little girl.”
Natalia laughs prettily. “‘Bait’ is such an ugly word. It makes me think of wriggling worms on a hook. You’re not bait, dear. You’re… an incentive. A reason for him to hear me out instead of shooting first.”
My hands are still cuffed, the metal warming against my skin. “And if he doesn’t? If he comes in guns blazing anyway?”
“He won’t. Not while you’re here. You might get hurt.” She sounds so certain. “My son has many flaws, but he’s predictable in his obsessions. And you, my dear, are his current obsession.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I beg to differ.” She pulls out a tablet and swipes through photos. Stefan and me at the gala. Outside my clinic. In his car. On his yacht. “I’ve been watching for months. The way he looks at you... I haven’t seen him look at anyone like that. Ever.”
The photos make my chest tight. We look so happy. Real. It’s a good show we’ve put on, him and me. Such a shame that it had to end like this.
“None of that matters now. He lied to me. He was planning to take over my clinic.”
“Yes.” No hesitation, no sugar-coating. “He was. That’s what Stefan does. He acquires things. Controls them. It’s how he was taught to survive.”
