Page 28
She unlocked it and scrolled.
Found the New York Times press release.
Felicity drew in a slow breath, then another, anchoring herself the way she’d been taught in therapy.
Facts first. Emotion later.
She read the release carefully, clinically, even as something cold unfurled beneath her ribs.
PREVIOUSLY PARDONED RUSSIAN ORGANIZED CRIME FIGURE IS ARRESTED ON MURDER AND HUMAN TRAFFICKING CHARGES
New York — Federal authorities on Tuesday announced the arrest of Vasily Liminov, a previously pardoned figure linked to Russian organized crime, on charges that include murder and human trafficking. Liminov was taken into custody following a joint operation involving federal and international law enforcement agencies, officials said.
According to the indictment, Liminov has been charged with the murder of his sister, Alexandra Liminov, whose death occurred almost thirty years ago and was long regarded by authorities as suspicious but unresolved. Prosecutors said newly obtained evidence, including financial records and witness testimony, prompted the case to be reopened.
In addition to the murder charge, Liminov faces multiple counts related to an alleged human trafficking operation that prosecutors said spanned several countries and involved coercion, forced labor and financial exploitation. Investigators described the operation as extensive and highly organized.
Liminov has been remanded without bail to Rikers Island, where he will remain pending further court proceedings. His arraignment in federal court is expected later this week.
Authorities said the investigation remains ongoing and that additional charges or arrests of alleged co-conspirators are possible.
She gave a long exhale.
Federal custody. No bail. Charges stacked high enough to make the outcome inevitable.
She lowered the phone to her lap and let her head rest against the post. The lavender still scented the air. The light still slanted just right. But the peace had shifted — thinned, edged now with menace.
And she couldn’t linger anymore. She needed to be gone before Ronan came home. The last thing the cocky man needed was further motivation to get under her skin.
Felicity rose and stared at the neatly cut lawn.
Ronan had trimmed it. Most likely shirtless.
The thought unsettled her more than it should have.
Go. Go. Go.
Her feet stayed rooted, stubborn, reluctant to obey her common sense.
She spun toward the front door, moved fast, hand closing around the knob. Twisted it without thinking.
The door swung open.
She paused, caught off guard. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she stepped across the threshold into the empty foyer.
The house smelled of fresh-cut wood and something faintly chemical — sawdust and varnish, clean and sharp at the back of her throat. Her sneakers scuffed on the dusty wooden floor, the sound far too loud in the hollow space.
“Hello?”
Her voice came back to her, thinner, stripped of confidence by the echo.
A wooden staircase rose to her right, unfinished banister rough beneath her fingertips as she passed. To her left, pocket doors stood half open, their tracks dusted pale with sawdust. A closed door waited straight ahead.
She moved through the pocket door opening. Light spilled in from a row of windows forming a shallow bay, catching on drifting motes of dust. A workhorse stood in the center of the room atop a broad drop cloth, a stack of tools nearby.
“What the hell, Felicity, you’re trespassing,” she scolded herself.
Yet she continued, curiosity pulling her deeper into the long room.
