"He can't be my fucking brother."
The words left my lips for the hundredth time as Sophia's car wound through dark country roads. Three hours from Chicago, the landscape had transformed from urban sprawl to dense forest, moonlight cutting silver ribbons through the trees.
In the passenger seat, Reza dozed fitfully, pain medication finally taking effect. Sophia's eyes flicked to mine in the rearview mirror, her expression unreadable.
"Denial won't change DNA, Valentina." Her voice was soft but unyielding. "Alessandro was Dominic's father. Your father."
"Then why would you let us—" I couldn't finish the sentence. The memory of Dominic's body against mine, inside mine, sent a wave of nausea through me so violent I had to press my forehead against the cool window.
"I didn't know you'd fallen into bed together." Something like regret flickered across her perfect features. "Though perhaps I should have anticipated it. Alessandro and I had the same... chemistry."
"Stop." I closed my eyes, fighting another surge of sickness. "Just stop talking about it."
Silence fell between us, broken only by the whisper of tires on asphalt and Reza's labored breathing. I forced my mind away from Dominic—his touch, his taste, his words—and onto the more immediate concern.
"You still haven't told me who the real mole is," I said, sitting up straighter. "If it's not you, who is it?"
Sophia's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Someone who's been with the family for decades. Someone even I trusted completely." She took a sharp turn onto a gravel road that cut through the densest part of the forest. "We're close now. I'll explain everything once we're inside."
Ten minutes later, the trees parted to reveal a sprawling log cabin perched on the edge of a moonlit lake. My throat tightened at the sight. The summer house looked exactly as I remembered—the wide porch where my father used to read to me, the dock where we'd fish in the early mornings, the hammock where I'd napped in the afternoons.
Ten years of memories I'd locked away, now rushing back with devastating clarity.
"Does anyone else know about this place?" Reza asked, fully alert despite his injuries.
"Only Alessandro and I," Sophia replied, parking behind the house where the car wouldn't be visible from the road. "And Valentina, of course."
I frowned. "And whoever kidnapped Dominic."
Sophia's expression hardened as she cut the engine. "Yes. Them too, apparently."
We moved quickly, Sophia supporting Reza while I checked the perimeter, gun drawn. The cabin appeared undisturbed, a layer of dust covering everything inside. No one had been here in years—at least, not through the front door.
"Your father's study is through there," Sophia said, pointing to a closed door off the main living area.
I nodded, memories washing over me. "I remember."
The study was smaller than I recalled, the walls lined with bookshelves, a massive oak desk dominating the space. And there, above the fireplace, hung my mother's portrait. Beautiful, serene, eternally frozen in oils and canvas, her eyes following me as I crossed the room.
"The safe is behind it?" Sophia asked, helping Reza into an armchair.
"Yes." I reached up, carefully lifting the heavy frame away from the wall. Behind it, just as I remembered, was a small wall safe with a combination dial.
My fingers trembled as I entered the numbers—10-14-82. My parents' anniversary. The lock clicked, and the door swung open.
Inside was a single item: a small red leather notebook.
"That's it?" Reza asked, disappointment evident in his voice. "After all this?"
I flipped open the notebook, paging through what appeared to be my father's personal journal. Dates, locations, cryptic notes written in a code I didn't recognize.
"It's encrypted," I said, frustration building. "We need to—"
A soft creak from the other room silenced me instantly. I closed the notebook, tucking it into my jacket as Sophia drew her gun.
"Stay here," she whispered, moving silently toward the door.
I shook my head, pointing to myself and then the window. She nodded in understanding. I would circle around outside while she checked the front.
The night air bit at my skin as I slipped through the study window, gun ready. Moonlight cast long shadows across the property, perfect cover for anyone approaching—or for me.
I moved along the side of the cabin, every sense heightened. A branch snapped to my left. I spun, weapon raised, only to freeze at the sight before me.
Dominic stood at the edge of the clearing, blood streaking one side of his face, his shirt torn and darkened with more blood. But he was alive. Relief flooded through me before the crushing realization followed—brother, he's your brother—twisting my stomach into knots.
"Valentina," he breathed, taking a step toward me.
I kept my gun raised, emotion warring with training. "How did you find us?"
"I followed my mother's car." His eyes never left mine. "She's not who you think she is."
"I know exactly who she is." My voice shook despite my efforts to steady it. "She told me everything."
Something like wariness crossed his features. "What exactly did she tell you?"
"That my father was your father too." The words burned like acid. "That we're siblings."
Dominic went completely still, color draining from his face. "She told you what?"
Before I could respond, the sound of a gunshot exploded from inside the cabin. I turned instinctively toward the noise—my fatal mistake.
The blow came from behind, something hard connecting with the back of my head. Stars burst across my vision as I crumpled to the ground, my gun slipping from my grasp.
Through the haze of pain, I saw Dominic rushing toward me, only to be intercepted by two figures emerging from the tree line. He fought like a demon, taking down one before the second caught him with what looked like a taser. His body convulsed before dropping to the dirt.
"D-Dominic," I gasped, struggling to remain conscious as rough hands grabbed me.
"Both of them alive," ordered a familiar voice—Volkov. "The old woman too, if possible. But the friend is expendable."
Reza. I tried to call out a warning, but my tongue felt thick, uncooperative. Blackness crept in at the edges of my vision.
The last thing I saw was Dominic's unconscious form being dragged away, and Volkov's cold smile as he crouched beside me.
"Sweet dreams, little Ricci," he murmured. "When you wake, we'll have a proper family reunion."
Then darkness claimed me completely.
* * *
Consciousness returned in fragments. The bite of rope against my wrists. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth. The dull throb at the base of my skull. The sway and rumble of a moving vehicle.
I kept my eyes closed, taking inventory. My hands were bound behind me, ankles secured as well. I was lying on my side on what felt like a metal floor—a van or truck. The journal was gone from my jacket. And I wasn't alone.
Someone else's ragged breathing came from nearby. Warm droplets of what could only be blood occasionally hit my cheek.
"I know you're awake." Sophia's voice, strained with pain. "Don't move. Don't give them the satisfaction."
I cracked one eye open. We were in the back of a panel van, the windows blacked out. Sophia sat propped against the wall across from me, her once-immaculate suit now torn and bloody. A deep cut ran across her forehead, and her right eye was swollen shut.
"Reza?" I whispered.
Her expression told me everything.
"They executed him as soon as they broke in." Her voice was flat, emotionless. "One bullet. No hesitation."
Something cold and hollow opened inside my chest. Reza. My friend. My partner. The only constant in my life for the past decade. Gone.
"Dominic?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.
"Alive. In another vehicle." She met my gaze with her one good eye. "They'll keep him that way until they get what they want."
"Which is?"
"The notebook. And the cipher to decode it."
I shifted slightly, testing my bonds. Tight, professional. No chance of slipping them. "Do you have the cipher?"
"No." Her gaze never wavered. "But you do."
Confusion clouded my already foggy mind. "What are you talking about?"
"Your father encoded that journal using a method only you would recognize." A ghost of a smile touched her bloody lips. "Something from your childhood. A game the two of you played."
Memory stirred—sitting on my father's lap in his study, making up secret languages, substituting numbers for letters, creating puzzles only we could solve.
"The bedtime stories," I whispered, realization dawning. "The ones he made up about the princess and the shadow kingdom."
Sophia nodded. "That journal contains names, dates, account numbers—everything needed to expose the Russian network within our organization. Your father knew they'd kill for it, so he hid it in plain sight, protected by a cipher only his daughter would understand."
"Then why didn't he just tell me? Why leave me in the dark for ten years?"
"Because he knew they'd come for you the moment you showed any sign of knowing." Her voice softened. "He thought he was protecting you by keeping you away. We both did."
The van hit a pothole, jostling us painfully. I used the moment to scan our surroundings more carefully. No weapons. No tools. Nothing useful except—wait.
A small shard of metal had broken off from one of the van's interior panels, likely from whatever they'd used to retrofit it for prisoners. If I could reach it...
"You need to know something," Sophia said, drawing my attention back to her. "About Dominic."
The hollow feeling in my chest expanded. "I know. He's my brother."
"No." Her response was immediate, emphatic. "He's not."
I stared at her, uncomprehending. "But you said—"
"I lied." No remorse, just cold calculation in her gaze. "I needed you to trust me, to come with me willingly. Playing on your father's memory was the fastest way."
Rage surged through me, hot and clarifying. "You fucking bitch."
"I did what was necessary." She leaned forward slightly. "Dominic is not your brother, Valentina. He is Antonio Castellano's son, as he's always believed. I never slept with your father. Alessandro and I were colleagues, nothing more."
Relief warred with fury. "Then why—"
"Because I needed the journal." Her expression hardened. "And I knew you'd never give it to me willingly."
Understanding crashed over me like ice water. "You're the mole."
She didn't deny it. "I prefer to think of myself as an independent businesswoman making the most profitable choices for my family's future."
"By selling out to the Russians? By getting my father killed?"
"Your father was collateral damage in a much larger game." Not a flicker of remorse crossed her face. "One that's been playing out for decades."
"Does Dominic know?"
"About me? No." Something almost like affection softened her features momentarily. "He always was too trusting. Like his father."
My mind raced, piecing together the fragments of truth from the elaborate web of lies. "So you delivered us right to Volkov. Your partner."
"Business associate," she corrected. "Though our relationship has become... strained recently. Hence my current predicament." She nodded down at her own bound hands.
"Double-crossed by your own partner." I couldn't help the bitter satisfaction in my voice. "Karma's a bitch."
"So am I," Sophia replied with a chilling smile. "Volkov has seriously underestimated what I'm willing to do to survive."
The van began to slow, gravel crunching beneath the tires. We were arriving somewhere. I strained against my restraints, desperately trying to inch closer to that metal shard.
"Listen carefully," Sophia said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Volkov will separate us. He'll torture Dominic in front of you to make you decode the journal. When that happens—"
The van doors flew open. Bright floodlights blinded me momentarily. Rough hands grabbed my ankles, dragging me out onto hard ground. I fought instinctively, earning a brutal kick to my ribs that left me gasping.
Through watering eyes, I made out the looming structure of what appeared to be an abandoned factory. Smokestacks rose against the night sky, windows broken, walls covered in graffiti. The perfect place to torture and kill without witnesses.
Three men hauled me to my feet. A fourth dragged Sophia out behind me. And there, standing by a black SUV with a cigarette dangling from his lips, was Alexei Volkov.
"Welcome to my humble operation, Ms. Ricci." His accent seemed thicker now, less carefully modulated. "I trust your journey was comfortable?"
I spat blood onto the ground near his polished shoes. "Fuck you."
He laughed, genuine amusement lighting his cold eyes. "Ah, just like Alessandro. Same fire, same foolish defiance." He took a final drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. "I wonder if you'll break as beautifully as he did."
One of the men shoved me forward, toward a rusted side entrance. As we passed the SUV, the back door opened, and my heart stopped.
Dominic sat inside, zip-tied to a seat, his face a mask of blood and bruises. But his eyes—his eyes found mine immediately, alert and burning with something beyond rage or fear.
"Don't tell them anything," he rasped, earning a vicious backhand from the guard beside him.
"Dominic!" I lunged toward him instinctively, only to be yanked back roughly.
"Reunion comes later," Volkov said, gripping my chin with bruising force. "First, we need to have a little chat about your father's journal." His eyes flicked to where Sophia was being marched toward a different entrance. "And about loyalty."
I was half-dragged, half-carried into the factory, through corridors reeking of rust and decay, into what must have once been an office. The room had been prepared—a metal chair bolted to the floor, a table covered with an assortment of implements I refused to look at directly, bright construction lights casting harsh shadows.
They cut the bonds at my ankles only to secure each foot to a leg of the chair. My wrists remained tied behind me, the rope now threaded through the chair back for added security.
Volkov entered last, carrying my father's red notebook. He placed it carefully on the table before circling behind me. His hands came to rest on my shoulders, his face leaning down next to mine.
"I'm going to make this very simple," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "Decode the journal, and I'll kill you quickly. Refuse..." His hand slid up to grip my throat. "And I'll bring in Dominic. Piece by piece."
I swallowed against his tightening fingers. "I need to see him first. All of him. Unharmed."
Volkov released my throat with a chuckle. "Smart girl. Bargaining already." He straightened, nodding to one of his men. "Bring in Castellano. Let's show Ms. Ricci what she's fighting for."
Minutes stretched like hours before the door opened again. Two guards dragged Dominic in, his body limp between them. They propped him in a chair across from me, securing him as they had me.
His head hung forward, chin against his chest. For one horrifying moment, I thought he might be dead.
"Dominic," I called, hating the tremor in my voice.
Slowly, with visible effort, he raised his head. One eye was swollen shut, his lip split, blood matting his hair on one side. But when his gaze found mine, I saw clarity there—and something else. Something like a warning.
"Satisfied?" Volkov asked, stepping between us. "Now, the journal."
I tore my eyes from Dominic's face. "I need paper. And something to write with."
Volkov smiled thinly, producing a pen and notepad from his jacket. He set them on my lap before cutting the bindings on my right wrist, leaving my left still secured to the chair.
"Begin with the first page," he instructed. "My associate will verify your work."
A thin man in wire-rimmed glasses stepped forward, taking the journal from Volkov. He opened it to the first page, holding it where I could see the neat columns of numbers and symbols in my father's handwriting.
I stared at the page, mind racing. The cipher was based on our bedtime stories—the adventures of Princess Valeria in the Shadow Kingdom. Each story had contained a lesson, a secret code, a hidden meaning. My father had been preparing me even then, teaching me how to hide and find truth in plain sight.
But which story? Which code?
The first entry was dated two weeks before his death. October 10th. I closed my eyes, thinking back. What story had he told me that night?
The memory surfaced—Princess Valeria and the Invisible Crown. A story about how true power remained hidden from those who sought it for the wrong reasons.
The code from that tale had been simple: reverse the alphabet and shift three letters. Z became C, Y became B, and so on.
I began to write, translating the first line of numbers into letters, then applying the cipher. Slowly, words emerged.
*VITALI CONFIRMED BRATVA ASSET. PAYMENTS THROUGH CAYMAN SHELL.*
Marco Vitali. Dominic's right hand. I kept my expression neutral as I continued decoding.
*MONTHLY TRANSFERS TO SOPHIA CASTELLANO VERIFIED. SHE COORDINATES ALL LEAKS.*
My eyes flickered involuntarily to Volkov. If he saw this, Sophia was dead—not that I cared about her fate, but she might be our only leverage.
The thin man snatched the notepad from me, scanning what I'd written. His eyes widened slightly before he handed it to Volkov.
Volkov read it, his expression darkening. "Interesting." He crumpled the paper, tossing it aside. "Continue. Next page."
The next entry was dated three days later. A different story that night—Princess Valeria and the Mirror Knights. A different cipher.
I hesitated, glancing at Dominic. He was watching me intently, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Something in his gaze seemed to be trying to communicate...
Understanding hit me like a thunderbolt. He wasn't just warning me. He was signaling me. His eye had flicked toward his bound hands, then back to mine, twice now.
I looked down at my own partially freed hand, then back at him. A nearly imperceptible nod.
He had a plan.
I turned back to the journal page, deliberately taking my time, making a show of counting symbols and converting numbers. All the while, I was working my left wrist against the rope, feeling it loosen fractionally with each subtle movement.
"You're stalling," Volkov said sharply.
"It's complicated," I snapped back. "Each entry uses a different cipher. I have to figure out which one."
He backhanded me hard enough to snap my head to the side. "Work faster."
Blood filled my mouth. I spat it onto the floor, straightening in my chair. "Hit me again, and I'll give you nothing but gibberish."
Volkov's eyes narrowed, but he stepped back. "Five minutes. Then we start removing Dominic's fingers."
I returned to the journal, genuinely working now, but with a fraction of my attention on the gradually loosening rope at my wrist.
The second entry decoded to a list of dates and locations—drops of some kind. The third contained account numbers. Each piece was damning, but fragmentary. Only together would they tell the complete story.
"Time's up," Volkov announced. "Put it down."
I'd managed to work my left hand almost free. Just a bit more...
One of the guards approached Dominic with pliers. My heart lurched into my throat.
"Wait!" I pleaded. "I'm almost—"
The building's emergency lights suddenly dimmed, flickered, then went out completely. A second later, backup generators kicked on, casting the room in an eerie red glow.
Dominic moved so fast I almost missed it. Somehow, impossibly, his hands were free. He surged upward, driving his head into the guard's stomach, snatching the pliers as the man doubled over.
Chaos erupted. Volkov shouted orders as more guards rushed in. Gunfire exploded in the hallway outside.
I tore my left hand free of the restraints, lunging for the table. My fingers closed around a scalpel just as a guard grabbed me from behind.
Pure instinct took over. I drove the blade backward, finding soft flesh. The man screamed, his grip loosening enough for me to twist free.
Dominic had disarmed one guard and was using him as a shield against the others. Blood streamed from fresh wounds on his face and arms, but his movements were lethal, precise.
"Valentina!" he shouted over the gunfire. "The journal!"
I spotted it on the floor where the thin man had dropped it. I dove for it just as Volkov appeared in my peripheral vision, gun raised.
Time slowed to a crawl. I saw his finger tightening on the trigger. Saw Dominic turning toward us, horror dawning on his face. Saw the red dot of a laser sight appearing on Volkov's temple.
The window behind him exploded inward as a sniper's bullet found its mark. Volkov's head jerked sideways, a spray of crimson misting the air as he crumpled.
More gunfire, more shouts. Black-clad figures swarmed through doors and windows—not Volkov's men, but a tactical team of some kind.
"FBI! On the ground! Now!"
I clutched the journal to my chest, frozen in disbelief as the room filled with federal agents. One of them grabbed me, pushing me down. I didn't resist, too shocked to do anything but comply.
Across the room, I saw Dominic being similarly restrained, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Valentina Ricci?" A woman in tactical gear crouched beside me. "I'm Special Agent Harper. You're safe now."
"How—?" My voice cracked. "How did you find us?"
"We've been tracking the Bratva's Chicago operations for months." She helped me to my feet. "But the timing of this raid? You can thank your friend for that."
"My friend? Reza's dead."
Agent Harper shook her head. "Not Reza. Her." She nodded toward the doorway.
Sophia Castellano stood there, flanked by FBI agents, her hands cuffed in front of her. Despite her battered appearance, she looked almost triumphant.
"Insurance policy," she called to me. "I've been working with the feds for over a year. Giving them just enough to stay valuable, not enough to build a case." Her smile was cold. "Until tonight."
Understanding dawned. "You're turning state's evidence."
"Smart girl." Her gaze shifted to her son, who was now being helped to his feet. "Nothing personal, Dominic. Just business."
The look he gave her contained such raw hatred it made my breath catch. If he hadn't been restrained by two agents, I had no doubt he would have killed her where she stood.
"Get her out of here," Agent Harper ordered. Another agent led Sophia away.
I struggled to process everything. "Volkov? His men?"
"Most are dead or in custody. The building is secure." Harper took the journal from my trembling hands. "This is evidence now. But we'll need your help decoding it."
I nodded numbly, my eyes finding Dominic again. They were leading him toward a different exit, medical personnel already assessing his injuries.
"Wait," I called out. "I need to talk to him."
Harper hesitated, then nodded to the agents holding Dominic. They paused, allowing me to approach.
Up close, his injuries looked even worse—deep cuts, possible fractures, bruising that would take weeks to heal. But his eyes were clear, fixed on mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter.
"Not your brother," he said hoarsely, before I could speak.
"I know." Despite everything—the pain, the exhaustion, the trauma—relief flooded through me. "Sophia told me the truth. Eventually."
A ghost of a smile touched his bloodied lips. "Good." He swayed slightly, the agents tightening their grip to keep him upright. "Because what I feel for you is definitely not brotherly."
Something warm unfurled in my chest, pushing back the cold horror of the night. "Dominic—"
"Mr. Castellano needs immediate medical attention," a paramedic interrupted. "We need to transport him now."
"I'll find you," Dominic promised as they began to lead him away. "This isn't over, Valentina."
I watched them take him, a storm of emotions raging inside me. Relief that he wasn't my brother. Fear for his injuries. Grief for Reza. Anger at Sophia's betrayal. Confusion about the FBI's involvement.
And underneath it all, a fierce, undeniable certainty that Dominic was right.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Agent Harper touched my arm. "We need to get you looked at too. Then we have a lot to discuss." She guided me toward the exit. "Starting with your father's murder, and why one of Chicago's most powerful crime families has been protecting you for the past decade."
I followed her outside into the cold night air, Dominic's words echoing in my mind.
*I'll find you. This isn't over.*
For the first time in ten years, I felt something dangerously close to hope.