The rain had stopped by the time I reached my apartment.
I stood outside my door for a full minute, trying to calm my racing heart. The folder was still tucked under my arm. The blanket Alexei had given me was still wrapped around my shoulders. I smelled like him. Rain and something dark. Something dangerous.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside.
My apartment was small. A studio with a kitchenette and a window that faced the fire escape. It wasn't much, but it was mine. And right now, it felt like the only safe place in the world.
I dropped the folder on the table and stared at it.
I should throw it away. Burn it. Pretend I never saw it.
But I couldn't.
I opened the folder again. Page after page of photos. My father leaving church. My father buying groceries. My father visiting my mother's grave. Dates and times written in neat handwriting.
Who wrote these notes? Alexei? Or someone else?
I was still staring at the photos when someone knocked on my door.
Three times. Hard. Fast.
My hand went to my gun.
"Who is it?"
"Open the door, Kira."
Alexei's voice.
I hesitated. Then I unlocked the door and opened it a crack.
He was standing in the hallway, still wearing the same dark clothes from earlier. His grey eyes were fixed on me.
"How did you find my address?"
"I told you. I have eyes everywhere."
I opened the door wider. "You're not supposed to know where I live."
"I know everything about you, Kira Mahardani." He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. "Your birthday is July 14th. You joined the police academy at nineteen. You graduated top of your class. Your mother died of cancer when you were twelve. You still visit her grave every Sunday."
My blood went cold. "Stop."
"You have a scar on your left eyebrow from a raid two years ago. You prefer coffee over tea. You feed stray cats behind the station."
"I said stop!"
He stopped.
We stood there in the middle of my small apartment, facing each other. The folder was on the table between us. The blanket was still on my shoulders.
"Why are you here, Alexei?"
"Because you took something that belongs to me." He pointed at the folder. "That's mine."
"These are photos of my father. They belong to me now."
He took a step closer. "That folder contains information that could get you killed. If Dimitri finds out you have it, he won't hesitate to hurt you. Or worse."
"Then why did you leave it in a closet where I could find it?"
"Because I didn't think you would go through my things."
"You brought me to your safehouse. What did you expect?"
He didn't answer. He just stood there, staring at me with those cold grey eyes.
And then something shifted in his expression. The hardness softened. Just a little.
"I didn't come here for the folder," he said quietly.
"Then why?"
"Because I couldn't let you walk away thinking I was the monster your father described."
I crossed my arms. "Aren't you?"
"I don't know anymore." He ran a hand through his wet hair. "For fifteen years, I knew exactly who I was. I was a Volkov. I was the son of a murdered woman. I was an avenger. But now..."
"Now what?"
"Now I've met you. And I don't know what I am anymore."
My heart skipped a beat. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust him. But trust was dangerous. Trust got people killed.
"You need to leave," I said.
"Not until you understand something."
"What?"
He walked toward me. Slowly. Carefully. Like I was an animal that might run.
"My name is Alexei Volkov. My father was Vladimir Volkov, the head of the Bratva syndicate. My mother was Elena Volkov, a woman who married into a family of killers and tried to raise a son who wasn't one of them." He stopped two feet away from me. "I am the heir to an empire built on blood. And I came to this city to kill your father."
I held my ground. "But you didn't."
"No. I didn't. Because I saved you instead." He tilted his head. "Do you know how stupid that was?"
"Pretty stupid."
"I had a clear shot. I could have walked into that cafe and ended it. One bullet. Fifteen years of revenge finished." He shook his head. "But then you looked at me. And I couldn't do it."
"Why?"
"Because you looked at me like I was human."
I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing.
Alexei reached out and touched the edge of the folder. "You asked me earlier why I was watching your father. The truth is, I was looking for a reason to hate him. I wanted to find evidence that he was corrupt. That he deserved to die."
"And did you find it?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "No. Your father is clean. He's the only honest cop in this city. That's why the Bratva wants him dead. Because he can't be bought."
I felt a weight lift from my chest. "Then help me protect him."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I turn against the Bratva, they'll kill me. And if I'm dead, I can't protect anyone." He looked at me. "But there might be another way."
"What way?"
"Help me take Dimitri down from the inside. Help me gather enough evidence to put the entire syndicate in prison. Your father gets to live. I get to walk away. Everyone wins."
I stared at him. "You're asking me to betray my oath as a police officer."
"I'm asking you to save your father's life."
The room felt smaller. The air felt thicker.
"I need to think," I said.
"You have until tomorrow night. The gala is at eight. If we don't stop Dimitri by then, your father dies."
He turned and walked toward the door.
"Alexei."
He stopped.
"I'm a Volkov," I said quietly. "Those words. You said them earlier. What did you mean?"
He looked back at me over his shoulder. "I meant that no matter what I do, no matter how many people I save, I will always be a Volkov. It's in my blood. In my bones. In my name."
"But names don't define who we are."
He smiled. A real smile. Small and sad.
"You're wrong, Kira. Sometimes they do."
Then he walked out the door and disappeared into the night.
I stood there for a long time, staring at the empty hallway.
Then I closed the door, locked it, and sat down at the table with the folder.
I had until tomorrow night to decide.
Trust the enemy.
Or lose my father.