"Where's the key?" Sophia demanded, her eyes darting between us as Dominic drove through the darkness, headlights cutting through swirling snow.
"None of your fucking business," I replied, gun steady in my hand. "Not until we verify your story."
Three hours after leaving the cabin, we'd made our way to a motel on the outskirts of Thunder Bay—a grimy, pay-by-the-hour establishment with zero security cameras and a clerk who didn't ask questions when we paid cash for two adjoining rooms. Perfect for our needs.
Sophia pursed her lips but didn't argue. Smart. The dynamics between us had shifted dramatically since our last encounter. No longer was she the powerful Castellano matriarch with all the cards. Now she needed us as much as we potentially needed her.
Dominic pulled into the far corner of the parking lot, backing in for a quick exit. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, a silent check-in. I nodded slightly. Still good. Still watching her.
"Room 112 and 113," he said, killing the engine. "Val, you take Sophia to 112. I'll sweep 113 and join you after."
Standard procedure. One room for planning, one for potential escape or defensive position. We'd used similar setups during our infiltration of Petrov's network.
The motel room was exactly what you'd expect—cigarette-stained wallpaper, faded bedspread, bathroom door that didn't quite close. I directed Sophia to the single chair by the window while I checked for surveillance devices, a habit impossible to break.
"Is this really necessary?" she asked, removing her scarf but keeping her coat on.
"Yes." No elaboration needed.
After completing my sweep, I positioned myself against the wall, gun resting casually on my thigh—visible reminder of who was in control. Dominic entered five minutes later, laptop bag in hand. He'd stopped for supplies on our escape from the cabin, gathering essentials for what might turn into a prolonged operation.
"Room's clear," he said, placing the laptop on the bed. "No devices. No surveillance. No unexpected guests."
Sophia watched him with an expression I couldn't quite place—something between calculation and what might have been pride. "I taught you well."
"You didn't teach me shit," Dominic replied flatly. "What you taught me was what betrayal looks like."
Her expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. "Fair enough."
Dominic connected his laptop to a portable hotspot—untraceable, paid for with cash under a false identity months ago. "Let's verify your story. The FBI convoy attack first."
His fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced efficiency, accessing encrypted networks that most people didn't know existed. Valentina watched the screen as he pulled up internal FBI incident reports—courtesy of backdoor access he'd maintained after our escape.
"Three agents dead," he confirmed after several minutes of scrolling through reports. "Officer in charge: Special Agent McIntosh. Date and location match what you told us."
Sophia nodded, no hint of surprise that he could access such information. "And Harper's death?"
More typing. More scrolling. "Single-vehicle accident on Route 41. No witnesses. Coroner ruled accidental death due to road conditions."
"Convenient," I commented.
"Very," Sophia agreed.
"The others?" Dominic asked, not looking up from the screen.
"David Yeung, Treasury investigator. Heart attack at forty-three. No prior cardiac history," Sophia recited. "Marina Kowalski, translator for the Justice Department. Apparent suicide. Robert Chambers, cybersecurity specialist working with the FBI. Home invasion gone wrong."
One by one, Dominic confirmed the deaths. Each one matching Sophia's account. Each one suspicious in isolation, damning in pattern.
"Satisfied?" Sophia asked when he closed the laptop.
"That people are dying? Yes." Dominic's voice was ice. "That we should trust you? Not remotely."
She sighed, a sound of genuine fatigue rather than theatrics. "I don't expect trust. I expect self-interest. Petrov is cleaning house. We're all on his list."
"And this ledger," I interjected. "You expect us to believe Petrov kept a record of every corrupt official in his pocket? That seems like a massive security risk."
"It was his insurance policy," Sophia explained. "Viktor never fully trusted his handlers in Moscow. The ledger gave him leverage if they ever tried to eliminate him or cut him loose. Mutually assured destruction."
"And he shared this information with you because...?" Dominic pressed.
A ghost of a smile touched Sophia's lips. "Because I was fucking him, Dominic. For years. Information is the currency of survival in this world."
The bluntness of her answer hung in the air. No pretense of morality or justification. Just cold pragmatism. It was almost refreshing after years of her manipulations.
"Show me your key," Dominic demanded.
Sophia reached into her coat and removed a small, antique-looking key hanging from a thin gold chain around her neck. She held it up without removing the chain.
"Now yours," she said.
Dominic didn't move. "When we get to the bank."
"That wasn't our agreement."
"I don't recall agreeing to anything," he replied coolly. "You need both keys to access the box. I have one of them. That means we do this my way, or we don't do it at all."
Their eyes locked in silent combat, decades of complicated history condensed into a single standoff. Finally, Sophia nodded, tucking her key back beneath her coat.
"The bank opens at 9 AM," she said. "But my contact—the head of security—starts his shift at 6. He'll let us in during the system reboot at 7, before any other employees arrive."
"And why would he do that?" I asked.
"Because I have photographs of him with an underage prostitute in Moscow," Sophia replied matter-of-factly. "And because I'm paying him fifty thousand dollars."
"Blackmail and bribery. Your specialties," Dominic observed.
She didn't deny it. "Effective tools when used correctly."
"And once we're inside?" I asked, keeping us focused on the operational details.
"Fifteen minutes maximum," Sophia explained. "The security cameras reboot sequentially, creating a blind spot we can exploit. My contact will escort us to the vault, disable the alarm for the box specifically, and give us privacy to retrieve the contents."
"How many cameras in the vault area?" Dominic asked.
"Three. All on the same circuit, all down during the reboot."
"Guards?"
"Just my contact. The regular security doesn't arrive until 8:30."
It sounded too clean, too easy. Banking security didn't typically have such convenient vulnerabilities. I caught Dominic's eye, seeing my own skepticism reflected there.
"You're lying about something," I stated flatly.
Sophia raised an eyebrow. "Am I?"
"The question is what," Dominic added. "Is it the security setup? The contents of the box? Or your true objective?"
She sighed, genuine exasperation crossing her features. "My 'true objective' is to stay alive. The box contains Petrov's ledger. The security setup is exactly as I described it."
"Then what aren't you telling us?" I pressed.
A moment of silence stretched between us before Sophia finally answered. "The box might be booby-trapped."
"Might be?" Dominic echoed.
"Petrov was paranoid. He mentioned security measures beyond the two keys." She met Dominic's gaze directly. "I don't know the specifics, only that there might be additional... complications."
"Such as explosives? Poison?" I asked, not bothering to hide my disgust.
"It could be as simple as an alarm trigger if opened incorrectly," Sophia replied. "Or yes, something more lethal. Viktor was creative when it came to security."
"And you were planning to mention this when, exactly?" Dominic demanded.
"I'm mentioning it now." Her voice hardened. "We need that ledger. All of us. Whatever security measures exist, we'll deal with them together."
Dominic stood abruptly, pacing the small room. "We need to see the bank layout. Security positions, camera locations, entrance and exit points."
"I have those," Sophia said, reaching for her bag.
I moved quickly, intercepting her hand. "Slowly."
She complied, carefully withdrawing a folded blueprint from her bag. I took it from her, checking for any hidden items or tracking devices before passing it to Dominic. He unfolded it on the bed, revealing detailed schematics of the bank's interior.
"First Canada Trust," he read. "Established 1967. Recent renovation in 2021." His finger traced the layout. "Main entrance, secondary entrance through the parking garage, emergency exit in the back."
"The vault is here," Sophia indicated, pointing to a large room on the lower level. "Safety deposit boxes along this wall. Petrov's is number 1157."
Dominic studied the blueprints with the focus of a surgeon preparing for a complex operation. "Security office?"
"Here," Sophia pointed. "Adjacent to the main entrance. Two guards during normal hours, just my contact during our window."
"Cameras?"
"Twelve total. Four in the main lobby, two in each hallway, three in the vault area, one at each entrance."
"And your contact controls all of them?"
"Yes. From this security station."
As they continued discussing technical details, I studied Sophia's face, looking for tells of deception. Her story about the convoy attack and the deaths had checked out. The bank blueprints appeared legitimate. But something still felt off—a persistent warning in my gut that had kept me alive through years of dangerous situations.
"Your contact," I interrupted. "What's his name?"
"Mikhail Abramov," Sophia replied without hesitation. "Former FSB, emigrated to Canada in 2015. Works private security now."
"Russian," I noted. "Connected to Petrov?"
"Formerly. They had a falling out over money in 2018. Bad blood since then."
"Convenient," Dominic commented, echoing my thoughts.
"Strategic," Sophia corrected. "I cultivate useful connections."
"And what happens after we get the ledger?" I pressed. "What's your plan then?"
"We each take copies of the information," she explained. "Insurance against Petrov or anyone else who might target us. Mutually assured destruction."
"And then we go our separate ways," Dominic added, making it clear this was not a negotiable point.
"Of course." Sophia's agreement came too quickly, too easily.
I glanced at my watch. 1:37 AM. Less than six hours until we needed to be in position.
"We should rest," Dominic suggested, though I knew neither of us would actually sleep. "Take shifts. Three hours each."
"I'll take first watch," I volunteered.
Sophia looked between us. "And where am I supposed to sleep?"
"Wherever you want," Dominic replied coldly. "As long as it's in this room and in my line of sight if I'm on watch."
She chose the bed furthest from the door, removing only her shoes before lying down fully clothed. Smart move. I wouldn't have removed anything either in her position.
Dominic took the chair by the window, positioning it to view both Sophia and the parking lot outside. I sat on the edge of the second bed, gun resting comfortably in my lap.
"Three hours," he confirmed quietly.
I nodded, settling in for the watch.
When Sophia's breathing had deepened and regularized, Dominic moved silently to sit beside me on the bed, his voice a barely audible whisper against my ear.
"She's lying about something."
I nodded slightly. "The question is what."
"The box, the contact, the ledger itself—any or all of them could be fabricated."
"Or all true but missing crucial details," I whispered back.
His hand found mine in the darkness, warm and solid. "We proceed as planned, but we prepare for everything to go wrong."
"Always do," I replied, squeezing his fingers gently.
"If this goes sideways—"
I cut him off. "It won't."
His eyes searched mine in the dim light filtering through the cheap curtains. "If it does," he insisted, "the cabin in Quebec. You remember the location?"
I nodded. Our deepest contingency plan, never discussed openly. A remote location with supplies, weapons, and new identities. "Three days. If separated."
"Three days," he confirmed.
We fell silent, the weight of tomorrow's operation settling between us. The ledger represented either our salvation or a trap that could destroy everything we'd built. Either way, by this time tomorrow, our lives would be irrevocably changed.
As the night deepened, I found myself studying Sophia's sleeping form. The woman who had betrayed my father, manipulated her son, and played all sides against each other for decades now relied on us for her survival. The irony wasn't lost on me.
Three hours later, I gently touched Dominic's shoulder to signal the shift change. He nodded, fully alert despite the late hour. As we exchanged positions, his lips brushed my forehead in the barest ghost of a kiss—silent communication of everything we couldn't say aloud.
I stretched out on the bed, gun within easy reach, eyes closed but mind fully active. Planning, calculating, preparing. Sleep was a luxury we couldn't afford, but rest was necessary.
The night passed in tense vigilance. At 5:30 AM, Dominic roused Sophia, who woke instantly—another survival trait we all shared.
"Time to move," he said simply.
She nodded, putting on her shoes and coat without comment. I retrieved my backup weapon from my ankle holster, checking it methodically before tucking it into my waistband at the small of my back.
Dominic disappeared into the adjoining room, returning minutes later with a small metal case. He placed it on the bed and opened it, revealing a simple silver key nearly identical to Sophia's.
Her eyes widened slightly. "You had it with you all along."
"Of course I did," he replied, removing the key and securing it in his pocket. "Let's go."
The drive to the bank was conducted in tense silence, Dominic at the wheel, me in the back seat with Sophia, gun once again trained on her. The streets of Thunder Bay were nearly empty at this hour, fresh snow creating an eerie stillness that matched our mood.
We parked three blocks from the bank, in the lot of a 24-hour diner. Close enough for quick access, far enough for plausible deniability.
"Final check," Dominic said, turning to face us both. "Weapons secure? Comms working?"
We'd equipped ourselves with simple earpieces—nothing fancy, but enough to maintain contact if separated inside.
I nodded, tapping my ear to confirm the connection. Sophia did the same.
"Remember the extraction plan," Dominic continued. "If anything goes wrong, we meet at the secondary location. If separated, maintain radio silence until clear."
Standard protocol, but worth repeating. In high-stress situations, even the most experienced operatives could forget basics.
"And Sophia," he added, his voice hardening, "if this is a trap, if you've misled us in any way..." He let the threat hang unfinished.
"It's not, and I haven't," she replied calmly. "Shall we?"
We exited the vehicle, moving toward the bank with purposeful strides. No furtive glances or suspicious behavior—just three professionals arriving early for a meeting. The streets remained deserted, the occasional passing car paying us no attention.
The bank loomed ahead, its modern glass facade reflecting the street lights. A plain building, unremarkable in every way. The perfect place to hide Petrov's most valuable possession.
As we approached the service entrance at the rear, I felt the familiar focus of mission clarity descending. Whatever came next—trap or treasure—we would face it together.
And somewhere in this city, I knew Petrov's men were watching, waiting, hunting. The question wasn't if they would find us, but when.
Sophia stepped forward, pressing the intercom button beside the service door. After a moment's pause, a male voice responded in accented English.
"Identification?"
"Nightingale," Sophia replied—clearly a prearranged code.
The door buzzed open. We stepped inside, Dominic first, then Sophia, me last—watching our backs.
A man waited inside, tall and broad-shouldered with the unmistakable bearing of military training. Mikhail Abramov, presumably. He nodded curtly to Sophia.
"You're late," he said.
"Traffic," she replied dryly.
His eyes scanned Dominic and me with professional assessment. "These are your associates?"
"Yes. Let's proceed."
Mikhail led us through a service corridor, his movements precise and controlled. I cataloged escape routes and potential weapons as we walked—another habit impossible to break. The corridor opened into the bank's main floor, currently dark and deserted.
"Security reboot begins in four minutes," Mikhail informed us, checking his watch. "We'll have exactly fifteen minutes before systems come back online."
"The vault?" Dominic prompted.
"This way."
We followed him across the empty lobby to a staircase leading down. The vault level was cooler, the air heavy with the scent of metal and money. Mikhail used a key card to access the main vault door, already open for the overnight airing.
"Safety deposit boxes are along the north wall," he said, gesturing to rows of metal drawers embedded in the wall. "Number 1157 is in the third row, fifth from the right."
He stepped back, positioning himself near the door. "I'll watch for any unexpected visitors. Fifteen minutes."
Sophia moved to the specified box, removing the chain from around her neck. Dominic followed, producing his key from his pocket.
The safety deposit box was larger than standard—about the size of a small briefcase. It featured two keyholes, positioned on opposite ends of the front panel.
"Together," Sophia instructed. "Both keys must turn simultaneously."
Dominic positioned his key in the right lock, waiting for Sophia to insert hers on the left.
"On three," he said. "One... two..."
I held my breath, gun at the ready, scanning between the box and Mikhail by the door.
"Three."
They turned their keys in perfect synchronization. A soft click, then nothing. No explosion. No alarm. Just the simple mechanical sound of a lock disengaging.
Dominic carefully pulled the drawer open, revealing a metal container inside. He lifted it out and placed it on the small table in the center of the room.
The container itself was locked with a simple combination dial.
"The code?" Dominic asked Sophia.
"7-24-89," she replied without hesitation. "The date Viktor's first wife died."
Dominic entered the combination, and the lock clicked open. Inside lay a leather-bound ledger and a flash drive sealed in plastic.
"Is this it?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
Sophia nodded, reaching for the ledger. Dominic caught her wrist before she could touch it.
"I'll take that," he said quietly.
She looked like she might argue, but then nodded, withdrawing her hand. Dominic carefully removed both items, examining them briefly before placing them in the inner pocket of his jacket.
"Time to go," he said.
As we turned to leave, Mikhail's voice came from the doorway. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Something in his tone made the hair on the back of my neck rise. I shifted slightly, positioning myself for a clear shot if needed.
"Yes," Sophia replied smoothly. "Thank you for your assistance."
Mikhail nodded, stepping aside to let us pass. As we climbed the stairs back to the main level, I heard it—the faint sound of a car engine outside, then another. Multiple vehicles arriving simultaneously at 6:45 AM, when the bank was still closed.
Dominic heard it too. His pace quickened almost imperceptibly as we crossed the main floor toward the service exit.
"Problem?" Sophia asked, catching our change in demeanor.
"Company," Dominic replied tersely.
Mikhail had fallen behind us, reaching for something in his jacket. I spun, weapon raised, as he produced a phone.
"Put it down," I ordered.
He froze, the phone half-raised to his ear. "I need to check in with the security team."
"There is no security team scheduled until 8:30," I reminded him. "Put. It. Down."
Understanding dawned in his eyes—he knew we knew. His expression shifted from professional neutrality to something harder, colder.
"Petrov sends his regards," he said simply.
Everything happened at once. Mikhail lunged for an alarm panel on the wall. Dominic tackled him before he could reach it. I grabbed Sophia's arm, dragging her toward the nearest exit as shouts erupted from outside.
"Go!" Dominic yelled, still struggling with Mikhail on the floor.
I hesitated, torn between helping him and securing our escape. Sophia made the decision for me, yanking me toward a side hallway.
"Emergency exit," she hissed. "This way."
The sound of breaking glass came from the main entrance—Petrov's men forcing their way in. I fired two shots in their direction, not aiming to hit but to slow their advance, then followed Sophia down the hallway.
Behind us, I heard the distinct sound of a neck breaking, then Dominic's footsteps running to catch up. The emergency exit loomed ahead, its red exit sign like a beacon in the dimly lit corridor.
Sophia reached it first, slamming into the push bar. Alarms immediately blared throughout the building, but it hardly mattered now—our cover was already blown.
We burst into the alley behind the bank just as gunfire erupted inside. Dominic emerged seconds later, blood on his shirt but moving without difficulty.
"Car's compromised," he said between breaths. "We need alternative transport."
"There," I pointed to a delivery van parked across the street, driver unloading packages at a nearby store.
We moved as one, crossing the street at a run. I reached the van first, pulling the startled driver away from the wheel while Dominic slid behind it. Sophia climbed into the passenger seat, and I took the back, gun trained out the open side door as Dominic accelerated away from the curb.
"They'll have the streets covered," Sophia said, her voice tight with tension.
"I know," Dominic replied, taking a sharp turn into a narrow side street. "We need to separate."
My heart clenched at his words, but I knew he was right. Together, we were too easy to spot. Divided, we had a better chance of escape.
"The ledger," I said. "Split it."
Dominic nodded, pulling the van into a deserted parking garage. He killed the engine and removed both items from his jacket. The flash drive he passed to me, the physical ledger he kept.
"Rendezvous point in three hours," he said, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that said everything words couldn't. "If either of us doesn't make it—"
"We will," I cut him off firmly.
Sophia watched our exchange with an unreadable expression. "And what about me?"
Dominic turned to her, his face hardening. "You're on your own."
She didn't look surprised. "They'll kill me if they find me."
"Not my problem," he replied coldly.
I studied her face—the woman who had betrayed so many, now facing betrayal herself. Something like understanding passed between us.
"Northwest corner of Lakehead University campus," I said suddenly. "Engineering building, basement level. Access code 5729. It's secure."
Dominic shot me a questioning look, but didn't contradict me. Sophia nodded once, understanding the gift I'd offered—not forgiveness, but a chance.
"Three hours," Dominic confirmed, checking his watch.
We exited the van separately—Sophia first, disappearing into a service stairwell. Then me, heading toward the street level exit. Dominic would take the van, creating a diversion to draw pursuit.
As I reached the exit door, I heard him call my name. I turned to find him standing beside the van, his expression intense.
"I love you," he said simply.
Three words we'd never explicitly exchanged before, though we'd shown it in countless ways. That he chose this moment—with bullets and betrayal behind us and uncertainty ahead—spoke volumes about his assessment of our odds.
"I love you too," I replied, the words feeling both strange and perfectly natural on my lips. "Three hours. Don't be late."
And then I was gone, pushing through the exit door into the morning light, the flash drive secure against my skin, Dominic's words burning in my heart, and Petrov's men somewhere in the city, hunting us all.