Page 15 of Broken Embers

Yelena’s lips curl in distaste. “You must have been oxygen deprived at birth. It would explain why you are… not as remarkable as your sister, mother, or grandparents.”

“Thanks,” I say dryly. “Always nice to hear a compliment and from someone claiming to be my family.”

“I am telling you like it is, Sabina,” Yelena says. “I don’t believe in giving a child false hope about their future. Let’s face it, you’re a…” She glances through what I take to be my file. “A headline dancer at a Casino.”

“It’s a top five-star hotel and casino,” I say proudly. “And I’m the lead dancer.”

I have to bite down on my lip to stop from bursting into laughter at her expression. Now I truly know what flabbergasted looks like.

“Didn’t you go to college?” Yelena asks.

“I did,” I say, nodding, leaning forward to try to see the file. “Surely it has my community college, I went to. I studied to be a life coach.”Oh God, oh God!That look on her face is fucking priceless.

“I’m so sorry, Sabina,” Yelena says softly, with what I take as her form of compassion. “That illness you had when you were born must’ve somehow hurt your brain.”

“Hurt my brain?” I look at her curiously.

“It’s the only way I know how to tell you that you may have suffered a bit of brain damage,” Yelena tells me. “As no one in our family’s lineage has ever…” She pauses as if looking for a way to tell me I’m dumb without saying it straight out. “It’s a shame really, because it would have been amazing to have another natural intellect like your grandmother.”

“My grandmother was an intellect as well?” I ask, unable to keep my curiosity about my family at bay anymore.

Yelena nods, her fingers flick through the photos still in front of her, and then she pulls one out and slides it toward me. “These are your grandparents.”

The world tilts.

Standing together are two people I’ve seen only in history books: a tall, stunning woman with glacial eyes and a man in full dress military uniform. Anya Novikov. General Timofey Morozov.

“Wait… what?” I whisper, staring at the photo. “You’re fucking joking, right?”

“Your mother and I,” Yelena says, her voice like ice cracking over a river, “are the daughters of Anya Novikov-Morozov and General Timofey Morozov—your grandparents.”

And just like that, the last thread tethering me to the life I thought I knew snaps.

6

OLEKSI

Five fucking days.

That’s how long it’s been since they ripped Sabrina out of my life. Since they shoved a knife into my gut and twisted it, leaving me pacing the kitchen of the Morozov farmhouse like a caged fucking animal. Five days of dead ends. Five days of breathing without her.

The floorboards creak under my boots as I turn again, barely noticing Lev sitting at the worn oak table, bouncing Elena on his knee. She’s laughing, a sweet, high-pitched sound that cuts through the thick, choking tension in the room. Her chubby fists grab at the air as Lev makes faces at her, pretending everything is fine.

It’s not fine.

Nothing is fucking fine.

Across the kitchen, Clyde, Syd, and Ivan huddle over the table, a mess of papers, maps, and burner phones spread out like a goddamn post-mortem. Every lead we’ve chased has turned into a brick wall or an ambush. Every contact has gone dark or lied to us. Every minute without Sabrina feels like someone is peeling the skin from my bones.

The only thing we’ve learned? The real reason they took her.

Sabrina’s not just some Vegas showgirl who stumbled into Bratva territory. She’s the granddaughter of Anya Novikov and General Timofey Morozov — two of the most brilliant, dangerous minds Russia ever produced. Her bloodline alone is enough to make her a fucking national asset, a prize worth bleeding for.

But who they really want is Carla. Or should I say Mariya—Sabrina’s mother! She wasn’t just some controlling dancer who liked the high life in Vegas. Carla was a goddamn geneticist working for the RMSAD. That was before she and her late husband, Sol, or rather Leonid Zorin, fled from Russia carrying secrets the Russian government would have killed to protect. They are defectors, and now Sabrina is the bait to lure Carla back to the RMSAD.

Sabrina…My heart jolts, and my eyes fly to Elena, so happy and without a care or a clue about what is going on around her.

I run a hand through my hair, yanking at the strands until my scalp burns. There is so much at stake for the three of us. My eyes dart around the room, glancing over my team. None of them knows that Elena is not Sabrina’s daughter, but the daughter of Gavriil and Tara. None of them knows about the baby growing inside Sabrina right now, so tiny, so vulnerable. I know I should tell them, but something is holding me back.

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