Page 81 of Shadows of the Past
We've shared countless kisses, stolen moments in the midst of chaos. But right now, as the tip of her tongue tentatively traces my lower lip, the rest of the world melts away. The private jet, the waiting crew, the impending mission—none of it matters. Only her.
My hands find her waist, gripping her gently, needing the solid feel of her, the reminder that she’s real, here, mine. That even after all these years, all the hell we’ve dragged each other through, she hasn't left.
"Come on," she whispers against my lips, the shared smile reflecting in her eyes. "We're so close, Max."
So close.Close enough to taste it.
?
A convoy of black SUVs waits on the tarmac as we disembark, whisking us away toward the new safe house—a sprawling, modern structure nestled in secluded woods near Chicago. The place looks like something torn from a Scandinavian design magazine, all clean lines, glass walls, and industrial-chic minimalism. Open-plan, perfect for our needs. Multiple workstations already hum with activity, screens displaying encrypted comms, satellite feeds tracking Ivan’s known movements, surveillance data on our secondary targets—all the intricate pieces of the plan laid bare.
The soldiers patrolling the grounds are handpicked, vetted over years, fiercely loyal. Ex-military, every one of them. They understand the stakes. Most have lost someone to trafficking, seen its ugly touch firsthand. This fight is personal for them, too.
My own face stares back at me from one of the larger monitors, altered digitally, looking like the CEO he is, the kind who’d drop the GDP of a small nation on a charity gala without blinking. It's an announcement: my identical twin brother, Roman Borisov, CEO of BTech, has just acquired a medical tech start-up called SensorLife.
Public information on Roman is scarce, tightly controlled. But what little I've unearthed paints a picture of a cold, ruthless executive. Then there’s my other, younger, brother, Niko, apparently the charismatic frontman of the family business, and my little sister, Victoria.
Three years ago, after a mission wrapped up in New York, I made a detour. A ghost in the shadows, I watched Victoria dance her first lead role in a professional ballet performance. Roman and Niko were there, front and center, radiating pride. Neither noticed me lurking in the back, unseen. A knot tightens in my throat even now, remembering her face—my eyes staring back at me—glowing with happiness as she smiled at our brothers.
So much light in her. So much brilliance. My only consolation, the single shard of comfort I cling to, is that my absence from her life allowed her that. Allowed her warmth and joy, shielded her from the darkness, the pain, the loss that has defined my existence.
She was diagnosed with epilepsy as a child. When I found out, it took every ounce of my self-control not to shatter my cover, not to find her, protect her. I don't know her, not really. We didn’t share a childhood. But some primal instinct deep inside me screams that if anyone ever dared to hurt her, even slightly, I’d force-feed them grenades, one by one, then detonate them sequentially, savoring every agonizing second.
Julia is already hunched over one of the workstations, her brow furrowed, scrolling through what looks like an employeedatabase. "You're not going to believe this," she mutters, her voice tight with excitement. "Just out of curiosity, I ran a cross-check on the employees at your brother's newly acquired company, SensorLife. Something jumped out. Or better, someone."
She spins the monitor toward me. A personnel file fills the screen: Luna Radulescu. The name means nothing to me until my eyes snag on her previous employer listed below: ErestonLabs.
Julia always says nothing is coincidence. Looking at this, staring at the impossible connection laid there on the screen…maybe she's right. Maybe the universe is finally sending us a goddamn signal.
"Contact her," I say, the plan Ilya and I have been meticulously crafting for years suddenly snapping into sharp focus. "Use the Smert codename."
When Ivan first fell ill, needing the cardiac device, his paranoia dictated absolute secrecy. The surgery happened in Switzerland, shrouded in mystery. No one knew the doctor, no one knew the device manufacturer. Until now.
"We can't just spook her like that, Max," Julia counters immediately, shaking her head. "She's a civilian. Not part of our world. We don't involve innocents unless there's absolutely no other way. Let's find a connection first, a way in."
Two hours later, we have it. A connection in the form of a scumbag named Tim. Surveillance footage from three different clubs paints a clear picture: Tim likes to spike women's drinks before he takes them home. A predator hiding in plain sight. All we need him for is to make an introduction to Luna, to open a door. From there, we take over. The fact that Tim might have avery permanent, very unfortunate "accident" after he serves his purpose…well, that's just collateral damage.
I turn, looking out the vast glass wall toward the dense woods surrounding the house. For the first time in what feels like forever, a sense of calm settles over me, cool and sharp. We have a viable plan. A path forward. We're so close now, so close to ripping everything away from that monster. And I will let nothing, no one, stand in our way.
Two arms slide around my waist from behind, pulling me back against a warm, familiar body. A jolt goes through me as her fingers slide beneath the hem of my T-shirt, tracing patterns across my bare abdomen.
"Julia," I warn, my voice low, a rumble in my chest, though there's no real heat behind it.
"We're so close, Max," she whispers against the base of my neck, her breath warm against my skin, sending shivers down my spine despite myself.
I turn, scooping her effortlessly into my arms. There’s a reason I made the top floor loft our private sanctuary, accessible only by our fingerprints.
Upstairs, our space is minimalist, stark compared to the rest of the house, just a bed, dresser, nightstands, and an en-suite bath. But it’s ours. Far from Moscow, far from him. The entire east wall is floor-to-ceiling glass, flooding the room with morning light. Julia loves the sunrise. I wanted her to be able to watch it every single morning, if she chooses.
There have been other attacks on her over the years, attempts to break her, drive her away. After each one, I braced myself, expected her to finally run, to choose safety over me, over this brutal life. Opportunities arose, chances to help her disappear,give her a clean break. Each time, she refused. Each time, she chose to stay.Chose me.
As I lower her onto the mattress, the last slivers of daylight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows catch fire in the strands of her hair. In that instant, bathed in the dying glow, everything sharpens into brutal clarity; she is all that matters.
All the intricate plans, the years of meticulously plotting revenge, the empires I could build or burn…they’re ash. Meaningless. Hollow victories without her beside me, without her fierce spirit pushing me forward, challenging me, grounding me in the darkness.
"You froze," she whispers, her voice soft, pulling me back from the edge. Her fingertips gently brush a stray lock of hair from my eyes, the simple touch a startling anchor.
"Don't know what I'd do without you," I confess, the raw admission ripped from my chest, more truth than I usually allow myself to voice.
