Chapter 5

Vivienne's POV

The cabin door shut behind me, and the roar of the propellers kept grinding overhead.

Autumn settled into the seat beside me, her face deathly pale, her fingers clutching at the fabric of her skirt with desperate force.

I pressed myself into the farthest corner, trying to make myself smaller, to occupy less space.

Alexei sat near the cabin door, his spine straight as a rod. A gun rested on his lap, and his gaze occasionally swept across the cabin, though he never moved unnecessarily.

Further in, Dmitri sat alone in the deepest part of the cabin, a stack of documents spread across his thighs as he read, his expression so calm you'd think this flight was merely a routine late-night errand, not an escape from fresh carnage.

I looked away, turning toward the window.

New York was drawing closer through the night and snow-haze. I stared down at the blurred roads and bridge shadows below, instinctively trying to orient myself. We'd already crossed the Hudson River.

Manhattan wasn't far now.

The moment those lights came into view, something seized tight around my chest. The Upper East Side mansion, the dining room with its long table set for winter evenings, the mirror at the top of the stairs always polished to a shine—the memories surfaced too quickly for me to stop them.

I could even recall which street corner I used to pass on the drive home where I'd see the familiar porch light, which turn would bring the scent of fresh butter from the bakery's morning batch.

But all of it lingered in my mind for only an instant.

The next second, I was awake again.

Ashford Manor was no longer home—just an estate that had fallen into enemy hands. Even if I were dropped back in Manhattan right now, I'd have nowhere to go.

The temperature in the cabin kept dropping.

The clothes I wore were too thin to block the cold seeping in through every gap. All I could do was wrap my arms more tightly around myself, though my back still shivered in waves.

Just then, Dmitri's pale gray eyes passed over my face, then dropped to my bare shoulders and fingers gone white with cold.

He said nothing, only raised one hand to remove the black wool coat he wore and tossed it directly at me. The coat landed on my lap, heavy and solid.

I froze.

Dmitri had already lowered his head again, returning to the documents in his hand, as if what he'd just done was merely disposing of some trivial matter. But the coat lay across my legs, its warmth not yet faded.

I was silent for several seconds before lifting my hands to drape it over my shoulders. The wool was thick, and the moment I wrapped it around myself, the skin that had been aching with cold felt slowly enveloped in heat.

I caught the scent clinging to it—tobacco, leather, and a faint trace of cedar. Not soft, even carrying that particular hard edge that belonged to a man.

But when that warmth pressed against me, I still lost focus for a moment.

Too warm. Warm enough to make my chest tighten.

I immediately pulled the coat closer, shoving down that flicker of something I shouldn't have felt.

My gaze accidentally swept across Dmitri's left hand resting on the documents.

There was a very faint old scar on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

The color had faded, barely visible unless you looked closely. But the instant I saw it, my heart gave a sharp jolt.

A distant image, one I'd almost forgotten entirely, suddenly surfaced.

The steps outside the back kitchen at the Moretti estate.

Winter. The wind was cold. A Russian boy, too thin, kneeling against the wall, the back of his hand sliced open by glass, blood running down from the webbing between his fingers. He must have broken something and been punished severely—half his face still carried a bruise that hadn't faded.

The kitchen staff passed by him without a single glance.

I had just come from the dining room then, still holding half a piece of bread I hadn't finished. Perhaps because the sight was too unpleasant, or perhaps on a whim, I left half the bread on the step beside him without even pausing my stride, then turned and walked away.

I didn't even look back to see if he picked it up.

That incident was small as a speck of dust. If I hadn't seen this scar now, I never would have remembered it.

But of all times, that image came crashing back.

I gripped the edge of the coat, my fingertips growing stiffer.

The roar of the cabin pressed down until my head felt dull, but suddenly I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Why did you save me?"

My voice was low, nearly swallowed by the engine noise, but the cabin still went quiet in that moment.

Alexei reflexively looked up.

Autumn's body went rigid, her hand pressing suddenly against the edge of her seat.

Even the air seemed to pause.

Dmitri didn't answer immediately.

He kept his head lowered, as if he hadn't heard, and turned another page of the documents. The silence stretched so long I almost thought he wouldn't bother responding at all. Not until he pulled out the document in his hand and passed it to Alexei did he finally lift his eyes slightly.

"Dead people have no value."

His voice wasn't loud, cold without the slightest inflection.

Not old sentiment, not grudges, not pity.

Just value.

I looked at him, and that small flicker of hope I hadn't even been willing to admit to myself was snuffed out completely by those words.

So that was it.

I'd actually been naive enough, for a brief moment, to wonder if he remembered the past, even just a little. How ridiculous. A man who could calmly flip through documents amid corpses—how could he ever turn back for something like that?

The helicopter suddenly dipped slightly, the fuselage beginning to descend.

I turned my head toward the window, watching the previously blurred city outline grow closer and closer. But soon, I realized something was wrong. This wasn't Manhattan.

Below spread a vast, dark industrial zone. Abandoned factory buildings, long warehouse roofs, docks covered in thin snow, the skeletal frames of cargo ships moored at the shore, and several rust-stained cranes.

This was Brooklyn.

Alexei had already stood, walking to the cabin door and yanking open the lock. The instant the door opened, freezing wind rushed in, lashing across face and neck.

"Boss, we're here."

Dmitri closed the documents and stood.

When he passed in front of me, he didn't even pause his stride, much less look back. That certainty carried an almost oppressive weight—he knew perfectly well I had no second choice.

Alexei stepped aside, and everyone naturally cleared a path for Dmitri.

He descended first.

I sat in place, my fingers still clutching that black coat. Autumn gently touched my elbow, her voice tight: "Vivienne..."

I didn't respond. I stood and walked to the cabin door. The cold wind immediately rushed up to meet me.

The wind pressed the coat's hem against my calves, and I instinctively pulled it tighter around myself. That lingering body heat was still there, but it didn't make me feel any lighter—it only made me more aware of whose garment I was wearing, whose territory I was walking into.

I finally understood completely.

Dmitri was bringing me into his territory, his world.

Just days ago I'd been a guest of honor in Manhattan's elite circles, wearing gowns, standing in the light, addressed as Miss Ashford.

And now I stood in Brooklyn's desolate wind, walking into another man's cage.

I had no home anymore. No way back.

Autumn stood behind me, not daring to rush me.

The people below were waiting.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I still took that step, walking straight into Brooklyn's bitter wind.