Chapter 2 — The Woman Behind the Uniform
Chapter 2 — The Woman Behind the Uniform
By six in the morning, Blackwood Manor no longer looked like a home.
It looked like a crime scene.
Broken windows let the cold fog drift through the corridors.
Blood stained the marble floor.
Bullet holes scarred the walls where priceless paintings had hung only hours earlier.
Men moved quietly through the wreckage, collecting weapons, checking bodies, replacing damaged security cameras.
Cassian stood in the center of it all.
He had not slept.
Neither had Elena.
She remained near the shattered southern window, still wearing the gray uniform.
But something had changed.
Cassian no longer looked through her.
He looked at her as though every ordinary detail about her was a carefully constructed lie.
Her shoes.
Her posture.
Her hands.
Her voice.
Everything.
“Elena.”
She turned.
“Come with me.”
She followed him upstairs.
Not to the office.
Not to the security room.
To his private study.
Cassian opened the door and entered.
Then he locked it.
Elena looked at the lock.
“You're worried about your own people.”
“I don't know who my people are anymore.”
He walked toward the desk.
“Take off the apron.”
She didn't move.
“Why?”
“Because I'm tired of pretending you're a housekeeper.”
Elena slowly untied the apron.
She folded it.
Placed it on the chair.
Cassian stared at her.
Without the apron, she looked different.
Not softer.
More dangerous.
Her shoulders were straight.
Her chin slightly raised.
The timid woman who had spent eight months avoiding eye contact was gone.
Cassian noticed the change immediately.
“You've been acting.”
“Yes.”
“For eight months.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because people don't notice servants.”
Cassian's expression hardened.
“I noticed.”
“Eventually.”
That answer irritated him.
But he couldn't deny it.
He pulled a chair out.
“Sit.”
Elena remained standing.
Cassian looked at her.
“I said sit.”
She finally sat.
He took the chair opposite her.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Cassian placed a photograph on the desk.
Mikhail Rostov.
“You knew I recognized the name.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get this?”
“My brother kept it.”
Cassian studied the photograph.
“What was his mission?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
Elena looked down at the photograph.
“Mikhail was part of a twelve-man extraction team.”
“Military?”
“Yes.”
“Officially?”
“No.”
Cassian's eyes narrowed.
“Black operation.”
“Yes.”
“Who authorized it?”
“I never found out.”
“What happened?”
“They were betrayed.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
Cassian leaned back.
“You've spent six years looking for the answer.”
“Yes.”
“And you think that answer is somewhere inside my organization.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Elena reached into her pocket.
She removed a folded piece of paper.
She placed it on the desk.
Cassian opened it.
It was a list of coordinates.
His expression changed.
“I've seen these.”
“I know.”
“They're shipping routes.”
“Your shipping routes.”
Cassian looked at her.
“Where did you get them?”
“My brother.”
“When?”
“Three days before he died.”
Cassian stared at the coordinates.
One location had been circled.
Northern California.
The exact region where Blackwood Manor stood.
His eyes lifted.
“You're saying Mikhail knew about me?”
“No.”
“Then why did he have this?”
“That's what I'm trying to find out.”
Cassian slowly folded the paper.
“Why didn't you come to me six years ago?”
“I tried.”
His expression changed.
“How?”
“I sent messages.”
“To whom?”
“Your father's security office.”
Cassian froze.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“No response.”
“Why?”
“I assumed they were intercepted.”
Cassian stared at her.
“My father died four years ago.”
“I know.”
“You've been investigating him too.”
“Yes.”
“And you found nothing?”
“Almost nothing.”
Cassian leaned forward.
“What did you find?”
Elena hesitated.
“A photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“The one you haven't seen yet.”
Cassian stood.
“Show me.”
“I don't have it.”
“Where is it?”
“Someone else has it.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Cassian stared at her.
“You're very good at saying those three words.”
Elena met his eyes.
“So are you.”
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Cassian laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because he had finally realized something.
He respected her.
That was dangerous.
He had spent his entire adult life surrounded by people who feared him, wanted something from him, or lied to him.
Elena was the first person who seemed completely uninterested in pleasing him.
She wasn't trying to impress him.
She wasn't trying to seduce him.
She wasn't trying to frighten him.
She simply wanted answers.
And somehow, that made him trust her more than anyone else in the building.
He hated that.
A knock sounded.
Cassian immediately reached for his weapon.
“Who?”
“Dante.”
Cassian opened the door.
Dante entered with his arm wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage.
“Marcus is alive.”
Cassian exhaled.
“How bad?”
“Bullet through the shoulder.”
“He'll survive?”
“Doctors say yes.”
Dante looked at Elena.
His eyes narrowed.
“So it's true.”
Cassian turned.
“What?”
“She isn't a housekeeper.”
Elena looked at him.
Dante continued.
“I found this in the security archive.”
He handed Cassian a folder.
Cassian opened it.
Inside was Elena's employment file.
Or what was supposed to be her employment file.
Cassian read the first page.
Then the second.
His expression slowly hardened.
“This is fake.”
“Yes.”
“How did you find it?”
“The original file doesn't exist.”
Cassian looked at Elena.
“Your entire identity is fabricated.”
“Yes.”
“Your birth certificate?”
“Fabricated.”
“Employment history?”
“Fabricated.”
“References?”
“Fabricated.”
“Address?”
“Fabricated.”
Dante looked at her.
“Who created it?”
Elena's answer was quiet.
“I did.”
Cassian closed the folder.
“You built your own identity?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Experience.”
Dante stared.
Cassian didn't smile.
“That's not a normal answer.”
“I haven't had a normal life.”
Dante placed another file on the table.
“This is what concerns me.”
Cassian opened it.
A photograph.
A military unit.
Twelve soldiers.
Elena stood among them.
Younger.
Harder.
Alive in a way Cassian had never seen before.
He looked at the photograph.
Then at her.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“You weren't a civilian.”
“No.”
“What were you?”
Elena didn't answer.
Dante looked at Cassian.
“She was special operations.”
Cassian's eyes returned to Elena.
“What kind?”
Elena said nothing.
Dante answered.
“The kind that officially doesn't exist.”
Silence.
Cassian sat down.
“You were black ops.”
“Yes.”
“You killed people.”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
Elena looked at him.
“Enough.”
Cassian nodded slowly.
“And you became a housekeeper afterward.”
“I needed somewhere to disappear.”
“Why my house?”
“Because your organization was connected to the people I was hunting.”
“And you thought I was one of them.”
“I didn't know.”
“But you suspected.”
“Yes.”
Cassian looked at her.
“And now?”
Elena took a breath.
“Now I think you're being used.”
Cassian's expression hardened.
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
Again.
Those words.
But this time he didn't accuse her of lying.
Because something about the entire situation had begun to disturb him.
At 7:42 a.m., the power went out again.
Dante immediately drew his weapon.
Cassian looked at Elena.
She was already moving.
“Stay here,” Cassian ordered.
“No.”
He stared.
“What?”
“You should move the injured men to the basement.”
“Why?”
“The west corridor has no backup lighting.”
“How do you know?”
“I studied the floor plans.”
Cassian stared.
“You studied everything.”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
He looked at Dante.
“Move everyone downstairs.”
Dante nodded.
Elena turned toward the security room.
Cassian followed.
“You're coming with me.”
She looked at him.
“You trust me?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I don't trust anyone else.”
That answer stopped her.
For a moment, something passed between them.
Not trust.
Not yet.
Something more dangerous.
Recognition.
They were both trapped in the same storm.
The security room was dark.
Emergency lights flickered.
Elena sat at the central terminal.
Cassian stood behind her.
She opened the surveillance system.
“Someone is inside.”
“Where?”
“Basement.”
Cassian immediately reached for his radio.
“No.”
Elena grabbed his wrist.
He looked at her hand.
She released him.
“Don't send anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because that's what they want.”
Cassian frowned.
“What?”
“A distraction.”
She pointed at the screen.
Three cameras showed movement in the basement.
But the fourth camera showed something else.
The main entrance.
A black sedan had just arrived.
Cassian stared.
“Who is that?”
Elena zoomed in.
The passenger door opened.
A man stepped out.
Silver hair.
Gray coat.
Cassian's expression changed.
“Adrian.”
Elena's heart stopped.
Adrian Vale.
The man from the photograph.
The man connected to Mikhail.
The man who had supposedly disappeared four years ago.
Cassian whispered:
“He's alive.”
Elena stood.
“I told you.”
Cassian looked at her.
“What?”
“The dead don't always stay dead.”
Adrian entered the manor.
No guards stopped him.
None even questioned him.
He walked through the front hall as though he owned the place.
Cassian watched from the security room.
“How did he get past the perimeter?”
Elena stared at the monitor.
“He didn't.”
“What?”
“He was already inside.”
Cassian went silent.
Elena pointed toward the camera.
“Look at his shoes.”
Cassian frowned.
“They're wet.”
“So?”
“The fog is outside.”
She zoomed in.
“His shoes aren't wet from the fog.”
Cassian understood.
“He came from inside the building.”
“Yes.”
Someone had hidden Adrian inside Blackwood Manor before the attack.
Someone had helped him.
Someone inside Cassian's organization.
The traitor.
Cassian took his weapon.
“We're going downstairs.”
Elena grabbed his arm.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because Adrian wants you to.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“We let him come to us.”
Cassian stared.
“You're suggesting we wait?”
“Yes.”
“He's one of the most dangerous men I've ever known.”
“And he's walking into a room with us.”
Cassian looked toward the monitor.
Adrian had stopped.
He was standing directly beneath the security camera.
He looked straight into it.
Then smiled.
Elena's blood went cold.
“He knows we're watching.”
Cassian whispered:
“How?”
Adrian raised one hand.
He held something between his fingers.
A photograph.
He lifted it toward the camera.
Elena stared.
Her breath disappeared.
It was the photograph she had been searching for.
Mikhail.
Elena.
And a third man.
A man she recognized instantly.
Her own father.
Dead for nineteen years.
Elena stepped backward.
“No.”
Cassian turned.
“What?”
She couldn't speak.
Adrian lowered the photograph.
Then mouthed four words toward the camera.
Ask your father why.
The screen went black.
Elena stared at it.
Cassian looked at her.
“Your father?”
She said nothing.
“Your father was involved?”
“I thought he was dead.”
Cassian's voice became quieter.
“Apparently…”
He looked at the black screen.
“…so did Adrian.”
For the first time in six years, Elena felt something she had not allowed herself to feel.
Not fear.
Hope.
A terrible, dangerous hope.
If her father was involved…
then perhaps he had not abandoned them.
Perhaps Mikhail's death had not been meaningless.
Perhaps the mission had been something else entirely.
But there was one problem.
Her father had died nineteen years ago.
And Adrian had just shown them a photograph taken six years ago.
Which meant someone had been lying.
Someone had created a false death.
Someone had hidden an entire part of Elena's life.
And Elena suddenly realized that the mystery she had been chasing wasn't six years old.
It was nineteen years old.
Cassian walked toward her.
“Elena.”
She looked at him.
“I'm going to ask you one question.”
She nodded.
“Do you trust me?”
She hesitated.
“No.”
Cassian gave a faint smile.
“Good.”
He held out his hand.
“Neither do I.”
She looked at his hand.
Then took it.
“Then let's find out who deserves our trust.”
Outside, sirens began approaching.
Police.
Federal agents.
News helicopters.
Someone had called them.
Someone had deliberately exposed Blackwood Manor.
Cassian looked toward the windows.
“They're coming for me.”
Elena shook her head.
“No.”
She looked toward the photograph still frozen in her memory.
“They're coming for me.”
Cassian turned.
“Why?”
“Because whoever Adrian is working for…”
She tightened her grip on the rifle.
“…has just spent six years making sure I stayed hidden.”
“And now?”
Elena looked directly at him.
“Now they know where I am.”
Cassian nodded.
Then he picked up his weapon.
“Then we'll make them regret finding you.”
Elena stared at him.
For the first time since entering Blackwood Manor, she felt something unexpected.
Not safety.
Not trust.
Something stronger.
She wasn't alone anymore.
And that frightened her more than anything.
Because Elena Rostova had survived six years by trusting no one.
Now she had found a man she might actually be willing to trust.
And if Cassian Thorne was wrong about her…
she could survive that.
But if she was wrong about him…
she could lose everything.
By noon, the federal agents surrounded Blackwood Manor.
By one, every news channel in California was reporting that Cassian Thorne's criminal empire had been attacked.
By two, Viktor Volkov disappeared.
By three, Adrian Vale was nowhere to be found.
And by four…
Cassian received a message.
One sentence.
YOU ARE PROTECTING THE WRONG WOMAN.
Cassian showed it to Elena.
She read it twice.
Then looked at him.
“Who sent it?”
“I don't know.”
She stared at the screen.
Then her face changed.
“Cassian.”
“What?”
“There is another message.”
He looked.
A second line had appeared.
Neither of them had touched the phone.
THE WOMAN YOU THINK IS ELENA ROSTOVA ISN'T HER REAL NAME.
Cassian slowly looked at Elena.
She said nothing.
Because she already knew.
Her deepest secret had not been discovered.
It had been exposed.
And somewhere in the city, someone was preparing to reveal the identity Elena had buried nineteen years ago.
The identity that could explain her father's disappearance.
Mikhail's death.
The Chechnya operation.
Adrian Vale.
And why the most powerful criminal syndicate on the West Coast had suddenly become obsessed with one supposedly ordinary housekeeper.
May you like
The war had begun.
But Cassian and Elena still had no idea who the real enemy was.
