Chapter 5 Buried Secrets

Adriana

The safe house felt different after that night.

Ivan still kept his distance. I still pretended not to notice how he watched me when he thought I wasn't looking.

But something had shifted between us - something that neither of us wanted to name yet.

I tried to stay busy, keep my mind off everything.

The wedding.

The shooting.

The way Ivan's hoodie still smelled faintly of him when I pulled it over my head every night.

I rummaged through the old storage closet the next morning, searching for something - anything - to keep myself occupied. Cleaning supplies. Old papers. A box of canned food so dusty I sneezed just looking at it.

And then... I found the folder.

It was shoved behind a stack of old newspapers, almost like someone had tried to hide it but given up halfway.

The folder was thick, worn at the edges, stuffed with papers that had yellowed over time.

Something about it made the hair on my arms stand up.

I hesitated.

Then I pulled it out.

The name printed on the front stopped me cold.

Petrov Family Holdings - 2006

I stared at it, my heart thudding hard against my ribs.

2006.

The year my mother died.

My hands shook as I opened it.

Inside were contracts. Photos. Bank records. Names I didn't recognize at first - and some I did.

There were notes scribbled in the margins, messy and rushed.

Transfer complete - cleanup necessary.

Silence secured.

Target neutralized.

I flipped faster, breath coming short.

And then I saw it - my mother's name.

Isabelle Morano.

Next to it, scrawled in red pen: Liability - resolved.

The room tilted around me.

I stumbled back, dropping onto the floor, the papers spilling out around me like fallen leaves.

For a long moment, I just sat there, staring at them.

Trying to make my brain work.

Trying to understand.

The Petrov family. Ivan's family.

They were linked to my mother's death.

I felt sick.

My stomach twisted into knots. I clutched the folder tighter, my knuckles turning white.

"Adriana?"

Ivan's voice, low and wary, from the doorway.

I looked up.

He was watching me - really watching - like he could already tell something was wrong.

I scrambled to my feet, clutching the folder to my chest like a shield.

"What's that?" he asked, stepping closer.

I backed away. "Stay away from me."

His mouth tightened. "What did you find?"

I held the folder out between us, shaking.

"Your family," I hissed. "They killed my mother."

For a second, he didn't move.

Then he came forward - slow, hands raised like he was approaching a cornered animal.

"Let me see it," he said.

"No." I shook my head, my breath hitching. "I don't need you to lie to me, Ivan. I can read."

"I'm not going to lie," he said. "Just let me see."

Against every instinct screaming inside me, I tossed the folder at him.

He caught it easily.

His fingers flipped through the papers, his eyes scanning fast, his jaw clenching tighter with every page.

When he looked up, there was something dark in his gaze.

But not guilt.

Anger.

"I didn't know about this," he said.

I laughed - harsh and ugly. "Right. You just accidentally married the daughter of a woman your family murdered."

"Watch it," he growled.

"Or what?" I snapped. "You'll finish what they started?"

For a moment, I thought he might actually grab me.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

But then he took a long, rough breath and forced them open again.

"I didn't kill your mother," he said. His voice was low, steady. Deadly serious. "And I don't believe my father ordered it either."

"Then who?" I demanded. "Because this-" I jabbed a finger at the folder - "says otherwise."

Ivan raked a hand through his hair, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"I know my family's hands aren't clean," he said finally. "But this... this doesn't fit."

He stopped and turned to face me, his voice dropping even lower.

"You think I'm a monster, Adriana? Fine. Maybe I am. But if you think I would stand here and lie to you about this-"

He broke off, swallowing hard.

"You're wrong," he finished.

I hugged my arms around myself, trying to hold in the storm brewing under my skin.

I didn't want to believe him.

It would be easier if he was the villain.

If I could hate him without hesitation.

But looking into his eyes - fierce, furious, hurt - I wasn't sure anymore.

"What are you saying?" I whispered.

"I'm saying," he said, stepping closer, "that whoever killed your mother wanted it buried deep. And if they forged my family's name into it, then they wanted you to hate us."

He was close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off him.

He didn't touch me.

But he didn't need to.

His words wrapped around me like chains.

"You want the truth?" he said. "So do I."

I looked down at the folder in his hands.

At my mother's name written like an afterthought.

Like a problem that needed erasing.

I swallowed hard, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat.

"What do we do?"

Ivan's mouth twitched - not a smile, exactly.

Something sharper. Sadder.

"We work together," he said.

I stared at him.

"Work together?" I repeated.

He nodded. "A truce."

I snorted. "You think I'm going to trust you after this?"

"You don't have to trust me," he said. "You just have to want the truth more than you want to hate me."

The air between us crackled.

I hated him.

I hated that he was right.

Because deep down, I didn't want to live with this uncertainty.

I wanted to know.

For my mother.

For myself.

I stepped closer, until there was barely a breath of space between us.

His hand brushed against mine - just barely - as he held out the folder.

"Truce," he said again, his voice rough.

I stared at his hand for a long moment.

Then I reached out - slow, trembling - and curled my fingers around the edge of the folder, touching his hand for a heartbeat before pulling it away.

"Truce," I whispered.

For now.

Because if I found out he was lying - if I found out he had anything to do with my mother's death -

no safehouse, no contract, no forced marriage would protect him from me.

And something told me Ivan knew that too.

He smiled, a flash of teeth.

Dangerous.

Thrilled.

"We start tonight," he said.

"We tear them all down."

And for the first time since I walked into this nightmare,

I realized maybe I wasn't trapped after all.

Maybe I was about to set everything on fire.