A ruthless mob boss tried to insult me in Russian at his restaurant table, completely unaware I understood every word.

The SUV turned into a long, private driveway bounded by high iron gates and dense pine trees on the north shore of Lake Michigan.

The estate was a massive stone mansion built in the 1920s, perched high on a bluff overlooking the dark, crashing waves of the lake. Security personnel in black coats carrying automatic rifles stood at every gate and entrance.

"Where are we?" Mara asked as Kirill parked the vehicle near the front steps.

"My home," Alexi said, stepping out and opening her door. "Saranov knows you were at table nineteen tonight. He knows you translated his words. You cannot return to your apartment."

"My brother!" Mara gasped, pulling back in panic. "Ethan is at home! If Saranov—"

"Kirill dispatched four men to your apartment ten minutes ago," Alexi assured her, taking her arm gently as they walked up the stone steps. "Ethan is already being picked up. He will be brought here within the hour. He is safe, Mara. I give you my word."

They walked into the grand foyer. Soaring ceilings, warm wood paneling, and massive stone fireplaces gave the fortress a sense of timeless, impenetrable strength.

A housekeeper brought Mara a soft cashmere blanket and a cup of hot tea. She sat on a long leather sofa near the fireplace, staring into the dancing orange flames, trying to process the mountains of deceit that had defined her life for a decade.

An hour later, the front doors opened. Ethan burst into the foyer, flanked by two of Alexi’s security guards.

"Mara!" Ethan cried out, running across the room and throwing his arms around her. "Are you okay? These men showed up at the apartment and told me there was a gas leak, but then they brought me here—what is going on?"

Mara held her brother tightly, burying her face in his neck, smelling the familiar scent of his laundry detergent.