Her gaze flickers between me and the phone, wary but curious.
When I flip the screen around and hold it out, the photo I’ve pulled up is sharp and recent—one of the few clear images we have of Mikhail from the last year. He’s in profile, caught exiting a building late at night, his jaw tight and eyes shadowed. Even in the grainy CCTV quality, his features are unmistakable.
Emily’s expression pinches in confusion.
She stares at the image for a long time, trying to reconcile what she’s seeing with something deeply familiar. Her brows furrow, lips pressing together in a thin line. I can practically see the questions bubbling up behind her eyes.
As she leans backagainst the wall, her voice returns, less frantic sounding now. “Why… do you want to know about my fiancé?”
Roman snorts under his breath.
I don’t even look at him, just shoot a sharp glance sideways. He bites back whatever sarcastic remark had been forming on his tongue and shifts his weight, falling silent again.
I turn back to Emily. “Fiancé?”
She nods, curling her arms protectively around herself. “Yes. He asked me to marry him three weeks ago.”
I nod slowly, tucking the phone back into my pocket. “And that’s the name he gave you? Ivan?”
Her brows twitch together. “Of course… Why would he lie about that?”
It’s the way she says it so earnestly, so effortlessly trusting, that almost makes me pity her. I study her face for a long beat. “Because Ivan, your fiancé, doesn’t exist. Not really.”
“What?”
I continue. “You’re engaged toMikhail Sidorov.A man who is responsible for multiple homicides, armed trafficking, kidnapping, and the orchestration of a civil war inside a Russian Bratva.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She’s pale, visibly shaken, trying to reconcile two conflicting versions of reality. One where her fiancé is a kind, generous man who kissed her and her growing belly every night before bed, and another where that same man might be a monster cloaked in charm and tailored suits.
“I know it’s a lot,” I say quietly, trying to soften my voice even as urgency gnaws at the edges of my restraint. “But you need to listen to me, Emily. You’re not in any trouble. We’re not here to hurt you. You’re not the one we’re looking for. But you’re in this whether you like it or not. And if you want to keep yourself and that baby safe, you have to start seeing the truth.”
She shakes her head slowly, disbelief etched in every line of her face. “He–He’s not like that. He would never hurt anyone. He volunteers. He adopted a dog that was missing half a leg four years ago… Hecriedwhen it got put down. He’s sensitive, he’s kind…”
Roman lets out a sharp breath, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah, we’ve seen him cry too. Usually out of joy right after he slits someone’s throat.”
Emily flinches as if slapped.
“Roman,” I snap, shooting him a hard look.
He lifts a shoulder, unapologetic. “She needs to hear it.”
I turn back to her again. “I know this is hard. I know this is the man you thought you were going to marry. That he made you feel safe… but none of it was real. Not for him. You were a cover. That doesn’t mean what you felt wasn’t real. It just means he’s an asshole who didn’t deserve the kindness you’ve given him.”
Her eyes flit down to her belly. Tears gather at the corners of her lashes. Emily presses both hands harder against her stomach, almost as if she could shield the baby from the truth itself. Her mouth opens and closes a few more times before she finally speaks.
“Why me?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
I don’t lie to her. “Because you’re normal. You’re quiet. You’re kind. You don’t come from money. You don’t ask too many questions. You were the perfect cover. You made him look like a man worth trusting. That’s all he needed you for.”
Her jaw trembles.
“I don’t believe you,” she says, but her voice is hollow now, all the conviction gone.
“Yes, you do,” I reply gently.
She doesn’t argue. Instead, her legs give out and she almost sinks down to the floor before Roman catches her and gently lowers her. A sob racks her body, a deep heave that comes directly from the depths of her soul. “What… what do you want me to do?”
“Just tell us where he’s been,” I say. “Where he goes when he leaves here. Any information you’ve overheard him saying while on the phone or to you in passing. Any names he’s mentioned. Anything you thought was strange but brushed off at the time.”