Prologue

Helena

It’s only fitting that it should end like this.

The waves slam violently against the cliffside below me. The white foam rises and falls on the craggy rocks. The sea salt in the air is so thick that it irritates my skin, and the tears streaming down my cheeks do little to percolate through the grime. Adrenaline is pumping blood through my veins so strongly that I can hear it drumming an erratic beat in my ears.

For a moment it’s just me, the sea, and my terrified heart.

People like me don’t deserve a second chance at life.

I shouldn’t have survived the first time. That much is clear to me now. I have been fooling myself into thinking that I could ever have been able to start over again. I have spent the last handful of months living on borrowed time. There’s an all-consuming terror that crawls down my throat and grips my spine like a vice, but there’s also a sense of calm. It’s harder to find… but I’m holding on to it.

I must step forward. I have to force myself to take that final, long step into the water below, and everything will be over. All of the anguish and deception. No more duplicity, no more lies. No more living a double life, keeping track of who knows what. I don’t have to watch my tongue and carry the weight of so many secrets all at once.

I just have to take one last step, and finish what Nikolai started.

“Don’t—” a deep male voice comes from behind me. A familiar voice. But the pain and longing that fuels the word is something new, something desperate. Neither one of us can afford desperation now.

My eyes close and my fists ball at my sides. If I turn around and face him, my cowardice may triumph. I can feel Daniel’s beautiful and cryptic eyes on my back. It would be so easy to run to him and let him wrap his arms around me until I am completely convinced that things will get better—that we can solve this mess together.

“Don’t come any closer, Daniel.” The winds are so loud and ferocious that I doubt for a moment that he even heard me.

“Come away from the cliff’s edge, Helena. Right now.” Daniel’s voice is firm and unyielding.

“I can’t keep living like this!” I shout to the ocean.

The flowing skirt of my dress whips around my legs and does nothing to stop the cold air from biting into my skin. I glance over my shoulder at Daniel’s impossibly handsome face. His dark brow furrows in worry for me. He is keeping just enough distance between us to avoid startling me into jumping.

“I would rather die than do this for even one more day, Daniel!” My shoulders soften as I wrap my arms around myself. “I’m so tired of this… I’m tired of hurting everybody that I care about. I’m tired of constantly living a lie! This is the only solution. Can’t you see that?” I plead with him to understand. I’m at the end of my tether. Of all the people left in my wretched life, he is the most important. He must understand.

“No, it’s not. I have already handled everything, Helena, I have a plan. You trust me, don’t you?” Daniel shakes his head as he speaks. I know that he’s not going to stop. He’s going to keep trying until he gets his way. I hate that this hurts him. I hope he knows that I never meant to hurt him.

“I won’t let you pay for my mistakes. I can’t keep pushing you into a corner. We both know it will end with you being forced to put me down, Daniel. It can’t be you.” Tears slide down my face anew as his eyes widen in understanding. “Did you think that I didn’t know what they would make you do?”

I wish there was another way for me to express my feelings to him. I should have told him sooner, under better circumstances, but this is my last chance. Nikolai’s men will never cease hunting me. Not until he has my head. The Russian Mafia wants me to pay for the crimes I committed. I can’t even say I’m not deserving of death. At the very least, I’m prepared this time. This time it will be my choice, and it will not be by Nikolai’s hands.

I still don’t know how he found out what I did to his father, but it doesn’t matter. I took his life regardless. My mind flashes back to the night that Nikolai, my first fiancé, attempted to end my life.

It’s November. I hear Nikolai’s car screech into the driveway despite the snow on the ground. Alone in his family home outside of Moscow, there isn’t much I can do. I hope that if I gather my personal effects quick enough, I will be able to steal one of his cars and get the hell out of his mansion before he finds me.

My need for revenge trapped me once. I won’t let that happen again.

Nikolai catches me packing. He comes tearing into the room like some sort of demon. He is the sort of man that commands notice and attention. His large, intimidating presence fills a room without him ever having to say a word. The very thing that had captivated me at the start of our relationship is now a source of terror. I’ve never been on the receiving end of his wrath before—accusations spewed from his lips like knives that strike me and burrow deep into my skin. I don’t have a chance to fight back; it wouldn’t have done any good anyway.

I feel the freezing iron railing of the balcony dig into the backs of my hips. I feel the snow collecting in my hair. I’ll never forget the look of pure contempt on my fiancé’s face as he chases me toward our balcony. His sneer of derision will live emblazoned on the backs of my eyelids as a constant reminder of how everything has gone to hell.

My whole body scrapes against the metal railing as I topple backward over it. The bottom of my stomach feels as though it has fallen out of me—like I was briefly weightless. My life doesn’t flash before my eyes. I don’t have some profound realization about all of the things that I will never get to do. Everybody who talks about having a near-death experience always says that those things are supposed to happen. For me, there was only fear.

Nikolai watches me fall. I lock eyes with him as he smugly watches me plummet two stories down to the frozen grounds of the garden.

The crack of my skull against the pavement doesn’t hurt, but it does feel cold. Even now, I can still clearly remember the jarring sensation of my spine impacting the ground as Nikolai watched the life fade from me.

Then there was nothing.

At least I know the balcony fall will be nothing compared to this. Hopefully, the rocks toward the edge of the cliff will make my death swift.

“I want you to know that in spite of it all, Daniel, I never pretended with you. I never lied about what we had. It was real. At least, it was real for me.”

I don’t want him to regret our past or second-guess my feelings for him now. I had always thought I would only ever want Nikolai. Even after all the lies. Even after he tried to murder me—I didn’t think I deserved anything more.

Daniel proved to me that just wasn’t true.

“I love you more than I ever even thought was possible,” I whisper softly.

My lungs fill to the brim and it burns. I jump before Daniel can say another word.

This doesn’t feel so bad.

As I fall, the wind becomes colder, threatening to tear my skin from my bones. I close my eyes against the backdrop of Daniel’s agonizing and desperate screams.

This must be what freedom feels like.

Chapter One

Helena

“This is your life now, Helena.”

I shouldn’t refer to myself as Helena. It’s not going to be my name anymore. As soon as I can convince myself to step out of this rust bucket of a car, I’m going to become Sofia Petrov. Helena Russev no longer exists. I can’t even say with any honesty that I’m going to miss her. She was a backstabbing bitch who didn’t care who she hurt or what she had to do to get what she wanted.

Someday, I fear I’m going to merge completely with the characters I create for myself. After that, I suppose I won’t remember my true self at all. Hell, maybe that’s already happened. My whole life, I’ve had to change myself to be the woman I was expected to be.

The version of me that was once Helena would be ashamed to meet Sofia. She wouldn’t give her a second glance if they passed each other in the street. Helena was on the verge of marrying Nikolai, a Russian mafia boss. She was constantly miserable and bored. She lived in the lap of luxury, but it was only going to get her so far. She was so easily distracted that nothing felt real after a while.

I can’t pretend like I don’t miss the private jets, Louboutin’s, and couture gowns made specifically for me by the best designers in the world. I just have to get over it, somehow. Looking at me now, you would never know what sort of life I lived only a year ago.

Because now I’m parked out front of Creekview Middle School.

The building has seen better days. I imagine that schools receive little funding in a place like this. Some of the red brick has faded, and there are unmanned metal detector stations outside the front doors. At the very least, my beat-up car fits in. Every other car in the nearly empty lot appears to be in need of a tune-up and a new coat of paint. Students crowd around the building’s perimeter, standing in small groups on the dead grass, waiting for the morning bell to ring and let them in.

I can’t remember if I was ever like them. What must it be like to feel so carefree? To spend as much time as you like doing whatever you wanted? Doing homework half-assed and making plans for whatever party or hang-out was planned for the weekend. I suppose it would be like a small kind of bliss.

And it’s exactly the sort of slow life that I’m after now.

I pull down the visor and flip open the small mirror to examine my reflection.

I refuse to cry again.

If I don’t get a grip on myself quickly, my under eyes will be permanently swollen. I don’t have time to waste by missing a range rover. I can’t afford to be late on my first day. I have to make an effort to make a good first impression.

Sighing, I press the pad of my ring finger into the puffy skin of my undereye. At least, my new, shorter hair complements my angular face nicely. I’m still getting used to the honey blonde. I never expected to have to give up my signature black waves, but this is supposed to be a fresh start. New clothes, new hair, new surroundings… new me.

Whether you like it or not, this is your life.

If I keep saying it over and over to myself, it will start to feel real sooner or later.

I’ve kept my makeup neutral, nothing that will make me stick out. For a touch of drama, I’ve allowed myself a pencil skirt that clings to my curves. I got the skirt and a few other pieces for my new business-casual wardrobe from the department store in town—pieces like the flowy, powder-blue shirt that I’ve neatly tucked into the stretchy fabric of my skirt.

The town itself is only slightly more modern than this school, for the most part. The houses are all quaint with white picket fences. I haven’t felt brave enough to scope out the nightlife scene here yet or any of the restaurants. All in good time.

There’s no point in rushing.

I touch up my lip gloss again before I shut the visor and rake my fingers through my hair to push some volume back into it. When my fingers brush over the jagged collection of scars hidden by my hairline, I pause. They serve as a constant reminder of what happened to me and why I’m still here… like a phantom pain that won’t go away no matter how hard I try. The doctors tried to tell me how much work it would take to repair my skull after I awoke from my coma… However, I did not want to hear it. I still don’t. I want to put it all behind me.

I yank my hands from my hair. With a deep breath to steady myself, I shove the door of my car open with a rusty squeak.

The bright sunlight warms my skin as I pull my cello case from the car. Then, I grab my large work bag and pull it over my shoulder.

“Here goes… well, everything,” I whisper to myself as I head for the metal detectors. Just as I suspected, they aren’t even turned on. I have to hope the cops in this town are slightly better equipped to handle things should something go wrong. I walk up the three steps that lead into the building and cast one last glance over my shoulder.

He can’t find me here. I’m as safe as I possibly can be. My grip on my cello case tightens as I walk back into the main building, pushing the door open in front of me with my hip.

To my surprise, the principal is standing at the door in an ill-fitting suit. He greets me, a smile hidden beneath his full black mustache.

“Ms. Petrov!” The principal says with a happy chime. The dove gray color of his suit flatters his dark, golden skin well. His brown hair has been shaved close to his scalp, but he missed a spot just beneath his chin when he must have shaved this morning. These are things I would never dare remark upon out loud but that I can’t help but notice. It’s my nature to be observant. It goes hand in hand with the constant paranoia. “How lovely to meet you. It’s great to have you on board!”

“Hello,” I say softly, trying to hide as much of my Russian accent as possible—yet another remnant of my life that needs to fade as quickly as possible so that I can become Sofia Petrov. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“I was hoping you would make it here nice and early so that I could introduce myself. I’m Principal Alexander Martinez. We spoke on the phone before. The students should be starting to file in shortly, and I wanted to make sure that I personally gave you a tour of the place.” He extends his hand to take my cello case, and I gladly hand it over. He makes a broad motion for me to follow him but I’m still not sure where I’m going. I try to keep up with him at a reasonable pace. At least the inside of the school is much nicer than the outside.

“So, I can’t say just how pleased we are to have a real musician joining us here! I tried to look up some of your symphony performances online, but I had some trouble locating you. I’m not great at all that tech stuff, though I’m sure you can point me in the right direction,” Principal Martinez rambles on. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort of fellow. If he wasn’t so sweet, I wouldn’t feel so bad lying to him.

“Oh, I’m grateful for the opportunity. Really, it’s an honor to be here and share my love of music with the kids,” I answer plainly. No extra details, just like I’m supposed to.

“Is that a hint of an accent I’m picking up on?” Martinez asks with a smile.

“You have a good ear, sir. It is my grandfather’s accent. He comes from Russia, and he had a hand in raising me. I suppose it stuck more than I am aware of.” I try to make it sound like it’s a painful subject. Even just alluding to the fact I have Russian ties is more than I am comfortable with. Again, with the paranoia. Better safe than sorry.

“Ah, can’t say that Russia is high on my bucket list! I haven’t traveled much though, so what do I know?” The principal says with a gentle scoff as we turn into the music room. “Here we are! The music room.” Principal Martinez places my cello case on the ground with a soft thunk against the old, flat carpet. A cloud of dust wafts up, but he pretends not to notice. “I know it’s not like the fancy places I’m sure you’re accustomed to working in, but we like to keep things… modest, here.”

He looks around the room, both hands on his hips. It’s designed in the shape of a half-circle, with four sets of risers spaced about two feet apart. Heavy brown drapes are pushed open against the back wall, concealing large, bulky windows. The carpet was probably once a nice shade of red that went well with the off-white walls, but it’s now faded, and the paint appears yellow and sad. I’m sure I’ll be allowed to spruce up the place and make it feel more like my own.

Black music stands are folded together and pushed up against the far wall beside what I’m guessing is my desk. Said desk is a small, orange, wooden mess with no more than three drawers on one side, and nothing but spindly legs on the other. There is a closet door off to the side where I’m supposed to keep my personal belongings. I place my work bag on the floor beside the desk and turn in a small circle to properly take in the room. It might not be much now, but it has potential.

I clasp my hands in front of my body and tuck my elbows into my sides, imagining what a fresh coat of paint might do. I feel hopeful, as if the place is full of possibilities… until I remember I’m broke.

The bell rings and Principal Martinez jolts and glances at his watch. “Shoot! Fifteen minutes until the buses start to arrive. I meant to show you around the rest of the school, but it will have to wait.” He speaks quickly as he walks back toward the door to the classroom. “Ms. Olivia is across the hall. She’s not too much older than yourself. I think the pair of you will get along famously! She’ll be happy to help you with anything you might need or answer any other questions you might have.” Principal Martinez pauses at the door and reconsiders his exit. He jogs quickly across the room and grabs my hands and shakes them vigorously. “I’m just so happy to finally have the chance to extend our Arts program! Thank you, again. Adios!”

He rushes off in short, shuffled steps back out the door and disappears out of view.

Suddenly, I feel small.

Not just because of the size of the room. I feel insignificant in comparison to the person I used to be. At the very least, I have something to do to keep myself busy. And this isn’t my first time impersonating someone else. I take a seat at my desk. On top of it is a blue folder with the school’s logo embossed in gold. I open it to reveal the onboarding paperwork and my schedule. My own time at school feels so very far away. In just a few moments, I will have to set my new personality in stone and start introducing myself. Already, my nerves and anxiety are starting to give way to excitement. Everybody is so nice… maybe I can be nice here, too.

On that positive note, I push back from my desk and move for my cello. I have always had an affinity for music, ever since I was young. No matter what was happening in my life, music was my way to escape from it all. One of the only things that helped me get out of my recent depression was the cello. It produces such dark, chilling sounds, and it soothes me more than any other instrument I’ve tried.

I open one of the few folded chairs from beside the music stands. I’ll need to get a good sense of the acoustics to determine whether I need to quickly rearrange things for my students. I can’t say I’d ever given much thought to becoming a teacher before now.

I came into my love of music at such a young age; it feels like a natural extension of my soul. My mother taught me how to play. I suppose, in some way, it makes me feel connected to her. That being said, I don’t think she would approve of my choices, as she never thought I was good enough. She said I had the “wrong fingers” for it. Perhaps it’s nothing more than spite that fuels my desire to play.

I’ve never wanted to be a mother, even though I always thought it would happen. I still don’t know whether or not I would be any good at it—hopefully better than the one that I had, at least. It’s a low bar. I just want to be happy again, and music makes me happy. If I can show just one kid the joy of music too… Well, that just might be enough.

My skirt is stretchy, but not as much as I would like. When the cheap nylon doesn’t move the way I want it to, it’s even more irritating. I have to hike it up past my knees to properly fit my cello between my legs as I begin to tune the instrument. To my delight and despite its simplicity, the sound reverberates beautifully through the space. As I position my fingers over the strings, I rotate away from the door. My callouses will take some time to return. And I can hardly wait.

I can do this. Yeah, this might just work.

Chapter Two

Daniel

“I don’t want to go to a new school!” Henry’s voice rings out from the seat behind mine with a low-pitched whine. Anyone would think I was sending him to jail, even though a move is never easy for a child. My nephew sits with his arms tightly crossed over his sweater vest. This morning had been yet another battle. I had tried to persuade him that overdressing would put him at a disadvantage. The kids in this neighborhood will not be the same as the ones he’s used to from wealthy private schools. The designer labels may make him a target. He doesn’t want to alienate himself before he even gets a chance to speak. I wanted him to blend in and take his time. Naturally, he refused.

Henry had been quick to counter my comment with a retort I knew all too well: ‘There’s power in being the best-dressed in the room.’ I can’t argue with him, and he knows it. Hell, I’m the one that taught him that. I know it will only be a week max until he begs me to go buy the same clothes as whatever his friends are wearing.

I had hoped the change might humble him slightly as he’s never attended public school before.

It’s a very far cry from the expensive, exclusive private schools that he’s always known until now. Our family’s wealth has afforded him entrance to many doors that are locked for most. He’s gotten used to it. Removing him from everything he’s grown accustomed to was a necessary evil, so I’m willing to give him some leeway on the things that don’t matter. Like sweater vests.

“I know, Henry. You’ve told me that every day for the last three days,” I answer evenly. I know patience is a difficult virtue, and Henry is currently getting a crash course in it. I’ll maintain my composure until his whining becomes disrespectful. For the past twenty-four hours, he has been toeing the line between bad attitude and adolescent rebellion.

“I don’t understand why I have to come here! I want to go back to New York!” He stares out the window petulantly as he speaks. He observes the winding, narrow country streets as the trees around him begin to thin. It’s no longer the back roads, but rather the more developed areas. I use the term developed loosely. I guide the car around the back of the school. “It’s so green here… there’s nothing to do.”

I smirk and resist the urge to laugh. Having grown up in the city, I’m sure it must be strange for him. He’s accustomed to concrete jungles and skyscrapers. I refuse to acknowledge that I may have spoiled him. I’ve always wanted the best for him. I might have left him in New York if I’d known how long I’d be out in the sticks. But that was not an option.

Henry shifts in his seat and starts to fiddle with the cuff of his sleeve until it sits exactly the way that he wants.

“You’ll adjust,” I answer evenly. “It is perfectly normal to feel anxious about change, Henry, but you will adapt quickly so long as you keep an open mind.”

I do feel guilty that my business affects him. But given my current mission, I didn’t have an abundance of choices. There were so few options, and the only one that made sense was to uproot him from the Upper East and transplant him here. When he’s old enough to join the family business, he won’t have to be kept in the dark about things like this. I know he’ll approach everything with duty and honor, no matter how difficult our lives can be.

Hopefully, he won’t be forced to care for me the way I am for my ailing father. It hadn’t been easy getting him out of town, but it had certainly helped further my cover story.

“As soon as our business here is concluded, I’ll take you back to your beloved penthouse in New York and you’ll be allowed to finish out the remainder of the school year there.” I glance at him once more in the rear-view mirror as we pull into the back parking lot. Yellow buses with cracked and peeling letters are unloading children ahead of us. He should be able to assimilate without drawing overt attention to himself. If his clothes don’t make him a conversation piece, that is.

I can still see so much of my sister in him: the same wide hazel eyes and her full, thick brown hair. Sometimes, I think he looks like me, too: the strong jawline, the high cheekbones, his ability to keep careful control of himself. He’s unlike any ten-year-old I’ve ever met. No doubt his maturity came from watching me. I watch the emotion fade from his face in the rear-view mirror as he puts on his emotionless mask. He’s growing up too fast.

Soon, the car is parked, and we exit. Until he knows how things work with the kids here, he can’t allow himself a moment of weakness. And at that moment I know that someday, he will be far more powerful than me or my father.

“I’ll walk you in.” It’s not so much an offer as an order.

His resolve flickers for a moment as he glances back at me. “What? No! Nobody else’s parents are going in with them.”

“Yeah, but as you are a new transfer, I need to make sure that the principal has all of your correct documents, my contact information, blah blah blah…” I wave my hand dismissively at him and stroll toward the school. Henry jogs after me, trying to keep up with my long strides.

Everything that I said to him is true, but I do have an ulterior motive as well.

We’ve come to this crater in the ground of a town to find Helena Russev. We’ve come to exact our vengeance. If I don’t get Helena, I may never be able to redeem my family. I want to resurrect our legacy and get us out of the black ledgers in which we’ve been rotting. We’ll come back into the light. I won’t stop until the name Colombo is restored to its former glory, until it regains the respect it once commanded, its reputation… a reputation that my father worked tirelessly to destroy.

For her crimes, Helena’s death will be slow and painful. She should have known better than to try and run in the first place. There’s nowhere on this earth she could hide from me, nor any hole deep enough for her to wait out the brutal Nikolai. His ruthlessness and determination will make him a powerful ally to me. Truthfully, it’s almost too simple.

Kill Helena, and I will secure an alliance between our two families.

I hold the door open for Henry and pull my sunglasses from my face to allow my eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lighting of the hallway. Helena’s probably employed as a janitor or working as a secretary. She will have wanted something where she could keep her head down, where she could keep the attention from herself. It might take a bit of time to locate her. The tricky part will be getting her alone in a way that will not draw excess attention to myself.

I accompany Henry to his homeroom after we pick up his information at the registration office. He stands just outside the door and can hardly take his gaze away from the schedule in his hands. That is a good sign in my opinion. Perhaps he’s beginning to allow himself to be excited about his new situation, even if it’s intimidating. I’m not sure he understands where we’re going until we stop walking. He appears to have discovered what he was looking for.

“Thanks. For coming in… when I said not to,” he mumbles sarcastically. Henry keeps his eyes downcast. Since his mother passed, he’s been a bit closed off.

“Of course, I’m always going to be here for you.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders and tousle his hair affectionately to reassure him. Before I start to walk away, he pinches my jacket and stops me from leaving his side. All it takes is a moment of hesitation to show me just how nervous he really is.

“Suppose they don’t like me…” Henry confesses in a small voice.

“Then they’re fools. And you know we don’t abide fools.” I wink at him ominously. He doesn’t know the depth of truth to that comment. “Don’t worry too much. I’ll be here to pick you up when class lets out. Maybe, if you try to have a particularly good day, we can go out for your favorite meal. I saw a place on Main Street that looks good enough.”

Henry hugs me so tightly and quickly that I nearly miss it. He doesn’t say anything before darting into the classroom, leaving me alone in the corridor. It’s never easy to see him go. I’m overcome with sadness as I realize the one that should be here is my sister. Instead of me, she should be the one to accompany him to class. I can almost feel her presence with me right now. She would be overjoyed and proud of her son. Hopefully, she will feel the same way about my raising him in her absence.

I’m hoping he can at least make some new friends. He’s a good kid, he will quickly find a place for himself here. I know it. I only stay long enough for Henry to find a seat.

The hallways slowly empty as the rest of the students filter into their various classrooms, carrying their zealous early morning chatter with them.

I set a slow, almost leisurely pace through the halls on my way back out of the school. Most likely, I don’t have too long to look for the woman I’ve been sent to find before the staff starts asking questions. My steps echo off of the lockers until they set a beat against the background of a haunting cello tune coming from the hallway to my left.

There is no logical reason for my feet to rechart their course toward the music. I suppose I just never considered that somebody from this place could produce something so achingly beautiful as this melody. It’s familiar to me, calling to me from the recesses of my mind as I struggle to recall the name of the piece.

The somber notes carry through the halls in stark contrast to the vibrant conversations that filled them only moments ago. I follow as a man possessed. I almost forget completely about my mission as I walk toward the music. My only purpose now is to find the source of this cello and the person playing it.

I come to a stop in front of a pair of double doors, one of which is still bolted shut. The other is held open by a discarded table leg. I pause in the doorway. I’m not sure why I don’t go inside. I prefer to linger.

A woman sits in a metal chair in the center of the room. She’s posed about halfway away from me. Two teenage girls sit on the carpeted metal stand risers, whispering softly to one another. Their gaze shifts to me, curious about my intrusion but not alarmed enough to disrupt the performance.

The teacher plays with her eyes closed, and I only catch glimpses of her angular features and sharp jawline as she shifts with the notes she plays so beautifully. Her blonde hair is cropped close to the natural line of her jaw. Even from a distance, I can tell she’s a stunningly beautiful woman.

If I close my eyes, I might be able to imagine myself in a private box seat at any symphony concert I’ve ever attended. She’s far more talented than I’d expect a teacher in this place to be.

I attend every live classical performance available to me, not that it’s a fact I would ever readily advertise. It’s both a weakness of mine and my greatest joy, as I never had the talent to play a single note myself.

If she’s aware that she’s no longer alone, she doesn’t show it. It’s a really remarkable way to introduce a new group of students to a class. The few that have already arrived are enraptured by her as her bow slides so easily over the strings. Her passion must come from a place of great sadness to be able to play Chopin so well.

I’m almost ashamed that it took me so long to recognize the piece as Etude Op. 25 No. 7. The music flows through her, magnifies in intensity, and I’m as enthralled as her students.

I want… to know her. I want to know what sort of pain a person from this town could endure to make her play so authentically.

As the final notes begin to play, my hand slides into my pocket and I lean against the closed door. I flip over the small object I’ve brought with me in my hand and back again. It’s a tracker for Helena when I find her. Something that will allow me to monitor her movements and find the ideal moment to exact Nikolai’s revenge on her.

Imagine my surprise when she fumbles the final note and sharply turns to look at me with the most piercing gray eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. And they belong to the woman whose image I’ve been carrying around for weeks while putting this whole plan together.

Helena Russev.

I’ve found you.

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