"Don't lie to me. I've been in this business too long. The way you're sitting, careful not to move too much. The way your hand keeps drifting toward your phone. You have backup nearby. Police. FBI, maybe."
Sophia said nothing. Volkov smiled.
"It's fine. I expected as much. In fact, I'm counting on it." She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "Because I want them to hear this: Damien Cross didn't kill Michael Torres on his own initiative. He was hired. By a client. A very powerful client who wanted Torres silenced before he could testify."
Sophia's pulse raced. "Who?"
"Senator Richard Castellano. New York's rising star. War hero, anti-corruption crusader, the people's champion." Volkov's smile was razor-sharp. "Also deeply in bed with organized crime. Torres had financial records proving Castellano's campaign was funded by laundered money. Proof that would destroy him."
"So Castellano hired Cross to kill Torres."
"Not directly. That's not how it works. Castellano contacted me. I contacted Cross. Layers of insulation. Plausible deniability. If Cross gets caught, it stops with him. If I get caught, it stops with me. Castellano stays clean."
"Except now you're telling me everything."
"Because Castellano is planning to throw me to the wolves. I found out yesterday he's been meeting with the FBI, negotiating his own immunity deal. He's going to blame everything on me and Cross. Paint himself as a victim of corrupt advisors." Volkov's hands clenched into fists. "I'm not taking the fall for that bastard."
Sophia felt dizzy with the implications. A U.S. Senator. Ordering murders. And now the entire conspiracy was unraveling because of greed and self-preservation.
"I need proof," Sophia signed. "Not just your word. Documents. Recordings. Something that ties Castellano to Torres's murder."
Volkov reached into her purse, pulled out a USB drive. "Financial records. Email chains. Phone logs. Everything connecting Castellano to the money laundering operation, to Torres, to the murder contract. I've been keeping insurance for years. Never thought I'd actually use it."
She slid the drive across the table. Sophia picked it up, feeling its weight. This tiny piece of plastic could destroy a senator. Could put Damien Cross away for life. Could finally end the nightmare.
"Why give this to me?" Sophia asked. "Why not go directly to the FBI?"
"Because they won't believe me. I'm a criminal, Sophia. My word means nothing. But you? You're a victim. An innocent witness. A deaf woman who saw something terrible and had the courage to speak up. You have credibility I'll never have." Volkov's smile was sad now. "Use it. Destroy them all. Castellano, Cross, everyone who thought they were untouchable."
"And you?"
"I'll disappear. I have money in accounts they'll never find. New identity already prepared. By the time they realize I'm gone, I'll be in a country with no extradition treaty." She stood, smoothing her skirt. "It was nice meeting you, Sophia. Your art really is exceptional. In another life, I would have enjoyed representing you."
"Elena"
But Volkov was already walking away, moving through the café with the grace of someone who'd spent a lifetime escaping consequences. She paused at the door, looked back.
"One more thing. Cross knows you're here. Knew you'd reach out to me. He's been waiting for you to make a move." Her expression hardened. "Be careful. He's not going to let you walk away twice."
Then she was gone, disappearing into the Manhattan crowds.
Sophia sat frozen, the USB drive clutched in her hand. Around her, the plainclothes officers were moving, speaking into concealed radios. Chen burst through the door seconds later, her face tight with urgency.
"We need to move. Now. Volkov was right Cross knows you're here. We just got a tip that he's two blocks away."
Sophia didn't need to be told twice. She stood, let Chen guide her toward the back exit of the café. The USB drive went into her pocket, precious cargo that could end everything.
They were halfway to the alley when Sophia saw him.
Damien Cross, standing across the street, watching the café entrance. He hadn't seen her yet was watching the front door, expecting her to exit that way. But he would see her in seconds. Would see Chen. Would know exactly what was happening.
Chen saw him too. Her hand went to her concealed weapon. "Stay behind me."
But Sophia didn't want to hide anymore. Didn't want to run. She stepped forward, into Cross's line of sight, and waited for him to notice her.
When he did, his expression shifted surprise, then recognition, then something that might have been respect. He smiled that same dangerous smile from the night he'd killed Torres. Raised his hand.
And waved.
Sophia pulled out her phone, held it up, and took a photo of him. Direct. Deliberate. Claiming her own power.
Cross's smile widened. He mouthed something Sophia couldn't be sure, but it looked like "See you soon."
Then he turned and walked away, melting into the afternoon crowd like he'd never been there at all.
"We need to go," Chen said urgently, pulling Sophia toward the unmarked car. "Now. Before he changes his mind about letting you leave."
They drove in silence, Chen's jaw tight with tension, Sophia's mind racing with everything that had just happened. She had the USB drive. Had evidence that could destroy a senator. Had proof of the conspiracy.
But she also had Damien Cross's attention, fully and completely. And men like him didn't wave goodbye. They waved before the final act.
Back at the hotel safe room, Chen immediately plugged the USB drive into a laptop air-gapped from any network no internet connection, no way for malware to spread. The files loaded slowly, folder after folder of documents, spreadsheets, scanned emails, audio recordings.
It was a goldmine. Years of criminal enterprise, all carefully documented by a woman who'd known she might need insurance someday.
"This is incredible," Chen said, scrolling through files. "Financial records showing money flowing from Castellano's campaign to shell companies Volkov controlled. Email chains discussing 'handling the Torres problem.' Phone logs showing calls between Castellano, Volkov, and Cross in the days before the murder."
"Is it enough?" Sophia signed.
"It's more than enough. This will bury Castellano. And Cross won't be able to claim self-defense when we can prove the murder was premeditated and paid for."
"So it's over?"
Chen looked up, her expression cautious. "The legal case is solid. But Sophia, men like Cross and Castellano don't go quietly. They have resources, connections, people who owe them favors. Until they're both in custody, you're still in danger."
"I know." Sophia had known from the beginning. This was never going to end cleanly. "What happens now?"
"We turn this over to the FBI. They'll execute arrest warrants for both Castellano and Cross. Probably by morning." Chen's hand briefly touched Sophia's shoulder. "You did it. You actually did it. Michael Torres is going to get justice."
But as Sophia lay in her hotel bed that night, unable to sleep, she couldn't shake the image of Cross waving at her. The confidence in his gesture. The certainty.
He'd let her walk away. Had stood there, knowing exactly what was happening, and let her escape with the evidence that would destroy him.
Why?
The answer came at 3 AM, when her burner phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
Checkmate is only checkmate if the king can't move. But I'm not a king, Sophia. I'm something else entirely. Sleep well.
Sophia stared at the message, ice flooding her veins. Cross wasn't worried about the evidence. Wasn't concerned about arrest. He had a plan, a way out, something she hadn't anticipated.
And tomorrow, she'd find out w