"This is the primary server room."
The guard—I'd already forgotten his name—gestured toward a glass-walled chamber at the end of the corridor. Inside, racks of equipment hummed with quiet efficiency, blinking lights creating a technological constellation against the dark metal frames.
"You'll have full access to implement the new security protocols," he continued, his English heavily accented. "Mr. Petrov insists on complete isolation for his communications."
"Understandable," I replied in my carefully maintained Russian accent. "In this line of work, privacy is survival."
The guard nodded, satisfied with my response, and swiped his keycard. The glass door slid open with a soft hiss.
"I'll leave you to your assessment. Sergei will check your progress later."
Once alone, I exhaled slowly, allowing myself a moment to absorb the enormity of what I was seeing. Petrov's network was even more sophisticated than we'd anticipated—military-grade equipment, redundant systems, state-of-the-art firewalls. Whatever operations he was running from this compound, he'd spared no expense in protecting them.
I set down my equipment case and began a deliberate survey of the room, noting camera positions and finding the small signal jammer I'd concealed in my bra. I couldn't risk using it yet—it would only buy me minutes before being detected—but knowing I had the option was reassuring.
As I worked, I mentally rehearsed the role I was playing. Irina Petrova: technical specialist, devoted wife, Russian operative with unwavering loyalty to her handlers. The equipment I'd brought actually contained legitimate security upgrades—we'd made sure of that—but also carried hidden tools that would allow me to create a backdoor into Petrov's systems.
I was deep in concentration, examining the network architecture, when Dominic's voice came through the comm unit disguised as my earring.
"How's it going, malyshka?"
His use of the Russian endearment sent an unexpected warmth through me, despite knowing it was part of our cover.
"Complex but manageable," I replied quietly. "And you?"
"Touring the perimeter with Sergei. Man's a fucking fortress—gives nothing away."
I could hear the tension beneath his casual tone. Sergei remained our biggest concern; his suspicion was palpable, his scrutiny unrelenting.
"Find anything useful?"
"Twelve more guards than we estimated. Three sniper positions. The man's paranoid, and for good reason."
I continued my assessment of the server room, documenting access points and vulnerabilities, aware that time was slipping away. "I've got maybe an hour before I need to start implementing actual upgrades. We need an excuse to access his private office."
"Working on it. Sergei mentioned weekly security briefings held in Petrov's study. I'm angling for an invitation."
"Perfect." I paused as I discovered something unexpected in the network configuration. "Wait... there's a separate closed system. Completely air-gapped from everything else."
"That has to be it. Can you access it?"
I studied the isolated server. "Not remotely. I'd need direct physical access, and I'd bet my ass that's in his private office."
"Then that's where we need to be."
The door to the server room slid open, and I immediately shifted to discussing the security specifications in technical Russian. Anton, Petrov's lieutenant from dinner the previous night, entered with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Finding everything you need, Mrs. Volkov?"
I nodded professionally. "Your system is impressive. Whoever designed it knew what they were doing."
"Petrov only hires the best." His gaze swept over me in a way that made my skin crawl. "I've been asked to inform you that there will be a dinner party tonight. Several of the boss's associates are arriving to discuss business. You and your husband are expected to attend."
"Of course. Will we be implementing any special security measures for the event?"
Anton's smile widened. "Smart. Always thinking of the job. Yes, Petrov would like a surveillance sweep before the guests arrive. Sergei will coordinate with your husband."
"I'll have preliminary upgrades in place by then," I assured him, already calculating how to use this opportunity.
After Anton left, I resumed my work, but my mind was racing. A dinner party meant more people, more variables, but also more opportunities for distraction. If we could slip away during the event...
Two hours later, I'd completed enough legitimate work to justify my presence while planting the seeds for my backdoor access. As I packed up my equipment, I noticed a flicker in one of the security camera feeds displayed on a monitor nearby—a blind spot in the coverage. I filed the information away for later use.
When I returned to our suite, Dominic was already there, freshening up from his tour of the grounds.
"How did it go?" he asked, loud enough for the bugs to pick up.
"The system is complex but manageable," I replied, matching his volume. "I've started the initial upgrades."
He pulled me into an embrace, using the closeness to whisper against my ear. "Anton's fishing. Asked too many questions about your background."
I nodded imperceptibly before saying aloud, "I should shower before dinner. It's dusty in that server room."
In the bathroom, with the shower running to mask our conversation, I quickly filled Dominic in on what I'd discovered.
"There's an air-gapped system. Whatever Petrov's hiding, it's there. And we have a potential opening tonight during the dinner party."
Dominic leaned against the counter, his expression grim. "Sergei's bringing in additional security for the event. The guests are big players—arms dealers, money launderers, politicians. If we're caught snooping..."
"Then we won't get caught." I stepped closer to him. "Did you see anything useful on your tour?"
"Petrov has a private wing in the east section. Heavily guarded, separate key card access." His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my face, a tender gesture that felt both practiced and genuine. "I also found our emergency exit route. Service tunnel leads from the kitchen storage to a maintenance shed beyond the perimeter fence."
I nodded, mentally mapping the compound. "The dinner party gives us cover to move around, and everyone will be distracted."
"It's also a risk. More eyes means more chances to slip up." His fingers traced my jawline. "Sergei doesn't trust us. I can feel him watching, waiting for a mistake."
"Then we won't make one." I met his gaze. "We've come too far to fail now."
The intensity in his eyes shifted, darkening with something beyond mission focus. Without warning, he captured my lips in a kiss that stole my breath—hungry, desperate, real. When we broke apart, I could see my own confusion mirrored in his expression.
"The cameras," he explained softly, but we both knew it was more than that.
I nodded, turning to actually start the shower. "We should get ready. Can't keep Petrov's friends waiting."
---
The dinner party was an exercise in controlled tension. Twelve guests—all men except for two trophy wives who looked bored to tears—gathered in Petrov's opulent dining room. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the dark wood table laden with fine china and silver.
I wore a sleek black dress that Dominic had packed in our supplies, elegant enough for the occasion while allowing me freedom of movement if things went sideways. A thin blade was strapped to my thigh, and the miniature transmitter designed to access Petrov's private server was concealed in my diamond earring.
Dominic looked devastatingly handsome in a tailored suit, playing his role with effortless charm. His hand rested possessively on the small of my back as Petrov introduced us to his associates.
"The Volkovs are implementing our new security system," Petrov explained to a portly man with a Southern accent who was clearly American despite his attempts to hide it. "The best from Moscow."
The American—a Senator, I gathered from the deferential way others treated him—gave us a cursory nod before returning to his conversation about offshore accounts.
"Stay close to me," Dominic murmured against my ear, his breath warm on my skin. "Something's off."
I sensed it too—an undercurrent of tension beneath the social veneer. The guards seemed more alert than necessary, and Sergei kept checking his watch.
Dinner was a seven-course affair paired with expensive wines. I ate little and drank less, maintaining the appearance of enjoyment while staying vigilant. Beside me, Dominic charmed a Ukrainian arms dealer with stories of Chechnya, his Russian flawless as he described tactical operations that sounded convincing even to my trained ear.
"Mrs. Volkov," Petrov addressed me from the head of the table, "I understand you've made progress with our systems today."
All eyes turned to me. "Yes, sir. The initial architecture is sound, but I've identified several vulnerabilities that could be exploited. I've begun implementing countermeasures."
"Excellent." He seemed pleased. "Perhaps after dinner, you could give our associate from Washington a brief overview of the improvements? Senator Collins has a particular interest in cybersecurity."
The American looked up at the mention of his name, his jowls quivering slightly as he forced a smile.
"Of course," I replied smoothly, though alarm bells were ringing in my head. This wasn't a casual request—it was a test.
As the meal progressed, I caught snippets of conversations around the table—discussions of weapons shipments, political leverage, blackmail material. These men operated in a world where human life was currency to be traded, where power was the only god they worshipped.
After the main course, Petrov stood. "Gentlemen, shall we retire to the study for brandy? Ladies, you're welcome to join us or enjoy coffee in the drawing room."
This was it—our opportunity. Dominic and I exchanged a glance, a silent plan forming between us.
"Actually," Dominic interjected, "while you enjoy your brandy, perhaps Irina could give the Senator his security briefing? It would free up the rest of your evening for more important matters."
Petrov considered this, then nodded. "An excellent suggestion. Sergei, please escort Mrs. Volkov and the Senator to my office. You have my authorization to access the main system for demonstration purposes only."
My pulse quickened. This was both a stroke of luck and a potential trap. Access to Petrov's office was exactly what we needed, but being alone with the Senator and Sergei complicated things.
As we stood to leave, Dominic caught my hand, bringing it to his lips in a gesture that seemed romantic to observers but allowed him to whisper, "Be careful. I'll create a distraction in fifteen minutes."
I squeezed his hand in acknowledgment before following Sergei and the Senator out of the dining room.
Petrov's office was exactly as I'd imagined—opulent yet functional, with a massive desk dominating the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the forested property, and original artwork adorned the walls. But my attention was drawn to the computer system on his desk and the server cabinet in the corner—undoubtedly the air-gapped system I'd detected earlier.
"Please, make yourself comfortable, Senator," Sergei gestured to a leather chair. "Mrs. Volkov will explain the security enhancements."
I launched into a technical explanation of network security principles, watching the Senator's eyes glaze over within minutes. This was clearly not his area of expertise, which made me wonder why Petrov had insisted on this briefing.
"Perhaps a demonstration would be more illuminating," I suggested, moving toward Petrov's computer.
"By all means," Sergei agreed, though his eyes never left me as I sat at the desk.
With the Senator as my cover, I began accessing the system, explaining each step aloud while my fingers moved with practiced efficiency. Under the guise of showing network vulnerabilities, I maneuvered closer to the access points I needed.
"This particular firewall configuration leaves an opening that sophisticated hackers could exploit," I explained, typing commands that looked legitimate but were actually probing for access to the isolated server.
The Senator nodded as though he understood, while Sergei watched with hawkish intensity. I needed a distraction—even a few seconds would be enough.
As if on cue, a commotion erupted somewhere in the house. Shouting, followed by what sounded like breaking glass.
Sergei's head snapped toward the door. "Stay here," he ordered, drawing his weapon and stepping into the hallway.
The second he was gone, I moved with lightning speed, inserting the transmitter from my earring into a port on the isolated server while continuing my explanation to the Senator, who was now glancing nervously at the door.
"Don't worry," I assured him, fingers flying across the keyboard. "Security is just being thorough."
The transmitter would only need thirty seconds to clone the server's access protocols—twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven...
The Senator shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps we should continue this another time."
"We're almost finished," I said soothingly, watching the progress bar on my hidden screen. "Just one more demonstration of how the system identifies intrusion attempts."
Fifteen seconds. Ten. Five.
The door burst open, and Sergei reappeared, his expression thunderous. "There's been an incident. One of the guards thought he saw an intruder on the grounds."
I carefully maintained my composure, closing the program I'd been using as cover. "Is everything alright? Should we be concerned?"
"No," Sergei said tersely. "Just a misunderstanding. It seems Mr. Volkov had stepped outside for a cigarette and startled one of the newer guards."
Relief washed through me—Dominic had created his distraction right on schedule. I stood from the desk, transmitter safely retrieved and concealed once more in my earring.
"I believe we've covered the essentials, Senator," I said pleasantly. "Unless you have specific questions?"
The American shook his head, clearly eager to return to the party. "Very informative, thank you."
As we walked back to the main part of the house, I could feel Sergei's suspicion like a physical weight. Had he noticed something? Had I made a mistake?
When we rejoined the others in Petrov's study, Dominic was regaling the group with an apology for the confusion he'd caused. His cheek bore a red mark that would likely bloom into a bruise by morning.
"Forgive me," he was saying, charm turned to maximum. "In Moscow, stepping out for a smoke doesn't typically result in being tackled by security."
The room erupted in laughter, even Petrov chuckling at the misunderstanding. But when Dominic's eyes met mine, I saw the question there: *Did you get it?*
I gave him the barest nod, and relief flickered across his features before he turned back to his audience.
The remainder of the evening passed in a haze of tension disguised as social pleasantries. By the time we were finally able to excuse ourselves, claiming fatigue from our busy first day, my nerves were stretched to breaking point.
Once inside our suite, Dominic made a show of loosening his tie and complaining about the guard who'd roughed him up, all for the benefit of the listening devices.
"It was worth it to see you in that dress," he added with a suggestive smile, pulling me close.
As his lips brushed my ear, he whispered, "Did it work?"
"Yes," I breathed back. "We'll have access tonight."
His hold on me tightened, real emotion breaking through the performance. "You're incredible."
For the monitoring devices, we continued our charade of a passionate couple unable to keep their hands off each other. But in the bathroom, with the shower running once more, we downloaded the data from the transmitter onto a secure device.
"Holy shit," I whispered as I scanned the contents. "Dominic, this is bigger than we thought."
The files contained evidence of a Russian intelligence operation unlike anything I'd imagined—infiltration of American political systems at the highest levels, blackmail material on dozens of officials, detailed plans for destabilizing Western democracies.
"The Senator," I realized with growing horror. "He's compromised. That's why Petrov wanted me to brief him—to remind him who holds his leash."
Dominic's expression darkened as he reviewed the files. "This goes beyond Petrov. This is directly from Moscow." He looked up at me, eyes filled with grim determination. "This is what your father discovered. This is why they killed him."
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. "We need to get this out. Not just to finish my father's mission—this is national security."
"We stick to the plan," Dominic said firmly. "Copy everything tonight, then use your backdoor to transmit it to the secure server tomorrow. Once it's done, we extract immediately."
"What if Sergei suspects something? That look he gave me when I came back with the Senator..."
Dominic cupped my face in his hands. "Then we accelerate the timeline. Get some rest tonight—tomorrow we finish this."
As we prepared for bed, going through the motions of our cover identities one more time, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were balanced on a knife's edge. One wrong move, one suspicious glance, and we'd lose everything—the mission, our lives, the future we'd barely allowed ourselves to imagine.
In bed, with Dominic's arms around me for the benefit of the cameras, I stared into the darkness and thought of my father. Was this how he felt in his final days, carrying the weight of a truth too dangerous to know?
"Stop thinking so loud," Dominic murmured against my hair. "Sleep, malyshka."
I turned in his arms, burying my face against his chest. "I just want this to be over," I whispered, low enough that only he could hear. "I want us to be free."
His arms tightened around me, and I felt his lips press against the top of my head. "We will be. I promise."
As I drifted toward sleep, I wondered if that was a promise either of us had the power to keep.