𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 ~ 𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔

SIX

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Nate stood at the base of her Tribeca high-rise, the cool evening breeze doing little to soothe the heat around her neck. Pure tension. Stress. She was a tough cookie, sure, but the constant vigilance required in the Volkov family took its toll.

Tonight, she needed a break, a moment to herself before she had to put on her mask again at the auction this weekend. She craved the solace her apartment usually provided, a minimalistic refuge from... well, from everything else.

The lobby was quiet, the only sound being her heels echoing against the floor. Acknowledging the doorman with a curt nod, heading towards the elevators near the back. It was always in her best interest to not form any kind of relationship with the staff in the building. This was her time to be alone. The more obscure she was, the better.

Then again, forming a connection with someone like Natalka Volkov was synonymous with signing off on your own death warrant.

Even though the apartment was technically hers, and under her name legally, it was still a Volkov property in essence, acquired only through Dimitri's permission when she turned 21. And when a property is associated with the most powerful mob boss in New York City... personal touches are out of the question.

Don't leave anything that could help anyone trace it back to you.

Don't let yourself be known.

Don't give it away.

Don't... be your own person.

Years of meticulous planning and cautious maneuvering, however, had taught Nate how to live under the radar of her family's scrutiny.

She was acutely aware that the Volkovs had co-opted the building's security, ensuring they had constant access to CCTV footage and details of all residents. But Nate was no amateur. She'd grown up in this life, for God's sake. She knew how to navigate such... constraints.

At one point, she managed to reroute the security cameras in her apartment, looping the same few hours of footage. But she eventually had to come to terms with the fact that it wasn't foolproof, and someone would figure out what she was doing. So she ended up enlisting the help of two people who knew her deal, knew her family, and knew her. A quick word to her close friend, Lana, and her husband, and she was in business.

They had painstakingly compiled a convincing collection of footage from her apartment at various times of the day, creating a realistic feed to fool even the most watchful eye. Boom. Problem solved.

As Nate stepped out of the elevator and made her way down the hallway, an unease instantly settled in the pit of her stomach when she clocked the view of the door to her penthouse apartment.

It was ajar.

Her senses sharpened immediately, and she paused. Of course, the one moment I get to just chill the fuck out for a minute, and this shit happens...

She reached into her black jeans, fingers wrapping around the handle of her pocket knife. Flipping it open with precise motion, she held it behind her back as she cautiously approached the door.

Step 1: Analyse the break-in.

Upon initial inspection, it was clear that whoever had made their way into her apartment knew how to pick a lock. And well. Nate had never seen such a clean pick before. Not only that, but a small nudge with her foot revealed the chain behind the door had been cut. A sleek, sharp, precise job. Right down the middle.