Chapter 10: The Devil's Address

I didn't sleep. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Marcus's face—not as he was in those final, terrible moments, but as he'd been when we first met. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he'd brush my hair from my face like I was something precious. The way he'd promised me forever, not knowing forever would only last three years.

By dawn, I had read every single file Elena had hidden. Twice.

They weren't corporate documents at all. They were photographs, grainy and pixelated from surveillance cameras. They were bank statements showing transfers to accounts in the Cayman Islands. They were printed emails exchanged between my husband and a man identified only as "V."

But it was the last photograph that seared itself into my memory. Marcus, standing in a parking garage, his hands raised in surrender. And facing him, a man whose face was half-obscured by shadow, but whose posture radiated menace. The timestamp read 11:47 PM—three hours before Marcus's car plunged into the river.

The man in that photograph wasn't Marcus's business partner. He wasn't a rival executive. He was someone else entirely. Someone Elena had identified with a single scribbled note on the back of the photo: *Viktor Volkov. Last known location: The Azure Heights Penthouse, floor 42.*

I'd heard that name before. Everyone in the city had. Viktor Volkov was a ghost—a man who allegedly controlled half the illegal enterprises in the region, but who had never been photographed, never been charged, never even been *seen* by law enforcement. He was a boogeyman, a whispered legend.

Except he wasn't a legend. He was real. And he'd taken my husband from me.

I showered and dressed with mechanical precision, my mind already three steps ahead. I couldn't go to the police—not with what I knew. Marcus had been involved in something, something that had gotten him killed, and if I brought the authorities in before I understood the full picture, I'd lose my only advantage.

No. I needed to see Viktor Volkov myself.

The Azure Heights was a fortress of glass and steel, a monument to obscene wealth that dominated the skyline. I'd driven past it countless times, never imagining I'd be walking through its gilded lobby with a forged access card.

Elena's files had included more than just evidence. They'd included keys. Literal keys. And a small velvet pouch of lock-picking tools that suggested she'd prepared for this exact scenario.

I'd always thought Elena was just Marcus's quiet, efficient secretary. I'd been wrong about so many things.

The elevator ride to the 42nd floor felt endless. My reflection stared back at me from the polished chrome doors—a woman I barely recognized. The designer dress I'd chosen felt like armor, but underneath it, my hands were shaking.

I had a plan. A simple one, really. I'd come as Isabella Sterling, the grieving widow who'd discovered her husband's secrets. I'd offer Viktor a deal: my silence in exchange for the truth. It was naive, perhaps even suicidal, but I had nothing else. No evidence the police would accept. No allies I could trust.

Just my fury, my grief, and the desperate hope that the truth would set me free.

The doors opened onto a hallway of impossible luxury—marble floors, crystal sconces, paintings that were probably worth more than my entire childhood home. I walked with purpose, my heels clicking against the stone like a countdown.

The penthouse door was massive, carved from dark wood, with a security keypad gleaming beside it. I reached for the velvet pouch in my bag, but before I could even unzip it, a voice came from the intercom above.

"Ms. Sterling. We've been expecting you."

My blood turned to ice. The door swung open silently, revealing a man in a perfectly tailored black suit. He wasn't Viktor—I could tell that immediately. This man had the flat, dead eyes of hired muscle.

"Please," the man said, gesturing inside. "He's waiting."

Every instinct screamed at me to run. But I'd come this far. I'd sacrificed everything—my marriage, my peace, my sanity—to find the truth. I couldn't stop now.

The penthouse was even more opulent inside, a cathedral of modern luxury designed to intimidate. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city—the same city where my husband had died. I wondered if Viktor watched the river from here. If he'd watched Marcus's car sink beneath the water.

The man led me to a study at the end of a long hallway. The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp on an antique desk. Behind that desk sat a figure—a man in his sixties, with silver hair and a face that might have been handsome once but was now carved into lines of cruelty.

"Ms. Sterling," Viktor Volkov said, his voice smooth as poisoned honey. "I must admit, I'm impressed. Most people spend years trying to find me. You did it in a matter of weeks."

I forced myself to meet his gaze. "You killed my husband."

Viktor smiled, and it was the most chilling thing I'd ever seen. "No, my dear. I didn't kill your husband. I simply... provided him with an opportunity."

"An opportunity?"

"To be free of the debts he owed. To protect his precious company. To preserve the comfortable life of his beautiful, unsuspecting wife." Viktor leaned forward, his eyes glittering with amusement. "I offered Marcus a way out. And he took it."

My stomach dropped. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, Ms. Sterling, that your husband's death wasn't murder." Viktor's smile widened. "It was suicide. And I have the video footage to prove it."