Chapter 6 - Shadows in the MountainsI froze. "What do you mean... people Michael was laundering money for?"
Dmitri sighed softly, walking me out of the observation room and down the secure corridor toward his private bulletproof SUV idling in the subterranean garage.
"Michael wasn't just an executive with gambling debts," Dmitri explained as he opened the heavy door for me, his large hand shielding my head as I stepped inside. "Three months ago, my intelligence network flagged his company moving millions through shell corporations tied to the Bratva—specifically, a syndicate operating out of Chicago run by a man named Viktor Petrov."
My breath caught in my throat. "Petrov... Michael was working with the Russian mob?"
"He thought he was being smart," Dmitri said, sliding into the leather seat beside me as the vehicle silently glided out of the parking structure. "He embezzled three million from Petrov’s front company to cover his poker losses. When Petrov found out, he gave Michael an ultimatum: pay back the three million plus interest within six months, or your wife has an unfortunate accident and your life insurance policy covers the debt."
Everything clicked into place with horrifying clarity.
The trip to Rocky Mountain National Park wasn't just Michael’s independent greed. It was a contract execution disguised as an accident. He needed the fifty million to pay off the mob and keep a fortune for himself and Ashley.
"If the federal marshals have Michael and Ashley," I said, my voice trembling slightly as I looked at Dmitri, "won't Petrov realize the insurance money is gone? Won't he come looking for us?"
Dmitri reached across the center console, his warm, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around my cold hand. The touch sent a sudden, electric jolt of comfort straight through my chest.
"Let him come," Dmitri said, his gray eyes flashing with lethal confidence. "Viktor Petrov has been trying to expand into my territory for five years. If he wants to step onto Sokolov land to look for you... he will find out exactly why they call me The Phantom."
We drove in silence for miles, ascending back into the snow-capped privacy of the Colorado mountains. The estate we arrived at wasn't just a house—it was a fortress. Armed sentries stood at the gated perimeter, security cameras swept the tree lines, and the air inside smelled of burning cedar and absolute safety.
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For the first time since that terrible day on the cliff, I felt the tight knot in my chest begin to untie. I was no longer a victim running for my life.
I was protected by a dynasty.
