10

The ball was the last thing on her mind as Leila left the office. She’d just made a deal with a man who wore murder like an expensive suit, and now she had to figure out how to get out of it without ending up in a ditch somewhere.

As she walked back down the dim corridor, her head spun. She didn’t plan on killing anyone. She just had to outsmart them. The Rulers might be powerful, but they weren’t the brightest bulbs in the chandelier.

Leila climbed into her snowmobile, trying to calm the pounding in her chest. She’d just signed herself up for a deadly game, and her life—other than that—was perfectly normal. She needed to research her target, find out who this K.B. was, and figure out how to play the game without getting caught.

But as she thought back to the encrypted notebook, a horrifying realization hit her. This wasn’t some academic journal—it was the diary of a hired killer. The Rulers had sent someone to murder her aunt Christina, and now they were asking Leila to do the same dirty work.

Leila was angry, but anger wasn’t going to help her here. She had to stay smart. She had to figure out who was protecting her aunt—because someone was. That much was clear. She had started calling them the Guardian Angel, but who they were, she didn’t know.

She flipped through the notebook, looking for answers, and then she found it—a scribbled phone number in the corner of one page. It wasn’t encrypted. A UK mobile number.

Leila hesitated for a moment before dialing. It rang twice before a male voice, older, picked up.

“Hello?” the voice said, calm, almost too calm.

Leila took a deep breath. “Hi. I’m sorry to bother you. I found this number in a notebook that belonged to someone who’s dead. I’m trying to figure out who he was.”

There was a pause, and the man’s tone shifted, colder. “And who are you?”

“My name is Leila,” she said. “I’m helping the police.”

The man’s voice turned harsh, cutting. “Well, Leila, whoever that man was, he got what he deserved.”

“What do you mean?” Leila asked, her voice steady.

“I mean he had it coming,” the old man snapped. “If you’re smart, you’ll stay out of this.”

Before Leila could respond, the line went dead. She stared at her phone, a chill running down her spine. Whoever that man was, he knew more than he was letting on.

And then she felt it. Someone was behind her.

She turned, her heart skipping a beat. A man stood in the doorway. Tall, muscular, with piercing blue eyes and a smile that didn’t quite belong on someone delivering bad news.

“Who are you?” Leila demanded, the fear rising in her throat.

“Relax,” he said, stepping forward, his smile widening. “I’m the one who killed him.”

Leila’s blood ran cold. The man in her aunt’s house was the killer. But why was he here? And why was he telling her?

“Don’t worry,” the man said, his voice turning icy. “I took care of him because he came here to kill. Big mistake.”

Leila’s mind raced, questions piling up faster than she could think. “What do you want?”

“Just take care of your dog and forget about Grossman,” he said, smirking down at Wolfie, who hadn’t even stirred from his nap by the fireplace.

With that, the man turned and left, leaving Leila alone with her thoughts. She couldn’t sleep that night. Couldn’t shake the feeling that the doors she locked weren’t going to keep anyone out.

She went downstairs and baked an apple strudel. Leila spent the rest of the night in the kitchen, wrestling with her thoughts and a batch of apples. By morning, the house smelled like cinnamon and decisions she wasn’t ready to make. The snow outside was thick, blanketing the mountains like someone had shaken up a giant snow globe. She sat down to breakfast, the strudel as perfect as you could ask for, but her appetite wasn’t really on board. Still, she ate—there wasn’t much else to do when you’d baked half the night away.

The air outside was crisp, but not cold enough to bite. She took Wolfie out for a walk, strolling through the snow-covered mountain path, trying to clear her head. She even bumped into Nosy Dick, the ex-banker who had nothing better to do than stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Today, though, he wasn’t that nosy. In fact, the old Englishman almost seemed civil, talking about the snow and the upcoming ski season like he hadn’t been spying on Leila for days.

But as she turned to head back to the chalet, a creeping unease settled in. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him—tall, athletic, dark hair, blue eyes that looked too familiar. He was following her, and she was dead certain he was the guy from the night before. The one who had casually admitted to murder in her aunt’s house. Her pace quickened, but he wasn’t in any hurry. He followed her with the lazy confidence of a man who didn’t care if he got caught.

Leila stopped and turned to face him, her voice sharper than she felt. “Who are you?”

The man’s smirk widened. His eyes gleamed like he was having the time of his life. “I’m the person you’re looking for.”

Leila felt her stomach tighten. “Do I look like I’m looking for someone?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled out a small notebook from his pocket, holding it up like he was offering a cigarette at a poker table. “I took this off a guy in Munich two months ago. The one who didn’t make it out alive. Thought you’d want to see it.”

She took the notebook, flipping through the pages cautiously. The encryption was familiar, and as far as she could tell, it was the real deal. Her hands shook a little as she asked again, “Who are you?”

The man’s grin spread like oil on water. “I’m the murderer you’ve been trying to track down.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. “How convenient. Why are you here?”

He took a step closer, his aftershave cutting through the crisp air. “I know what you’re up to, Leila,” he whispered, his breath warm on her ear. His eyes flicked toward Wolfie, as if the dog was in on the secret. “I can help you fool The Rulers.”

Leila’s mind spun, but she tried to keep her cool. “And how do I know I can trust you?”

The man locked eyes with her, and for a moment, she thought she saw something genuine. Then it was gone. “You don’t,” he said simply. “But I promise you this—I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. And your aunt. And Wolfie.” He added the last part like it was an afterthought, but Wolfie didn’t seem to mind.

Leila nodded slowly, still trying to size him up. The guy had charm, she’d give him that. “Alright,” she said, tucking the notebook under her arm. “What’s next?”

The man started walking beside Wolfie, like they were old friends. “First, we need to figure out who the other players are. Then we expose them. All of them.”

Leila walked beside him, feeling a strange calm settle over her. “So, tell me,” she asked. “Why do they kill? What’s the endgame here?”

The man’s smirk softened, like he was letting her in on a joke only a few people got. “Money. Power. Control. They want to run the show, and they’ll stop at nothing to make it happen. Democracy? It’s a punchline to them. They think they’re the only ones who know how to pull the strings. Welcome to the Middle Ages, Delia.”

Leila flinched. Another guy who couldn’t remember her name. Charming, she thought, shaking her head. “So what’s their weakness? There’s always a weakness.”

He smiled like a cat who had just caught a bird. “The Rulers are obsessed with an ancient artifact. They’ve got money, they’ve got power, but they’re superstitious to the core. Without this artifact, they think their whole plan falls apart.”

“Like Nazi Germany?” Leila asked, her brow furrowing.

“Exactly,” he said, his grin widening. “We just need to find that artifact. Or at least make them think we have.”

Leila’s mind was racing now. “We could forge it.”

“No good,” he said. “They’ve got experts who’d spot a fake faster than you could blink.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“The plan is to let them make the first move. That’s when they’ll screw up. The danger is if one of the smarter Rulers stops believing in the artifact altogether. Then we’re in trouble.”

Leila narrowed her eyes. “What exactly are they planning?”

The man’s smile faded just a bit. “That’s a longer story. But right now, we need to focus on your aunt. Christina gets out of the hospital in three days, and we need to keep her safe.”

Leila’s voice dropped. “Why do they want to kill her?”

The man didn’t answer. He just stroked Wolfie’s head, his silence heavier than words. After a moment, Leila broke the tension. “What’s your name, anyway?”

He looked at her, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Gerard Weinrich.”

Of course. She should have guessed. “So you’re Gerard—the eccentric student with deadlocks who suddenly turned  fund manager. Bought a place up here to ‘get away from it all,’ right?”

Gerard nodded, like he’d rehearsed the line. “Yep. Needed an excuse to hang around.”

Leila thought about what Nosy Dick had said—how Gerard was just another shady dealer, probably mixed up with the Russians. She could feel a small voice in the back of her mind telling her to be careful. But here he was, standing next to her, Wolfie practically in love with him, offering to help her take down The Rulers.

Leila stared at him, still not entirely convinced. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Gerard flashed that wide grin again. “Shoot.”

“Do you have a lot of Russian clients?”

He laughed, a deep, knowing chuckle. “I knew you’d ask that. Let me guess—Nosy Dick?”

Leila nodded, her cheeks turning a little pink. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry about him,” Gerard said, still grinning. “He’s on our side.”

Leila blinked. Nosy Dick? On our side? She was going to need another slice of strudel to process that one.