The Game Changes

Today, Nocturne's night crowd carried the usual mix of power players and social climbers. The music stayed low, the lighting remained dim, the conversations continued in careful undertones. The perfect camouflage for the deals being made and alliances being formed.

Tatiana spotted Massimiliano the moment he stepped off the elevator. Three nights in a row, breaking his usual pattern of twice-weekly appearances. The deviation told her everything she needed to know about his level of interest.

Time to adjust the approach.

She'd spent years studying him from afar. His habits, preferences, weaknesses. The way he carried himself confident but watchful. The way he assessed everyone in a room before settling. The careful control he maintained over his expressions, his movements, his reactions.

Now she needed him distracted. Needed him to see her as intriguing but harmless.

"Jack and soda, please," a Wall Street type in a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit requested, leaning against the bar. His jawline could cut glass, cashmere sweater doing nothing to hide his athletic build.

Tatiana a warm but professional smile before reaching for the bottle. As she poured, she deliberately let her hand slip. Just enough for a splash of liquor to hit the bar top.

"Shit, sorry." She grabbed a cloth, mopping up the small spill with an embarrassed laugh. "Guess I need more coffee."

The man chuckled, clearly pleased by this flash of imperfection. Men like him loved competent women who occasionally needed rescuing.

She felt Massimiliano's eyes on her from across the room. Watching. Assessing.

Good.

For the next hour, she maintained the performance. Efficient but not flawless. She deliberately dropped a cocktail shaker, fumbled a garnish, mixed two orders. Small, humanizing mistakes that any normal bartender might make during a busy shift.

Nothing that would get her fired. Nothing that would make her forgettable. Just enough imperfection to seem genuine.

When the crowd thinned slightly, Massimiliano approached the bar, sliding onto a stool at the far end. He wore charcoal gray tonight. Brioni, if she had to guess. No tie. Two buttons open at the collar. The faint scar along his jawline catching the low light.

"Rough night?" he asked, nodding toward the shaker she'd dropped earlier.

Tatiana gave a rueful smile. "Just one of those shifts. What can I get you?"

"The usual." He studied her face with unsettling intensity. "Though maybe I should ask for something simpler. Wouldn't want to overtax you."

The mockery was subtle. He's testing, probing for a reaction.

She maintained her smile as she poured his whiskey. "I think I can manage two fingers neat, Mr. De Luca. Unless you'd prefer a juice box?"

That earned her a flash of genuine amusement that gone almost before it appeared. But she'd caught it. A crack in the armor.

As she placed his drink before him, her hand trembled slightly Another calculated slip.

"Where'd you learn to mix drinks?" he asked, voice casual but eyes sharp.

Tatiana grinned, wiping down the bar. "Prison. Taught the guards how to make a mean Manhattan."

"Funny." His gaze never wavered.

"I try." She moved to serve another customer, deliberately creating space between them.

Throughout the night, she caught him watching her between conversations during meetings with associates. Even when he should have been focused elsewhere, his attention never fully left her for long.

After serving an order of champagne to a table of corporate lawyers, she returned to find him still at the bar, swirling the last of his whiskey.

"Another?" she asked.

"Please." He pushed his glass forward. "You seem... different tonight. There's something new about you everyday."

"Different how?" She reached for the bottle, keeping her movements casual.

"More relaxed. Less...perfect."

The observation hung between them,too accurate to be comfortable.

She gave a light laugh. "Maybe I'm finally getting used to the place. Or maybe I'm just exhausted. Been a long week."

"What keeps you busy outside of here?" His tone was conversational, but the question was anything but casual.

"The usual. Groceries. Laundry. Netflix." She shrugged. "Thrilling stuff."

"No boyfriend?" He paused. "Girlfriend?" He leaned forward slightly. "Hard to believe someone who looks like you goes home alone."

The flirtation was obvious and deliberate, a shift in tactics on his side. After her escape from his car, he had changed his approach. Less demanding, more seductive. And she couldn't decide which is worse.

"I prefer it that way." She met his gaze without flinching. "Relationships are messy."

"They can be." His eyes traveled over her face, lingering on her lips. "Or they can be mutually beneficial."

"Is that what you offer, Mr. De Luca? Benefits?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Among other things." His voice dropped lower, intimate. "I think we could... enjoy each other's company."

"I'm enjoying it right now." She gestured to the bar between them. "Professional boundaries intact."

"Professional boundaries are overrated."

"So is casual sex with the boss." She smiled to soften the rejection. "But thanks for the offer."

Instead of irritation, she saw appreciation flash across his features. Perhaps respect for her directness. Or perhaps he's just simply enjoying the chase.

"The offer stands." He finished his drink. "When you change your mind."

"If I change my mind."

"When." He stood, adjusting his cuffs. "I'll see you tomorrow night, Tatiana."

After he departed, she maintained her performance - the slightly clumsy, entirely normal bartender who'd caught the eye of someone powerful. Just another pretty girl being pursued by a dangerous man. Nothing suspicious. Nothing remarkable.

But inside, calculations whirred. Massimiliano's interest had shifted from casual to focused. His investigation was accelerating. She could feel it in the precision of his questions and the intensity of his observation.

She needed to stay ahead of him. Just enough to keep him intrigued but not enough to confirm his suspicions.

The game was changing. So she would change with it.

––––––––––

Massimiliano settled into the back of his Bentley, the privacy partition already raised between him and his driver. Antonio sat beside him, tapping through information on a tablet.

"Report," Massimiliano said, his mind still on the bartender who continued to be both irritating and fascinating in equal measure.

"Background checks on Tatiana Hayes still show the same clean history. Too clean." Antonio swiped through documents. "Employment verifications are solid on paper but inconsistent when we interview in person. Her college records exist but show minimal engagement, just enough credits to establish presence without actually graduating."

"Constructed, then."

"Expertly." Antonio nodded. "Better than typical witness protection or undercover work. This took years to build."

Massimiliano stared out at the passing city lights, thoughts turning over possibilities. "And the Moretti connection?"

"Still gathering information. Records on Alessandro Moretti's family are sparse after his death. Wife disappeared, daughter reportedly sent to relatives in Europe. Official records indicate she died shortly after, there's even a death certificate on file." Antonio looked up from the tablet. "We're still compiling the complete history."

Massimiliano's brow furrowed. "Tatiana Moretti? Dead? Just like that?" His voice was quiet, but the skepticism was evident. "What's the listed cause?"​

"Pneumonia," Antonio replied. "According to the documentation, she was sickly after her father's death. Died at ten years old. Buried in a small cemetery in Antsiferovo, a village in Moscow Oblast."​

Massimiliano exhaled slowly, turning his gaze back to the passing cityscape. Something about it felt too neat. Too easy.​

"Find out who signed off on that death certificate." He paused. "And expand the search. Look into Vera Volkov as well."

"Volkov? The wife?" Antonio's surprise was evident. "You think she's involved?"

Massimiliano's expression remained unreadable. "Just covering all possibilities."

The truth was more complicated. Recent intelligence had suggested Vera Volkov might still be alive. He hadn't shared this piece of information with anyone, not even Antonio. If true, it would explain his father's increasingly erratic behavior in recent months. Lorenzo De Luca had always been obsessed with Vera, even years after her disappearance.

But could the bartender really be Tatiana Moretti? It seemed absurd. Too obvious, too reckless. Why would she use her real first name? Why approach him directly? Why now, after all these years?

And yet...there was something about her. Something familiar that nagged at the edges of his memory. The way she held herself. The flash of defiance in her eyes when challenged. The calculated precision beneath her casual demeanor.

Plus, if the death certificate was fabricated...

"Sir?" Antonio's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Continue the surveillance. Quietly." Massimiliano made a decision. "And I want a DNA sample. Hair, glass, anything she's touched."

"Understood." Antonio made a note. "We should have preliminary results from the Moretti files by tomorrow morning."

As the car pulled up to his building, Massimiliano stepped out into the cool night air, his mind still turning over possibilities. If the bartender was indeed Tatiana Moretti, what was her endgame? Revenge? Information? Access to Lorenzo?

Whatever her motives, he'd uncover them. And when he did...

Well, that would depend entirely on what he found.

––––––––––

Tatiana sensed the tail three blocks from Nocturne. Two men, professional but not invisible. Massimiliano wasn't taking chances anymore.

She maintained her usual route toward the Chelsea apartment maintaining causual pace and relaxed posture. Nothing to suggest she'd spotted them. Behind her, she knew her own security, Viktor and Alexei, were tracking the situation from an unmarked van, ready to intervene if necessary.

The familiar rhythm of counter-surveillance settled her. This was expected. Predictable even. She would have been disappointed if Massimiliano hadn't escalated his investigation.

She stopped at a bodega, buying a pint of ice cream and exchanging pleasantries with the owner. All part of her established routine. She then continued to the apartment building, nodding to the doorman as she entered.

The elevator ride to the fourth floor gave her a moment to center herself. Once inside the apartment, she performed her evening ritual with deliberate normality. Changing clothes, washing her face, turning on the television to provide background noise in case anyone was listening.

After confirming everything is normal, only then did she conduct a sweep for surveillance devices.

She found nothing. They had been careful. Either they hadn't placed bugs yet, or they were waiting to enter when she left again. Either way, the apartment remained secure as the shell it was intended to be.

Sitting cross-legged on the couch, ice cream in hand, she dialed a number on a burner phone she kept hidden in a hollowed-out book.

Viktor answered on the first ring. "Secure?"

"Yes." She took a bite of ice cream, maintaining the casual appearance in case of visual surveillance. "Status?"

"De Luca's men maintained distance. No approach. Basic observation only." Viktor's voice came through clearly. "They're still outside now. One in a sedan across the street, one in the lobby posing as a resident."

"Expected." She twirled her spoon absently. "Updates on their investigation?"

"They're digging deep." Viktor's tone grew more serious. "Not just into Hayes or Moretti backgrounds now. They've expanded their search significantly."

"How so?"

"They're looking into Vera Volkov."

The spoon froze halfway to her mouth, her brows furrowed. "My mother? Why would they..."

"Unclear." Viktor paused. "But it's coming from Massimiliano directly, not Lorenzo. Very specific requests for information on her possible whereabouts, recent sightings, known associates."

Tatiana set down the ice cream, mind racing. For fifteen years, she'd been searching for any trace of her mother, convinced the De Lucas had killed her the same night they murdered her father. She'd found nothing. Not a grave, not a witness, not a single clue.

"That doesn't make sense." She kept her voice low. "Why would Massimiliano be looking for her now? After all this time?"

"There's more." Viktor hesitated. "Based on intercepted communications, it appears he believes she might be alive."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Alive? After all these years?

"Impossible." She stood, pacing the small living room. "If she were alive, why wouldn't she have contacted me? Why disappear for twenty-six years?"

"Unknown. But De Luca's search parameters suggest recent intelligence. He's looking in very specific locations mainly southern France and northern Italy. Areas where there have been unconfirmed sightings within the past year."

Tatiana stopped by the window, staring unseeing at the street below. If her mother was alive...if she'd abandoned Tatiana that night...

No. It couldn't be. This had to be misdirection. 

"Keep monitoring their investigation." She forced her voice to remain steady. "I want to know everything they find. About Hayes, Moretti, and especially Volkov. If they have information about my mother that I don't, I want it."

"Understood." Viktor paused. "What about the operation against the shipment?"

"Proceeds as planned." Her resolve hardened. "Nothing changes. If anything, we accelerate."

After ending the call, Tatiana remained by the window, thoughts tumbling over each other like stones in a landslide. The possibility that her mother might be alive and might have chosen to disappear rather than stay with her daughter had opened wounds she'd thought long scarred over.

But more immediately confusing: why would Massimiliano be hunting Vera Volkov? What could he possibly want with her mother after all these years?

Something didn't add up. The De Lucas had taken everything from her. Her father, her home, her identity. She'd always assumed they'd taken her mother too.

If they hadn't...if Vera had fled...if she was still out there somewhere...

The implications were too disturbing to contemplate fully. Every certainty Tatiana had built her revenge upon suddenly felt less solid, less absolute.

She returned to the couch, picking up the melting ice cream more for appearance's sake than appetite. Whatever game Massimiliano was playing with his search for Vera, she couldn't let it distract her from her purpose.

The De Lucas would pay for destroying her family. That hadn't changed.

But now, for the first time in years, Tatiana found herself with questions that had nothing to do with revenge.