The Romanov Enigma: Shadow of a Ghost

Polina’s question hung in the air, thick with the weight of a history that was supposed to be buried under decades of snow and revolution. She stared at me through the mirror, her fingers trembling as they hovered near my face.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about," I said, my voice dropping into a low tone. I didn't flinch nor did I blink. I simply met her gaze with a coldness that made the air between us turn brittle. "I came here for a service, Polina. I suggest you focus on doing it."

Polina swallowed hard, the color draining from her cheeks. She knew she had stepped over an invisible line, one where the penalty for curiosity was often permanent. She didn't apologize—we both knew an apology would only confirm the suspicion—but she fell into a stony, frantic silence.

She returned to the tiny bowl of black dye, her movements robotic now. She applied the dye to my eyebrows with meticulous, shaking hands, coating the pale arches until they looked like ink strokes against my skin.

"The processing time for the brows is shorter than the time for your hair," she said. "I’ll start the hair now, but I’ll pause to clean the dye off before they stain the skin too deeply."

"Do what you need to do," I replied.

She began the arduous process of burying the blonde. She worked with a feverish intensity, sectioning my hair and painting on the heavy, midnight-black cream. The scent of ammonia was sharp, stinging my nostrils, but I welcomed it. It smelled like erasure.

Halfway through the application, Polina glanced at the station timer. Without a word, she set down her brush and grabbed a stack of cotton pads soaked in cleanser. She leaned in—close enough for me to see the pulse jumping in her neck—and began to wipe the dye from my eyebrows.

As the black dye came away, the transformation began to take shape. The contrast of the stark, black brows against my pale skin made my eyes look piercing, almost predatory. I looked less like a victim on the run and more like the shadow that hunts them.

"Beautiful," she said, the word accidentally slipping out as she finished wiping the dye off of my second brow.

"Please just finish my hair, Polina," I commanded softly.

She nodded quickly and picked up the larger bowl. She worked the rest of the dye through the lengths of my new bob, ensuring every strand of my former life was submerged in ink. When she finally finished, she stepped back, her chest heaving slightly.

She reached for the station timer, twisting the dial to forty-five minutes. "I think it will take less," she noted. "Your hair is fine; the dye should take quickly."

I looked at her through the mirror, my expression flat. "With how light my hair is, if you do less time, it will pull red rather than black. Run the full time, then check a small section."

Polina paused, then nodded slowly. "You’re right. The undertones would be a disaster."

She waited, the mechanical ticking of the timer the only sound between us for almost an hour. She spent some time to sweep up my hair and swept it into the incinerator. When the timer finally chimed, she pulled a small section of hair from the nape of my neck and wiped away the cream. She frowned slightly. "It’s dark, but under this light, I see some red undertones.”

"Fifteen minutes longer, I guess," I said.

She set the timer. We sat in a heavy, expectant silence until the final chime rang out. This time, when she checked another small section, a tiny smile touched her lips. "It is perfect. Your hair is blacker than your soul now."

"Good," I said, standing up. "Let's wash out the dye then."

We moved to the sink for Polina to wash and condition my hair. During the process, the water ran a dark river swirling down the drain. Once the water ran clear from the excess dye, shampoo and conditioner, we returned to her station. The roar of the blow-dryer filled the room as she styled the sleek bob, the black hair swinging with a healthy, dangerous luster.

Before I could stand to leave, she reached into a cabinet and pulled out several professional-grade bottles of both shampoo and conditioner. "These should be enough product to protect the color and the health of your hair for a long time," she said, placing them in a small bag. "Given what I think you've been through, this is on me."

"Thank you," I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out three thousand rubles, set them on the station.

Polina looked at the money and immediately shook her head, her hands up in a gesture of refusal. "No, please. It was a pleasure."

I simply raised my eyebrow again—the same commanding look that had broken her resolve earlier. Her hand hovered for a second before she quietly took the bills and tucked them away.

"Thank you, Marie Alexandrovich," she whispered. “Good luck.”

I nodded my head but didn't give a verbal answer. I turned and walked out the door, the weight of the black hair unfamiliar but right. I stepped into the biting Moscow wind and began the walk back toward the safehouse, a ghost finally wearing the right shroud.

When I reached the safehouse, the air inside was still heavy with the scent of dust and Bob’s expensive espresso, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. I moved through the rooms with a predator’s caution, checking the locks and the shadows. The apartment was empty. Maybe he’d gone out to make good on his promises or perhaps he was just keeping his own secrets.

I found a scrap of paper on the kitchen counter and scribbled a short note.

Came back from my errand looking a little different but you weren’t here. Staying elsewhere for the night but still local. If my friend Sera calls, take her for her word.

I left it pinned under a heavy glass ashtray where he couldn't miss it. I checked the blade in my boot, grabbed a few things and shoved them in a bag, adjusted the weight of my coat, and slipped back out into the darkening city.

The Moscow twilight was a deep, bruised purple. As I walked, I pulled my phone from my pocket and felt the cold metal bite into my palm. My thumb hovered over the encrypted messaging app. I needed to know. I needed to see if the ties I’d tried to cut were still holding.

I typed out a message to Sera: Is Vic still in Russia?

I didn't wait for a reply. I shoved the phone back into my pocket and turned toward the Metropol. It was the hotel I had practically lived in before I found the safehouse that I now know that Bob and I have shared in passing - a place of high ceilings, velvet curtains, and enough anonymity to hide a dozen scandals.

Passing a shop window, I caught my reflection. The woman staring back at me was sharp-edged and unrecognizable. The black bob moved perfectly, framing a face that looked like it belonged to a legend rather than a fugitive.

My phone buzzed. I stopped under the amber glow of a streetlamp, my breath blooming in the air like smoke, and looked at the screen.

He’s still here, Sera replied. Tearing Russia apart looking for you. He’s blind with rage trying to find you, Marie. He has no idea where you are.

A cold, familiar thrill raced through me. Do you have eyes on me right now? I typed back.

The response was instantaneous. I always have eyes on you.

Send him to me, I commanded. The Metropol Hotel. I'll be here for twenty four hours.

Copy that, she sent.

I pocketed the phone and straightened my shoulders. The walk was short, the snow beginning to fall in fat, lazy flakes that vanished against my dark coat. By the time I reached the grand entrance of the hotel, my heart was a steady, rhythmic drum. I stepped through the revolving doors, the warmth of the lobby embracing me.

I walked up to the reception desk, my expression unreadable. The clerk didn't recognize the dark-haired woman before him, which was exactly the point.

"Check-in," I said. "The name is DeppGrl Smith."

The clerk tapped at his keyboard for a moment, then nodded. "Welcome back, Ms. Smith. We have your preferred room ready."

I took the key card and headed for the elevators. The room was exactly as I remembered—opulent, quiet, and smelling of beeswax and history. Once the door clicked shut, I finally let out a long, jagged breath. I kicked off my shoes, the plush carpet a relief against my aching feet, and started to unbutton my coat.

A sudden, heavy pounding at the door made me freeze. It wasn't the polite knock of room service; it was urgent, demanding.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Sera: It's Gleb Botkin - the grandson - knocking at the door.

I walked to the door, my movements silent, and looked through the peephole. It was him, looking just as frantic as the messages suggested. I took a breath, reached for the handle, and opened the door.

"Come in," I said, stepping back to let him pass. I closed the door and turned the lock behind him, the finality of the sound echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

"I apologize for startling you," Gleb said, his voice breathless as he smoothed his coat. "But I've paid the staff here for years to let me know the moment you book a room under that name."

I looked at him, my expression flat. "What was so important that you had to hunt me down within minutes of my arrival?"

"Val is on a warpath," he said, pacing a small line near the foot of the bed. "You left without a note, Marie. She’s furious. She’s now incapable of using her inherited talent to find you—it's like you've completely vanished from her radar. And to top it off, she didn't win Vic over completely like she usually does with men. He’s immune to her, and she can't stand it. I think it’s because you left and cut ties with her."

I leaned against the dresser, crossing my arms. "And what exactly does Val's ego have to do with me?"

"Because Vic has been tearing Russia apart looking for you," Gleb said, stopping his pacing to look at me. "He's obsessed."

"I know," I said calmly. "He’s been my lover for years."

Gleb blinked, surprised by my composure. "What are you going to do with him, Marie?"

"I'm sending Vic home," I told him then I lied about Boris. "And I'm using whatever contacts I still have to get Boris into prison."

Gleb watched me for a long moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I can help you with Boris. I have the channels to move someone like him without triggering any alarms." He paused, his eyes twinkling. "But it’ll cost you."

I narrowed my eyes. "What's the cost, Gleb?"

He looked toward the door, then back at me. "The cost is a cup of coffee from the bar. I’ve had a very long day."

I watched him as he spoke, but my attention kept shifting to his eyes. He couldn't keep them off the door; every few seconds, his gaze flickered toward the heavy wood as if he were waiting for it to splinter.

"Why do you keep glancing at the door, Gleb?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave. "Are you expecting someone?"

Gleb stiffened, his hand hovering over his pocket. "I’ve got your brother with me," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

I felt a flash of cold anger. "I don't believe you."

"Marie, I swear—"

"Go down to the bar, Gleb," I interrupted, my tone icy. "Ask them what the bartenders means by a 'cup of coffee.' Then come back and tell me if you still want to play these games."

Gleb hesitated, his face turning a shade paler. "You're sending me to the wolves, Marie," he muttered, but I didn't answer. He turned and hurried out of the room. I waited in the silence, my hand resting on the hilt of the blade in my boot. Moments later, the desk phone chirped with a sharp, mechanical ring. I picked it up.

"Ms. Smith?" the bartender’s voice was smooth, professional, and slightly cautious. "I have a Mr. Gleb Botkin here. He is inquiring about the meaning of a 'cup of coffee.' Did you authorize this specific request?"

"I did," I replied, my voice steady. "Tell him exactly what it means."

"Very well," he said. I hung up the phone with a sharp click.

Five minutes later, Gleb returned. He didn't come in all the way; he stood in the doorway, his eyes wide and haunted. "It meant consuming a deadly amount of cyanide, Marie," he whispered, his voice shaking. "A 'cup of coffee' is a suicide wish."

"Leave," I said, my voice as cold as the Siberian wind.

He didn't argue. He turned and vanished into the hallway. Once I had confirmation from Sera that he had truly left the premises and that he didn’t have anyone with him, I shoved my feet back into my shoes, grabbed my overnight bag and grabbed my coat. I headed straight back down to reception.

The clerk from earlier was gone. In his place sat an older man with sharp eyes and a weary, knowing posture. I recognized him—he was one of the few who still remembered the old protocols. I could trust him.

"I’m checking out, Fritz," I said, leaning over the marble counter. “And checking in again.”

He looked up, his eyes narrowing as he scanned my new face. He didn't ask questions. “Yes, Ms. Smith,” he said. "And the new registration?"

"Please check me in as Marie Alexandrovich Romanov," I said.

The air in the lobby seemed to grow still. Fritz didn't flinch. He turned to his computer and began tapping at the keyboard with rhythmic fervor. As he worked for several minutes in silence, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"I've found it," he finally whispered, sliding a new key card across the cold stone. "A room that exists off the main grid. No one else knows about this suite but Serafina, security and myself. And the owner."

I took the metal key, cold against my palm. I nodded my head once, a silent acknowledgment of the risk he was taking. "Thank you, friend."

I headed up to the room that I know very well, following the path through a service elevator that required a physical override key. The hallways here were narrower, the air cooler, smelling of old stone and polished brass. When I reached the door, I entered the suite. It was a time capsule—heavy velvet drapes, a four-poster bed, and a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight.

I locked the door from the inside, the heavy bolt sliding home with a satisfying thud. Finally, the tension that had been holding my spine together since the Kremlin began to unravel. I kicked off my shoes, letting them fall where they may, and peeled the heavy jacket from my shoulders.

I didn't even bother to turn down the sheets. I collapsed onto the bed, the mattress yielding beneath me. Within seconds, the darkness of the room mirrored the darkness behind my eyelids, and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that lasted for hours.

The sharp, persistent ring of my phone pulled me out of the depths of exhaustion. I groaned, fumbling for the device on the nightstand until I saw the caller ID. It was Sera.

"Hello?" I rasped, sitting up and rubbing my face.

"Marie," Sera’s voice was crisp and urgent. "Vic is in Moscow. He's already on his way to the hotel."

I felt a jolt of adrenaline, the last remnants of sleep vanishing instantly. "Does Bob know I'm safe?"

"He does," she confirmed. "He knows you're off the grid for the night and that you'll be back to the safehouse tomorrow. He isn't happy about the secrecy, but he's standing down."

"Thank you, Sera," I said, my mind already calculating the hours. "How is Vic going to know how to find me? I'm under a name that isn't on the official guest registration list. How will he even get past reception and security?"

"He won't need the guest registration list, and he won't be navigating reception and security alone," Sera replied, her tone softening with a rare note of warmth. "I’ll be with him as I’ll be bringing him up personally."

"You?" I breathed, a different kind of ache settling in my chest.

"Me," she said simply.

I smiled. I hung up and stared at the ceiling, the silence of the room suddenly feeling much less lonely. I couldn't wait to see her. Beyond the bloodline and the betrayals, Sera had been the first love of my life. The thought of her presence, alongside Vic’s, was the first thing in days that made the future outside of government work feel like something I actually wanted to see. But as I lay there, waiting for the sound of her key in the lock, a stray thought crossed my mind—with Vic in tow, would Sera and I even have the privacy we needed to fuck, or would his desire to beg for forgiveness and fucking take me away from Sera.

I pushed the thought out of my head and forced myself to stand. My body felt heavy, a dull ache lingering in my joints from the days of running, but the anticipation of what was coming acted like a secondary heartbeat. I moved toward the bathroom, stripping away the clothes that still smelled faintly of salon chemicals and Moscow's winter. Thankfully, all my shower and oral health supplies were still here in the bathroom tucked away exactly where I had left them just before the New Zealand trip. Seeing the familiar labels felt like a strange anchor to a version of myself that hadn't been a fugitive.

I stepped into the shower, turning the handle until the water was scalding, letting the heat punish the tension out of my muscles. I scrubbed my skin until it was red, feeling the residue of the day wash down the drain like a dark memory. Eventually, I turned off the water, wrapped a bath towel around my body and a smaller towel around my hair.

After the long, hot shower, I leaned over the sink and brushed my teeth with a feverish intensity, the minty sting a welcome contrast to from when Sera woke me up with her call.

When I hung up the towels, I was relieved to see that the black dye hadn’t bled onto the plush white fabric; Polina’s work was as permanent as a vow. I dressed slowly, choosing simple black leggings and an oversized grey sweatshirt that made me feel small but shielded. I brushed through the new black bob, watching the sharp edges swing against my jaw. I looked like a different woman, but when I finally walked back into the main room of the suite, the vibration of my phone on the nightstand reminded me that the past was already at the door. I picked it up, checking the caller ID. It was Sera. My thumb hovered over the answer button, my pulse quickening.

“We’re almost there. Give us about fifteen minutes,” she said before hanging up.

In the meantime, I picked up my dirty clothes and put them in a pile near my overnight bag. I hung up my jacket and looked around to see if there was anything else that I needed to do before they arrived but everything looked good. I sprayed on a little bit of Sera’s favorite perfume of mine that I owned. After not seeing each other in nearly thirteen years, I wanted to look and smell my best for her.

The silence of the hotel room was broken by a sharp, rhythmic knocking. Before I could even call out, the door swung open. Sera led the way, her eyes immediately locking onto mine with a fierce intensity. Behind her followed Vic and K—two men from different parts of my life, both looking like they’d seen a ghost.

Sera didn't hesitate. We crossed the distance between us in a blurred rush, colliding in a hug that felt like coming home. She pulled back just enough to frame my face in her hands, her thumbs tracing my cheekbones before she pressed her lips to mine. It was a gentle kiss at first, tasting of relief, but it quickly sharpened into something more passionate. I nipped at her bottom lip, a playful spark that ignited a deeper, hungrier kiss.

“It’s so good to see you, Sera,” I whispered against her lips as we finally broke for air. I cast a sideways glance at the two men standing awkwardly by the door. “Honestly... I was hoping we’d be alone.”

Sera smoothed my hair, her eyes glowing. “It’s been far too long. Do you remember the last night we were together?”

A slow, wicked smile spread across my face. “I do. We spent the entire night fucking and coming until neither of us could move.”

“It was the best night of my life,” she whispered. “Even over marrying my wife.”

We shared a knowing look before I stepped out of her embrace to acknowledge K. I’d heard rumors that she’d married but clearly, it was something that we never talked about…she didn’t want to hurt me. He looked older, more rugged, but his eyes still held that familiar warmth. I stepped close and as we hugged, I leaned in until my lips brushed his ear.

“I hope we can find some time for ourselves tonight,” I whispered.

K’s voice was a low rumble, thick with genuine longing. “I wish the same. It’s been years, and seeing you now... I don't want to let you out of my sight.” I gave him a slow, deliberate wink, feeling the heat rise between us.

Then, my gaze turned cold as I looked at Vic. I gave him a sharp, dismissive head nod. The atmosphere in the room plummeted. Without a word, Vic sank to his knees, his head bowed in a posture of desperate supplication.

“Forgive me,” he choked out. “Please forgive me and my time with Val. I was weak as I was under her spell. She said that you wouldn’t find out. Please, just give me your forgiveness.”

“You don’t have it,” I said, my voice like ice. “And you’re not getting it. You continuously betrayed your wife with me and she lets it slide. However, you betraying me with someone I trusted is unforgiveable. You’ve seen me; you know I’m breathing. Now, go home to your wife. You’ve overstayed your welcome in my life.”

Vic looked up, a desperate glint in his eyes. “I know your secret now. I know who you are.”

I leaned down, my face inches from his. “If that secret leaves this room, or even your own head, there are going to be issues for you that you can’t imagine. Keep your mouth shut and your life might stay intact.”

Vic swallowed hard, nodding frantically. He stood and retreated into the hallway, unable to meet my eyes. Sera stepped in, giving me one last lingering kiss.

“I’m taking him to the airport myself,” she said, her voice firm. “I’m putting him on a plane back home. K will be staying the night with you.”

As she ushered Vic out and closed the door, her muffled voice echoed through the wood, sharp and biting: “You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, Vic. Cheating on your wife is one thing, but doing that to her? After everything she’s done for you and the strings she pulled for you? You’ll be lucky if I can get you out of here in one piece and even luckier if I can get you back to your wife!”

The click of the lock signaled our privacy. I turned to K, the tension from Vic’s presence melting away. “Are you sure that you want to stay here with me for the rest of the night?”

“There’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be,” K replied.

“Good,” I said, stepping closer. “There’s something you should know. I’m in the process of starting a medication-induced abortion. It’s happening, but it shouldn’t interfere with us though I’m due for the next set of pills soon but I don't want to wait.”

K didn't flinch. He reached out, his large hand cupping the back of my neck. “I don’t plan on stopping. If it takes all night, or if we have to stay an extra night to make sure you’re okay and we’re satisfied, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“We’ll have to take a few minute break so I can take the rest of the pills,” I gently reminded him.

“Of course,” he said as he kissed me.

The clothes were gone in moments. When we hit the bed, I settled onto my back, spreading my legs wide and inviting him in. K was a force of nature. He began by worshiping my body, his mouth finding my tits, biting and squeezing with a possessive hunger.

“K... please,” I moaned his name, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He responded by biting harder, his hands bruising my skin in the best way possible. I reached down, my hand closing around his dick—it was massively thick, pulsing with a life of its own. As I started to stroke him, he let out a guttural scream.

“Deppgrl!”

He mounted me then, sliding into my still-swollen, sensitive pussy. The friction was intense, and he came almost instantly, his body shuddering against mine. He didn't pull out; instead, he started to move, a slow, deliberate grind.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” he groaned, his pace picking up into a rhythmic pounding.

The night became a blur of motion and sweat. K was tireless. He fucked me for hours, moving from the intimacy of missionary to the raw depth of doggystyle. We moved across every inch of the suite—pressed against the cold glass of the windows, draped over the couches, slick with water in the shower. We reclaimed the kitchen table, the chairs, and even the desk where I once killed a man many years ago. Part way through, we took a few minute break so I could take the last of the pills then we resumed our fucking.

Every time I thought he was spent and out of cum, he found more. I lost count of how many times I came against his dick, and he seemed determined to fill me until I couldn't take any more.

By noon the next day, the sun was high and the room was a wreck of discarded sheets and memories. He finally emptied his balls deep inside me one last time. We stayed tangled together for a long while, breathing in sync.

Eventually, the world called us back. We showered together, the water washing away the salt and excess, and dressed in a comfortable silence. We packed our bags, the weight of the night still heavy and sweet in the air.

At the door, we shared one last look. It wasn't a goodbye, just a transition. I headed toward the safe house to disappear from his life again, and K turned back toward the life he kept with his second wife, both of us carrying the marks of a night that had been years in the making.