**Chapter 7: Anastasia** "You can't just waltz into the Vault! This is precisely why I insisted it had to be me," Nikolai's voice crackled through the phone, thick with exasperation. I navigated smoothly through the details of how I had amassed the information, trying to keep the most crucial parts hidden, but we both knew that the next step loomed large and unavoidable. With Nikolai confined under house arrest at Grandmother's estate, I was certain he would remain blissfully unaware of my plans. "Well, it certainly can’t be you. So, are you going to assist me or not?" I massaged my temples, fighting the ever-repeating cycle of our argument that never seemed to reach a resolution. The weight of history loomed over us; never in the annals of the Order had a woman breached the hallowed grounds of the Vault. Bah, blah, blah... “Wait…” “I don’t like the tone of your voice, Ana,” Nikolai interrupted, his tone disapproving yet oddly comforting. Lately, there had been an odd tendency among the men in my life to brandish overly familiar nicknames; it sent a warm, confusing heat coiling in my stomach. My mind briefly wandered to Bash, his gray eyes twinkling with mischief as he knelt before me. I quickly banished those thoughts. “What if everyone is okay with seeing me?” “Just because you’re a Volkov doesn’t change the fact that women are strictly prohibited from entering the Vault.” He sighed, drawing out the breath as if grasping for fragments of patience. I felt a surge of irritation; it churned beneath my skin like a dormant beast. “I know that! That’s precisely why I think masquerading as you could work.” His laughter boomed through the line, and I instinctively pulled the phone away until he finished. “No one in their right mind would mistake you for me. You’re not just thinner; you’re several inches shorter. You may be tall, Ana, but you’re not THAT tall.” He wasn’t wrong—I stood five-foot-ten, and that left me needing a pair of four-inch heels to seal the deal. I mentioned this, and he groaned audibly. “How do you intend to hide those, genius?” “Robes, Nikolai, robes…” I launched into my improvised plan, evading his worried protests with the precision of a dancer rehearsing for a grand performance. “You’re going to let me go through with this, aren’t you?” He sighed again, an affectionate brotherly sigh that pulled at the edges of my guilt. “You’re committed to this madness, aren’t you?” “Absolutely. Now, be a good brother and help me. Unless, of course, you want to see me get caught.” I feigned innocence, knowing full well that desperate times called for desperate measures. “Fine. My robes and mask are in the bottom drawer of my closet. You’ll find the key taped under my desk.” A chuckle escaped my lips, mischievous and triumphant. “Geez! Did you expect someone to break in?” “Considering the penalty for letting someone else steal your mask is dismemberment, I thought it best to be cautious.” Cold dread sliced through me as I envisioned the dire consequences of being caught. Straightening up, I injected as much confidence into my voice as I could muster. “I can do this.” “I know you can, Ana. If anyone can make it work, it’s you. It’s just… if something were to happen to you…” “Even if I get caught, I'll find a way out,” I promised, pushing every fiber of certainty into my words. “But I still don’t like it,” he replied, returning to the protective brother I knew. Guilt pooled in my throat, a reminder of the countless times he had shielded me throughout my life. “If it comes to it, marrying some awful Russian guy won’t be the end of the world,” I chuckled, hoping my laugh camouflaged the weight behind my words. “That won’t happen. We will escape. I have stashed some savings where no one can find them. I’ll get you out of this mess. Screw the Salvatores.” Nikolai's reassurance felt like an old, familiar blanket wrapping around my heart. He was my protector, teaching me to ride my first bike, patching up my scrapes. But now, I felt the scorching urgency to step up for him. I lifted my chin, forcing my determination to bloom like a spring flower and headed to my brother’s room, thankful he hadn't left for good. “I’ve got this, Nikolai.” A long pause punctuated the air, then he released a breath of resignation. “Just promise me you won’t do anything reckless.” Flashes of Bash’s gray eyes and charmingly crooked smile invaded my mind and I swallowed hard, my heart racing with excitement and trepidation. I didn’t intend to share such thoughts with my brother. “I promise.” He huffed a soft chuckle. “Why do I feel like you’re lying?” “Aren't I always a model of good behavior?” I replied sweetly, eliciting another laugh from him. “If that were true, I wouldn’t be here while you plotted behind my back,” he teased. “I love you,” I declared, letting the warmth of those words spill over us. This was our moment; I felt like I had returned to my rightful place, where I had begun all of this long ago—ever since the fateful day my mother had fallen. All the events leading to this moment had been set into motion long before. I had to do this. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. “Love you too, kid. Video call me when you’re ready. I want to see how you look before you step out.” “Of course,” I groaned, severing the call and pushing open my brother’s bedroom door. The familiar scent of him struck me immediately—comforting yet laden with nostalgia. From childhood memories of flipping through his comics as he played games, I was reminded of how he had been my anchor through the storm of grief that had followed our mother’s departure. I shuddered at the remnants of that bright morning, the horror of finding her lifeless body still ringing in my ears. The memory played on repeat, her icy hands whispering a cruel truth that shattered my world. Tears stung in my eyes as I recalled my father’s broken sobs, how he had crumbled beside her, completely and utterly lost. I had reached out for him, pulling at his shirt, desperate for any recognition, yet he remained blind to me, the haunting reality sitting between us like an unbreakable barrier. Nikolai was my saving grace during those dark nights filled with nightmares; he was my hero, my protector, waking me from the gruesome images that chased me. He kept a light on for me because he knew the dark was my worst enemy. As I navigated beneath Nikolai’s desk, my fingers brushed against the cool, rough key. Gotcha. I pulled it free and ventured to the closet, filled with his sharp attire—gone were the oversized tees in favor of tailored suits. Guilt tightened around my heart like a vice as I mourned the burden he bore of becoming our family’s leader after our father's collapse. I promised myself that no matter what happened, this time, I would take care of us. The key slid smoothly into the lock, granting me access to the drawer. My fingers hesitated over the black robe, its dense fabric heavy with unspoken promises. Thrills danced through me as I draped it over my shoulders, unaware that my dreams would culminate in this moment. No longer under the strictures of “never touch” with family business, I felt empowered. Nestled within the drawer was a velvet box. Lifting the latch with trembling fingers revealed a brooding silver mask shaped like a menacing wolf—an emblem of my brother’s standing as a Saint. My heart raced as I tied the black ribbon behind my head, letting the hood drop to conceal my identity. The weight of the mask was surprisingly grounding as it pressed into my skin. Turning back to the mirror, I took in the sight staring back at me—a frame dwarfed by my brother’s clothes. I looked ridiculous, but I couldn’t afford to lose my spark of hope. Clicking my phone’s camera, I snapped a quick picture and sent it off to Nikolai, awaiting his response. Nikolai: You look ridiculous. Me: What do you mean? I thought I looked manly. *sends melting-face emoji* Nikolai: There’s a bulletproof vest tucked in the back of my closet. Wear it. My expression soured as I texted back. Me: Why do you HAVE that? Nikolai: Not important right now. Things have calmed down lately, anyway. Me: Not dropping that one. Expect a lengthy discussion when you return. As I moved to tug the vest from the closet, Nikolai’s warning echoed in my ears—“Promise me you won’t get caught.” A heavy, uneasy knot formed in my stomach. It was a warning I couldn’t heed, for I felt that the danger of being discovered loomed like a shadow in every corner of my mind. Gritting my teeth, I pushed through the vest’s rigidity, easing it over my shoulders. It was bulky and a far cry from the elegance of a dancer’s attire, but I was accustomed to discomfort. I slipped the robe over it once more, glancing in the mirror, mesmerized by the transformation. My reflection showed a strength I barely recognized. I tilted my head, aligning my features to mimic my brother’s stoicism before snapping another photo and sending it. Nikolai: Acceptable. I exhaled, wanting more than a mere casual comment. Me: Come on, I deserve at least a “good job” for that. Nikolai: Still not thrilled about this. Me: Well, do you have a better plan? Nikolai: Just…don’t get caught. Defiance surged through me, pulsing like a drum in my veins. I wouldn’t let the anxiety consume me. In my mind, I pictured the group of privileged men who twisted power behind the Vault doors. They were just men in capes, after all. After taking one last look in the mirror, I folded the mask and tucked it safely away in my room. Me: I’m not planning on being caught. Now tell me how to breach the Vault. My head throbbed as we wrapped up the call. Nikolai had drilled me through the plan like a coach preparing an athlete for the final game—his crude map a mix of scribbles and shorthand was nearly illegible, but my determination dulled the sharpness of doubt. As I swallowed down painkillers, the water felt cool, refreshing against the rising tide of anxiety. But just as I finished, the doorbell rang—a sound that made my heart skip dangerously. Who could that be? No one visited me, not even the girls from the ballet studio. I approached the door, apprehension curling in my stomach, dread solidifying like stone. Two familiar figures stood behind the glass, shadows of their threatening presence already pressing against me. “Open up, Miss Volkov,” one of the men ordered. Stocky and intimidating, he loomed with a head shaped like a boulder, while his partner, an unsettling mismatch of tall stature and disproportionate features, haunted my very thoughts. “No reason to be here. We still have time,” I replied, crossing my arms defensively as all the air left my lungs. The shorter man flashed a chilling smile, devoid of warmth. “We’ll be checking in periodically to see if you get any bright ideas. Open the door before your neighbors get curious.” I shivered at his tone, shaking my head frantically. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m already working on acquiring the money.” “Is your brother in there?” The tall man drawled, a pronounced Boston accent dripping from his voice. A frigid wave of realization washed over me; I needed to keep Nikolai’s absence a secret. “He’s busy right now,” I replied, my heart racing. The men exchanged knowing glances that sent knots spiraling in my stomach. “I don’t believe her. Do you?” the tall one asked, dissecting the tension in the air. “Not even a little,” the other confirmed. My pulse raced, and I needed to dismiss them before they decided to break down the door. “Listen, I heard you loud and clear. I’m getting your money, and lingering here is only wasting time,” I pleaded, trying to buy myself some precious moments. “Better be telling the truth,” the short one warned, then gestured for his accomplice to follow him. “We’ll be back, Miss Volkov.” With a sense of urgency, I shot back, “That won’t be necessary.” “Oh, but it will be. Wouldn’t want you to forget what happens to those who don’t repay the Salvatores, now would we? Unless you’re keen to start paying on your back,” he chuckled, a nasty glint in his eyes. I felt the bile rise in my throat, a shudder creeping down my spine. “I told you I’m getting the money.” “Smart girl.” His laughter echoed as they moved away, climbing into a darkened sedan that gleamed like a predator poised to strike. Weakness overtook my legs, and I pressed against the wall, trying to steady the frantic rhythm of my heart. That visit had ignited a fire beneath me, a flame that burned with insatiable urgency—exactly as they had intended. I could do this. I would prove my worth. I rested my head against the plaster, the cool surface offering a momentary reprieve. Let’s hope I’m a good thief.