Chapter 17 - Vladimir
The gleam of diamonds catches my eye as I glance up from the scattered papers on my desk. Beyond my office, rows of display cases stretch across the floor—a pristine showcase of our legitimate business. But that’s only part of the story. The real lifeblood of our operation flows beneath the surface, hidden in plain sight.
Here’s how it works: we source the diamonds directly from our mines, controlling the entire supply chain. A portion of these stones is priced and sold legitimately—cash transactions that never leave a trace. Because we own the mines, no one questions the occasional "missing" stones, and those pieces find their way to the black market. Clean cash, no questions asked.
But the true brilliance lies in the other side of the scheme. For our more "sophisticated" dealings, we sell diamonds at wildly inflated prices to select partners—those who owe us for services rendered outside the law. These inflated invoices provide a perfect cover. The money paid, though disguised as legitimate business revenue, is essentially payment for illicit deals. It lands in our accounts as clean as a polished gem, untraceable to its darker origins.
That’s the magic of a diamond. Its worth is defined not by its brilliance but by the value we choose to assign it. And in this game, value is everything.
I lean back in my leather chair, allowing myself a rare moment of satisfaction. Everything is falling into place—the chain of our brand-new jewelry stores, our more illicit ventures, and, most importantly, my relationship with Sofia.
A smirk tugs at my lips as I think of her. My beautiful, ice-cold wife, who's slowly starting to thaw. The past week has been… surprisingly pleasant. No arguments, no cold shoulders. Just a tremendous warming between us that makes something unfamiliar stir in my chest.
The sharp staccato of heels on marble snaps me from my reverie. I look up, tensing instinctively at the abrupt intrusion. But it's Sofia who bursts through my office door, her green eyes flashing with an anger I haven't seen in weeks.
"Sofia?" I say, rising to my feet. "What's wrong?"
She doesn't answer immediately, her gaze sweeping over me with arctic disdain. I drink in the sight of her—pin-straight blonde hair falling past her shoulders, the elegant cut of her dress hugging her slim frame. Even furious, she's breathtaking.
"Don't 'Sofia' me," she finally snaps, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Vladimir."
Oh, so she’s back to using my full name. Now I know she’s pissed.
I frown, genuinely confused. "I'm not playing anything. What's going on?"
She laughs a sharp, humorless sound that sets my teeth on edge. "Oh, that's rich. As if you don't know exactly what you've done."
I move around my desk, approaching her cautiously. The urge to reach out and touch her wars with my instinct for self-preservation. An angry Sofia is a dangerous Sofia.
"Whatever it is," I say carefully, "I'm sure we can talk it out. Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?"
Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think she might actually strike me. Instead, she takes a deep breath, her fingers clenching at her sides. "You really want to play this game? Fine. Let's talk about how you've been interfering with my plans behind my back."
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, utterly confused.
"My plans with the Crimson Crew," Sofia hisses, her green eyes flashing with betrayal. "The ones you swore you'd support when I said I want to infiltrate it. How mad you were at first! How shocked you were! Not once did you tell me you knew I was involved with them. I saw the photos, Vlad, of me in their midst before we got married. Ring any bells?"
My stomach drops. Shit. I'd hoped to have more time before this conversation, to explain how it all went down. I never knew who they were back then.
"Sofia, I can explain—" I start, but she cuts me off with a razor-sharp laugh.
"Oh, I'm sure you can. You always have an explanation, don't you? A reason why you know better than everyone else?" Her words drip with venom, each one finding its mark.
I take a step toward her, frustration and admiration warring within me. Even furious, she's magnificent—a force of nature barely contained in human form.
"If you'd just listen for a moment—"
"Listen?" she interrupts, her voice rising. "Like you listened when I told you how important this was to me? When I asked you to trust me for once? What a fool I was, when now I know you were trying to jeopardize my plans all along. That’s why you married me, didn’t you?"
I clench my jaw, struggling to keep my own temper in check at the unfair accusation. "That’s not what happened, and you know it. That night—"
"I’m not going to believe a word you say!" Sofia snaps back.
Just as I open my mouth to respond, my phone buzzes insistently in my pocket. I ignore it, focused entirely on the angry woman before me.
"Sofia, please," I try again, "I was only trying to—"
The buzzing intensifies, a specific pattern that sends a chill down my spine. It's the emergency Bratva alert—something that can't be ignored, no matter how much I want to.
I curse under my breath, torn between duty and the desperate need to make things right with Sofia. Her eyes narrow, sensing the shift in my attention.
"What is it?" she demands, her tone still icy but tinged with curiosity.
I meet her gaze, my expression shifting from frustration to urgency. "There's an emergency I need to handle. Bratva business." I hesitate, torn between my responsibilities and my need to protect her. "Sofia, I promise we'll continue this conversation later. For now, I need you to go home where it's safe."
Her green eyes flash dangerously. "Don't you dare try to tell me what to do, Vlad. I'm not some helpless—"
"I know you're not," I interject, my voice softening despite the tension. "But this situation could be volatile."
Sofia's jaw clenches, her anger still palpable. For a moment, I think she might argue further, but then she gives a curt, dismissive nod. "Fine," she says, her voice as cold as a Siberian winter. "Go play your little gangster games. I'm sure they're far more important than anything I have to say."
The sarcasm in her tone cuts deep, but I don't have time to address it. "We're not done," I insist, even as she turns away from me. "This conversation isn't over, Sofia."
She doesn't respond, already striding toward the door, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. As she reaches the threshold, she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. For a split second, I see something vulnerable beneath her icy exterior—hurt, maybe even fear. But it's gone in an instant, replaced by that mask of cool indifference.
"Isn't it?" she asks quietly, and then she's gone, leaving me with a growing sense of unfinished business and a fierce determination to make things right between us.
I stare at the empty doorway, my fists clenched at my sides. "Damn it," I mutter, already plotting how to fix this mess once the current crisis is handled. One way or another, I'll make her understand. I have to.
***
I rush out of the office, my mind racing between Sofia's anger and the urgent Bratva matter at hand. My brothers have already gathered in our secure meeting room when I burst through the door.
"What's the situation?" I demand, scanning their tense faces.
Abram, ever the strategist, speaks first. "One of our shipments has been intercepted. We believe it's the Petrov clan."
"Fuck," I growl, slamming my fist on the table. "How much did we lose?"
Denis, his eyes hard, answers, "Two million in product, at least. But that's not the worst of it. They took Yuri."
My blood runs cold. Yuri's one of our most loyal. If he talks…
"We need to move. Now," Abram commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Mark, I want you on surveillance. Vlad, gather a strike team. Denis, you're with me."
As we spring into action, Sofia's face flashes in my mind. I push the image away, focusing on the task at hand. There's no room for distraction when lives are on the line.
Hours later, exhausted but victorious and with Yuri and the shipment secure, I finally return home. The house is eerily quiet as I step inside.
"Sofia?" I call out, my voice echoing through the empty rooms. No response.
I climb the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Sofia, we need to talk," I try again, pushing open our bedroom door. The room is untouched, the bed still made from this morning.
A knot forms in my stomach as I move from room to room, each one as silent and empty as the last. "Sofia!" I shout, my worry growing with each passing second.
Where the hell is she?
I yank open her closet door, and my heart sinks. The shelves are half-empty, and her favorite designer dresses are missing. Her suitcase is gone. I run a hand through my hair, pacing the room as the realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
She's left.
"Fuck," I mutter, guilt and regret washing over me. I should've explained how I have those photos. I should've made her understand. Now she's out there, alone and angry, thinking the worst of me.
I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over her brothers' contact. They need to know, but the thought of admitting I've lost their sister makes my jaw clench. Just as I'm about to hit call, my phone buzzes in my hand. Lara's name flashes on the screen.
I answer, bracing myself. "Lara, what—”
"What the hell did you do, Vlad?" My sister’s voice cuts through, sharp and accusing. "Sofia shows up at Dima and my door looking like she's been through a war, and she won't say a word about what happened between you two."
My free hand curls into a fist. "Is she okay? Where—”
"Oh no, you don't get to ask questions," Lara snaps. "You're going to tell me exactly what happened, and it better be good, or I swear to God, Vlad…"
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's a misunderstanding, Lara. I need to talk to her, to explain—”
"Explain what? She’s here with her suitcases, and she’s pretty damn upset. Dima is in over his head with worry! Vlad," she says, her voice softening. “I don’t think she plans on coming back home.”
Her words hit home, and I close my eyes, leaning against the wall.