27. Katya
27
KATYA
H ow did things turn this bad?
Here I am, lying in a hospital bed, staring at the dull, soul-sucking white ceiling. The grime and blood have been cleaned from my body and my wounds are patched up. Someone tucked a blanket over me, though it feels more like a barrier than comfort. The drugs they gave me are strong, clouding my thoughts, numbing the worst of the pain.
And yet, every inch of my body feels heavy, my muscles deadweight, my bones throbbing like they’ve been battered with a bat. The dull ache of a sprained ankle keeps me from moving more than a few inches.
Earlier, a young cop asked a few questions, but I couldn’t string my thoughts together, let alone my words. He promised to come back later. At least that’s one thing I don’t have to deal with right now.
The machines beside me beep with a steady rhythm, each sound a cruel reminder of the frightening incident. The cold, sterile hospital smells mingle with the lingering scent of antiseptic and metal, suffocating me. For once, I’m thankful for the drugs fogging my thoughts. Without them, all that would remain is the dull dread.
Since I fell unconscious in that convenience store, it feels like I’ve been running through a dark maze, unable to breathe, unable to swallow, unable to escape the shadows chasing me.
How did my life turn into this?
I should’ve stayed in Moscow. I miss Moscow. The sharp, biting cold of winter mornings, the glittering lights of the Kremlin at night, the endless energy that hums through its streets.
There, I had control. People stood when I entered the courtroom. They respected my decisions, even when they didn’t like them. My life was structured, predictable, a carefully constructed puzzle where every piece fit perfectly. In Moscow, I wasn’t just Katya—I was Judge Volkova. A woman in a position of power and respect, someone people admired—or at the very least, feared.
Here in New York, everything is foreign, jagged, like I’m trying to fit into a life that isn’t mine. The streets are too loud, the faces too unfamiliar, the pulse of the city too frenetic.
And Igor embodies everything Moscow wasn’t for me—danger, unpredictability. Here in New York, I don’t belong. Not to this city, not to this life, and not to this man.
A knot twists in my stomach, tight and unrelenting. Another round of tears gathers at the corners of my eyes. I breathe deeply, but the pain in my ribs makes me wince. A blurry memory flashes across my mind—Igor’s face, his words, the way he looked at me last night.
I don’t have the energy to keep fighting him. I’m too tired.
The door bursts open, and Aleks rushes in, his eyes wide and full of concern.
“Katya,” he breathes, crossing the room in long strides.
For the first time since I woke up, I feel a flicker of comfort. Aleks kneels beside the bed, his strong hand taking mine as he presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. His touch is gentle and steadying.
“Can you hear me?” he asks, his voice soft but insistent.
“Mm-hm,” I manage to mumble, though even that small effort feels like it takes too much from me.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” I say, forcing a faint smile despite the sharp pain in my face. “Please… don’t tell Igor.”
Aleks frowns, his brows knitting together. The hesitation in his expression is all I need to know.
“He knows,” I whisper, the realization hitting like a punch to the gut.
“He’s on his way.” Aleks nods. “Should be here any moment now.”
My shoulders tense, the weight on my chest growing heavier with every passing second. Every part of me shudders at the thought of Igor seeing me like this—weak, vulnerable, defeated.
There’s a commotion in the hallway, voices growing louder.
“Aleks,” I beg, my voice trembling, “don’t let him see me like this.”
“You’re beautiful and strong.” His thumb brushes over my bruised knuckles. “None of this is your fault, Katya. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I should’ve listened,” I cry, the tears spilling freely now. “Igor told me not to leave without the bodyguards, but I didn’t listen. I was too stubborn. I thought I could handle it on my own.”
“Stop it,” Aleks says firmly, his tone gentle but unyielding. “You’re in shock.”
The door swings open, and Igor’s towering frame fills the doorway.
He looks pale—almost ghostly—but his eyes are blazing, burning with fury and fear. His lips are pressed into a tight line, but the way he’s biting down on them is enough to draw blood.
“I’ll take it from here,” Igor says, his voice cold and authoritative. “ Spasibo , Aleks.”
Aleks gives my hand one last squeeze before releasing it and stepping back. As the door clicks shut behind him, Igor crosses the room in three long strides.
I can’t stop the sob that escapes my lips. Tears blur my vision, my body trembling.
“ Volchitsa ,” he says softly.
Even through my swollen lids and tear-streaked face, I manage to look at him—terrifying and beautiful all at once. As much as I want to hide from him and bury my feelings, I can’t.
“Is it that bad?” I ask in a shaky whisper.
“No,” he exhales. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
He slides one arm beneath my neck, his fingers caressing my skin as he leans down and brushes his mouth against mine. The kiss turns firm, desperate, all consuming. He doesn’t just kiss me—he takes me, his tongue sweeping against mine, claiming every part of me in a way that leaves no room for dissent.
I melt into him, my body going limp as I surrender completely. For the first time all day, the terror fades.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. His voice drops to a whisper, low and fierce. “Who did this to you?”
The words are more of a growl than a question.
“They dragged me into a car,” I say, trembling. “They roughed me up in an alley.”
“Did you see their faces?”
“No,” I sniff, the pain too much as I try to lift my hand. It falls uselessly back into my lap. “I don’t remember. It’s all a blur.”
He exhales sharply, his jaw clenching so tightly I can see the muscles twitching.
“I’ll find them, Katya. I’ll bring you their heads. I swear it,” he says fiercely, his voice like steel.
The weight of my fear, my pain, and my anger comes pouring out, and for the first time, I let it.
“Please,” I cry, “don’t let me go.”
“I’ll never let you go, volchitsa, ” he whispers, his arms tightening around me. “I’ll hold you until the end of time. No matter what happens, no matter what you say or do, you’ll always have me.”
A realization hits me like a freight train. It’s possible that Igor’s persistence is more than just control. And if it’s genuine, what would that mean for us?
“Lie down,” he commands gently. “Get rest. I’ll stay right here.”
I close my eyes, the weight on my chest easing as his fingers thread through my hair, the soft, repetitive motion lulling me.
“Sleep.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Drifting off is easier than I expected. For once, I don’t fight it. I exhale deeply, nodding to no one in particular as the tension in my body begins to melt. Surrendering is terrifying, but right now, I don’t have the strength to resist. At least I’m not alone.
Igor proved something today—something I didn’t think was possible anymore. There are still men in this world who would go to hell and back for a woman. Men who don’t just protect but claim, in a way that’s both maddening and strangely comforting.
And maybe, someday, we could be more to each other.
The thought catches me off guard, pulling at the edges of my consciousness as sleep tugs at me. I’ve fought so hard to keep him at arm’s length, to convince myself that Igor and I could never be anything but enemies. Yet here I am, in his arms, feeling safer than I have in years.
It’s nice to have someone who can protect me. Someone strong enough to shoulder the weight I’ve carried alone for so long. Someone who, in a twisted way, feels like a partner.
But I can’t ignore the truth. Igor is Bratva. He was born into a world I’ve spent my entire life fighting against. He represents everything I swore to stand against, everything I wanted to protect Sofiya from.
Is he worth leaving my principles behind?
The question gnaws at me. Igor is protective, sweet in his own rough way, and undeniably magnetic. But I can’t let myself fall for him. My career, my independence, mydaughter’ssafety—everything hangs in the balance.
What if getting closer to him puts us both at risk? His enemies have targeted me already, trying to deliver a message. What if they decide to use Sofiya next?
The thought alone is enough to make my stomach churn.
It’s too dangerous. Too unpredictable.
Despite everything I feel for him—the attraction, the heat, the maddening pull of his presence—I know I need to break free and leave. For Sofiya’s sake and for my own.
Moscow. That’s where we’ll be safe. My gut tells me so, and it’s all I have left to trust right now. I’ve been chasing control my entire life, and I know I can reclaim it there. Away from Igor. Away from this chaotic, violent world he lives in.
Maybe someday, in another life, we’ll find our way back to each other. Maybe there will be a second—or third—chance for us. But not today. Not when the stakes are this high. Right now, I have to prioritize my daughter’s safety over any fragile, uncertain connection between us.
A single tear slips down my cheek, cutting a warm path across my skin before soaking into the blanket.I can’t deny that I’m a part of Igor’s world just as much as he’s become a part of mine. Like it or not, we’re entangled. And no matter how much I want to run, something inside me knows I’ll never truly escape.
Maybe it’s time I stop running. Maybe it’s time I accept what my life is now.
“Rest, volchitsa, ” Igor murmurs, his deep, rough voice wrapping around me like a blanket.
His words follow me into the darkness as sleep finally claims me.