Chapter 7 Konstantin
seven
Konstantin
I didn’t miss what hearing Giselda’s name did to Cressida and Sunniva.
Their best friend was killed in a fiery car crash seven years ago.
At least, that was the story her grieving husband, Makoa, told the world.
There was something that never sat right with me about it, though.
It was too clean, too perfect. There were whispers in the dark that it was a hit Makoa had put on her, while others rumored it was a setup from a rival.
You’d occasionally hear someone say that she’d faked her own death.
It makes me curious to know if those same people know anything about her becoming the Reaper.
The few times I saw Cressida around after that, it wasn’t hard to miss the grief she carried from Giselda’s death.
Our flash bond doesn’t lock into place until both partners are twenty-one, but of course, I was attracted to Cressida before the bond.
Surely, fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to pair two people together who had no chemistry.
Kingston wouldn’t allow me near his sister, no matter how badly I felt pulled to comfort her after the loss of her best friend.
Neither she nor Sunniva had any clue that Giselda wasn’t actually dead. No one truly did, I don’t think.
My people have been scouring the streets for the Reaper since we found out her identity. She’s smart, I can give her that much. Her location remains on the move, never settling in one place too long.
We’re chasing fucking phantoms while our enemy plays chess with my patience.
And, still, the Reaper continues to slip through our fingers like smoke.
Giselda’s not just hiding, she’s constantly moving. Switching safehouses, switching cities. Every time we get close, she vanishes into the shadows again. She’s always one step ahead of us, but it’s not just luck. No, this feels intentional. The Reaper is toying with me.
She knows the game we play. She grew up in this lifestyle just as we all have. Even married into it.
And the knowledge that she’s continued to best me festers.
It’s not often I’m up against an opponent worthy of my time.
Something’s shifted beneath my skin since the flash bond locked into place with Cressida. It’s more than just the hunger I feel for my fiancée. It’s power that’s sharpening, growing.
I should be afraid of it, but, surprisingly, all I feel is ready.
Ready to see the full potential of my abilities, but mostly just ready for her.
My wily little fox.
My secure line buzzes, and I drag the burner out of my coat pocket and flick it open. No caller ID. Just a string of encrypted code that translates into coordinates and a name.
Kron Vass.
One of Giselda’s known associates. Dead on paper just like her, which makes him perfect company for the Reaper.
“Found you,” I mutter, my voice gravel against the silence.
But before I can move, I need to see her. My little fox. My truth-teller.
I connect the call through a separate encrypted line and wait as the screen flickers.
Her black painted toes wiggle against the edge of the coffee table as she readjusts her camera angle.
And then she’s there, and I can’t recall ever seeing a more beautiful sight.
She’s curled up in a ridiculous blanket with cartoon skulls and snack wrappers are littered around her.
She’s so fucking adorable that my heart lands in a heavy thud inside my chest.
We’ve only been engaged a short time and haven’t spent much time together yet, but strangely, I miss her.
“Lisichka,” I say softly. And just like that, the tightness in my chest eases.
She smiles, and it fucking slays me. Turns my black heart into sludge inside my chest. “Hey, monster man. You look like you haven’t slept.”
“I haven’t. You have ruined my rest. All I do is dream of the moment I get to claim you.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s blushing. My admittance has pleased her. “You’re dramatic.”
“I am hungry to taste what belongs to me,” I correct her, leaning back in the chair and studying her face through the screen. There is a question that has been burning me since the night at the club. “That day with Venyara . . . how did you know he was lying? It was not just instinct.”
Cressida shifts, and I know that look. That little glint that says she’s about to flip the script.
“Maybe it’s time you told me something,” she purrs. “What’s really going on with your powers? You’re getting stronger. I feel it through the bond. You’re vibrating with it, so don’t play dumb.”
I smirk. “I am never dumb. Just selective with my truths.”
“Cute. That’s my line.”
We talk longer than we should. About everything and nothing. About plans for the wedding, the bond vow, and the shadow haunting both of us. We begin to weave threads that have nothing to do with the flash bond that ties us together and everything to do with the kind of marriage we want to have.
When Misha sticks his head in, it’s only then that I finish our conversation.
“Be a good girl. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Being good is overrated,” she replies with a wink before hanging up.
The hum of the underground generators thrums low and steady beneath my boots as I make my way to Sanctum. They’re a mechanical heartbeat, constant and controlled like the pulse of this thing we’ve built.
The corridor stretches ahead in the darkness, interrupted only by the flicker of red lights embedded in the walls. Sensors, security, and fail-safes, all in place to watch for those who don’t belong.
Our Sanctum isn’t a place that welcomes the unwanted.
The others wait for me in front of the stone wall and together we go through the routine of confirming our identities.
Once we’re cleared, a whisper of steam curls into the air as the stone slides open with a hiss and a groan. The mountain itself voices its resentment at our entrance. We’ve stained its roots with too much blood.
Inside the sealed titanium door, the Sanctum waits.
It’s a cathedral of shadows and secrets carved deep into the earth.
The ceiling rises high above, lost in gloom, and the air is thick with damp stone and old smoke.
Along the curved walls, alcoves glow faintly, lit by open flames that burn cold blue, casting skeletal shadows across the room.
It smells of wax, gunmetal, and the ghost of spilled blood.
At the center, a round obsidian table gleams like a black mirror.
The others file in behind me and spread throughout the room. There are no chairs, no thrones in here. We stand around it, equals in the dark. Murderers in robes.
Battista leans against a pillar, his hood down, mask already off and a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. He wears the calm of a man who has slit a thousand throats and forgotten every face.
Tiernan paces, that Irish fury snapping at his heels. His ring flicks against his palm. The movement sharp and rhythmic as if he’s counting the time between now and his next kill.
Ignacio adjusts his cuffs. More polished than the rest of us but no less vicious, he’s a predator in silk and shadows. A chameleon who can blend in with anyone. He can be your charming best friend one day and slit your throat in your sleep the next.
And Kingston leans against the wall, quiet and unreadable, his body coiled and ready for whatever fight comes his way.
“You were late,” Battista mutters, taking another draw from his cigarette and blowing a ring of circles past his lips as he watches me with blank eyes.
“I was busy,” I growl. “I needed to have a chat with my bonded.”
That gets Tiernan to still. “How is she?”
They know who Giselda was to Cressida.
“Doing her best not to show her hurt.” Barely. “The bond hides very little from me.”
And her hurt is as sharp as a blade between my ribs. She tries to hide the pain from me. Tries to soften the bitter edges from her friend’s betrayal, but it seeps through the cracks.
She told me earlier she dreams of the fiery crash, and a ghost who once braided her hair.
I clench my fists.
“The Reaper’s no longer a ghost,” Kingston says. “She’s now wearing Giselda’s face and that was unexpected.”
“That ghost is spreading an unsanctioned drug in my territory,” I snap.
“Without my fucking permission. Flooding the streets with a bastardized formula of something we don’t yet understand.
It’s purer. Meaner than anything we’ve come across.
It’s untraceable and it’s fucking killing people.
My people. Our people. She’s building something, and I don’t like the shape of it. ”
“Bodies are stacking up,” Ignacio says coolly. “Two of my safehouses hit. Three men dead. Blood drained. Throats cut with surgical precision. She’s not just targeting you, she’s coming after all of us. Trying to play a big boy game when she has no clue who she’s up against.”
“Same in my territory,” Tiernan adds. “She’s not just selling. She’s cleansing. They’re targeted hits. My people. Your people. She’s brave and doesn’t give a shit who she goes after. This is a power grab. It’s too calculated not to be.”
Battista drops his cigarette onto the floor and grinds it under his boot. “She’s not brave, she’s stupid.”
“So, we find her,” I say. “We cut the head off the snake before it wraps itself around our throats.”
Kingston tilts his head. “You plan to go knocking on hell’s doors, Bogeyman?”
I step up to the table. “I plan to burn them down.”
A heavy and loaded silence settles around us.
“She won’t be alone,” Ignacio says. “Giselda is calculating. Obsessive. She’ll have loyalists. People who worship the idea of her more than the reality. Especially women who want to see another woman in power. Start with her known associates. Anyone who went dark seven years ago when she did.”
“I can dig through the dark web,” Tiernan offers. “See who disappeared quietly and didn’t come back screaming.”
“I’ll tap my network in Italy and New York,” Battista says. “She used to favor a particular surgeon in Naples before her marriage to Makoa.”
“Kingston?”
“I’ll monitor the ports. If she’s smuggling in product for her drug, she’s moving in bulk. Shipments leave footprints. I’ll find them.”
I nod, my jaw aching from how hard I’m grinding my teeth. “Good. We keep it quiet. No leaks. No mercy. There are still no solid sightings of her, but we’ve got a lead.” I toss the burner phone on the stone table. “Kron Vass. Possibly alive and nearby.”
Kingston’s grin is sharp and feral. “Let’s make sure he’s not alive for long.”
For the next bit, we plan our next move. I’m going to take lead on this one and they’ll wait in the shadows in case I need them.
“What if Cressida breaks before we find Giselda?” Kingston asks as we finish up. “She’s never had to deal with betrayal from someone so close to her before.”
My spine stiffens. “She won’t.”
“You sure about that?”
I don’t answer because I’m not.
Cressida is strong, but she’s also human. Haunted and scarred in places I can’t reach yet.
I catch glimpses of her in the bond, but it’s like trying to see her through a fogged mirror. She’s angry. Grieving and lost. She’s unable to understand why someone she loved could betray her in such a way.
I could have told her that people do it every day without remorse, but it is not my job to inform her of the harsh reality of this world. She already knows it.
It’s my job to hold her hand until she can find her footing again.
As much as I wanted this marriage to only be a convenience, it’s harder than I imagined keeping any form of distance between us. It’s not just the bond that has me craving Cressida Blackwell.
Everything about her intrigues me and makes me want to lay a claim to her that can’t be denied by anyone.
I slam my palm down onto the black table, and the flames in the stone fireplace flare, reacting to the surge of energy coursing through me. “She’s mine to protect. Mine to avenge. Nothing and no one touch her without my permission. Not even a ghost who didn’t know well enough to stay dead.”
Tiernan smirks. “So, what’s the move, Bogeyman?”
I meet his gaze and let the monster out. Just a little. Enough to let them understand I mean business.
“We hunt her. We drag her screaming from the shadows. And when I’m done with her . . .” My voice drops, lethal and low. “She’ll pray she had stayed dead.”