Chapter 30 Konstantin
KONSTANTIN
Igrip the steering wheel tighter as Ivy crosses her arms and gives me that stubborn look I've come to know all too well. Less than a week married, and she's already perfected the art of making me want to both protect her and throttle her at the same time.
"Konstantin, I need to see my mother alone," she says for the third time in the past ten minutes. "You're… intimidating. She won't open up with you hovering around."
"I don't hover," I reply, though even as the words leave my mouth, I know they're a lie. I've been hovering over her like a hawk since we said our vows. Every instinct I have screams at me to keep her within arm's reach at all times.
"You absolutely hover." She turns in her seat to face me fully, those blue eyes flashing with determination.
"Look, I know you're trying to protect me, and I appreciate it. I really do. But my mom and I don’t have a great relationship and it’s going to be hard enough trying to talk to her.
If you show up looking like…" She gestures vaguely at me.
"Like what?"
"Like you could snap someone's neck with your bare hands."
I raise an eyebrow. "I can snap someone's neck with my bare hands."
"Exactly my point." She sighs, and some of the fight goes out of her voice. "Please, Konstantin. I need to talk to her about my father. About what she knew and why she didn’t tell me about him. And if there’s any other secrets still to be found.”
The mention of her father sends a familiar twist of guilt through my chest. If only I could tell her that the blood oath I swore to protect her isn't the only reason I'm keeping her safe now. But I’m not ready to lay my heart bare for her. Not yet.
"Fine," I say, and her face lights up with surprise. "But I’m staying right here until you’re done."
Her smile falters slightly. "Konstantin—"
"That's the deal, Ivy. Take it or leave it."
She studies my face for a long moment, probably looking for any sign that I might be willing to negotiate further. She won't find one. When it comes to her safety, I don't compromise.
"Fine," she says, echoing my tone.
Twenty minutes later, we're pulling into the driveway of Trisha's modest two-story house in a quiet suburban neighborhood. Viktor cuts the engine of the black SUV and turns to look at me in the rearview mirror.
"You sure about this, Boss?" he asks, his dark eyes serious. "Lot of windows in this neighborhood. Lot of places for someone to hide."
I've been thinking the same thing since we turned onto the street.
The houses are too close together, too many blind spots, too many potential escape routes for anyone who might want to cause trouble.
But Ivy needs this conversation with her mother, and I can see the determination in the set of her shoulders.
"We'll be fine," I say, though I'm already scanning the street for anything that looks out of place. "Keep the engine running."
Ivy leans over and kisses my cheek, a gesture that's becoming more natural between us with each passing day. "I'll be quick, I promise."
I catch her hand before she can pull away completely. "If anything feels wrong—anything at all—you call out. Don't worry about being polite or making a scene. Just yell."
She nods, and I can see she's taking me seriously. Good. She's learning that in my world, paranoia keeps you alive.
I watch her walk up the front path, noting how she checks over her shoulder once before knocking on the door. She's learning my habits too, picking up on the constant vigilance that's second nature to me. The door opens, and I catch a glimpse of Trisha's red hair before both women disappear inside.
Viktor shifts in the driver's seat, adjusting his position so he has a clear view of both the front door and the street behind us. "So," he says after a moment, his voice carefully casual. "How's married life treating you?"
I almost smile at the question. Viktor has been my sovietnik for over a decade, and in all that time, he's never once asked me about my personal life. The fact that he's bringing it up now tells me he's genuinely curious about this situation with Ivy.
"It's… complicated," I admit.
"Most good things are." He glances at me in the mirror.
"She's not what I expected," I say finally.
Viktor chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. "None of the good ones ever are. Remember when you first told me about this plan? You said it would be simple. Marry the girl, keep her safe, honor your debt to her father."
"It should have been simple."
"Should have been," he agrees. "But now?"
I think about Ivy's laugh when she beat me at chess two nights ago. The way she hums while she's cooking breakfast. How she fell asleep reading on the couch yesterday, and I found myself just watching her breathe for longer than I care to admit.
"Now it's not about the oath anymore," I say quietly.
Viktor nods like he expected that answer. "You love her."
It's not a question, and I don't treat it like one. "Yes."
"Does she know?"
I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling older than my forty-two years. "She married me for protection, Viktor. She's still processing everything that's happened to her. The last thing she needs is me complicating things further by declaring my feelings."
"Maybe," Viktor says. "Or maybe she needs to know that this isn't just about duty for you anymore. That you're not going anywhere even after the threat is gone."
Before I can respond, Viktor shifts in his seat, adjusting his position to get a better view of the house.
The silence stretches between us, comfortable in the way that only comes from years of working together.
I watch the windows of Trisha's modest two-story home, looking for any sign of movement.
"She's been through a lot today," Viktor says finally, his voice low and thoughtful. "Finding out about her father like that… it changes everything for her."
I nod, my jaw tightening as I think about the conversation we had earlier. The way Ivy's face had crumpled when I told her the truth about her father being Bratva. She'd looked at me like I was a stranger, and maybe in that moment, I was.
"I should have told her sooner," I admit, the words feeling heavy on my tongue.
Viktor turns to look at me, his dark eyes serious. "You told her when she was ready to hear it. Any sooner and she would have run."
"She might still run." The thought sits like a stone in my chest.
"She won't run," Viktor says with certainty. "I've been watching her, Konstantin. Even before you brought her into our world, I've been keeping an eye on her like you asked. She's stronger than she knows."
I remember the night I gave Viktor that order, just days after Andrei's funeral.
Watch over his daughter, I'd told him. Make sure she's safe, but don't let her know.
For years, he'd done exactly that, becoming a shadow in Ivy's life, ensuring no harm came to her while she lived her quiet, normal existence.
"She has his eyes," I say quietly, thinking of my old friend. "Andrei's eyes. The same determination, the same fire when she's angry."
Viktor chuckles, a rare sound from him. "She definitely has his temper. Andrei would be proud of her." His voice grows serious again. "The woman she's become, the strength she's shown. Even with everything that's happened, she's not broken."
"No," I agree. "She's not broken.”
Viktor is quiet for a moment, his gaze returning to the house. "She was living half a life before, Konstantin. Working at that club, going through the motions with that boyfriend of hers. She was sleepwalking through her own existence."
He's right, though I don't like admitting it.
When I first started watching Ivy from a distance, fulfilling my promise to keep Andrei's daughter safe, I'd seen a woman who seemed to be waiting for something to happen to her rather than making things happen herself.
The only time she'd seemed truly alive was when she was doing something dangerous—skydiving, rock climbing, pushing herself to the edge.
"She needs this," Viktor continues. "Not the danger, not the violence, but the purpose. The feeling that her life matters, that she matters."
He shifts again, his hand moving to rest on the door handle. "Because I've seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one is watching. It's the same way you look at her."
Before I can ask him what he means by that, movement catches my eye.
A figure in a dark hoodie is walking slowly down the sidewalk across the street, hands shoved deep in pockets, head down.
Something about the way he moves, the deliberate casualness of his pace, sets off every alarm bell in my head.
"Viktor," I say quietly, my hand moving instinctively toward my weapon.
He follows my gaze and tenses. "I see him."
The figure pauses directly across from Trisha's house, and though I can't see his face in the shadow of the hood, I can feel his attention focused on the building where my wife is having what might be the most difficult conversation of her life.