Chapter 36 Konstantin
KONSTANTIN
The grandfather clock in the corner of my office chimes twice, its deep resonance cutting through the silence that has settled over the estate.
The New Year's party is finally winding down, the last of our guests having departed into the cold January night.
Viktor sits across from my desk, his massive frame relaxed but alert, dark eyes fixed on the door as we wait.
The knock comes a moment later.
"Enter," I call out, not bothering to look up from the glass of vodka I'm nursing.
The soldier who steps through the doorway is young—maybe twenty-five—with the kind of nervous energy that immediately puts me on edge. His name is Petrov, and he's been with us for two years. Long enough to know better than to lie to his Pakhan.
"You wanted to see me, Sir?" His voice quavers slightly, and I can smell the fear-sweat on him from across the room.
I finally lift my gaze, studying his face. The guilt is written there as clearly as if he'd tattooed it on his forehead. "Sit."
Petrov glances at Viktor, who remains stone-faced, then takes the chair I've indicated. His hands fidget in his lap.
"Tell me about the three men at the gate tonight," I say, my voice deceptively calm.
The color drains from his face. "Sir, I—”
"The truth, Petrov." I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled. "I have very little patience left tonight."
He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing. ”There… there were no men at the gate."
Viktor's chair creaks as he shifts forward, but I hold up a hand to stop him. "Continue."
"I made it up." The words tumble out in a rush. "I'm sorry, Pakhan. I know I shouldn't have, but Mila… she asked me to tell you that story. She said it would only be for a few minutes, that she needed to speak with you privately about something important."
My jaw tightens. Of course it was Mila. "And you agreed to lie to me because?"
Petrov's face flushes red. "I… I've been half in love with her for months. When she smiled at me and asked so sweetly, I couldn't say no. She made it sound harmless—just a small favor between friends."
I take a slow sip of vodka, letting the burn ground me before I do something I'll regret. The urge to put my fist through Petrov's face is strong, but I've learned to control such impulses. Barely.
"You understand what you've done?" My voice is deadly quiet now.
"Yes, sir. I compromised security. I put the family at risk." His hands are shaking now. "But I swear on my mother's grave, I would never intentionally harm you or anyone under your protection. I just… I wasn't thinking clearly."
I understand that feeling all too well. Love—or even the illusion of it—can make intelligent men do incredibly stupid things. I should know. The woman sleeping upstairs has turned my entire world upside down, made me question decisions I've never second-guessed before.
But understanding doesn't excuse the breach.
"Viktor," I say without taking my eyes off Petrov. "Call Maksim. I want the grounds searched immediately. Every building, every shadow, every possible hiding spot."
"Already on it." Viktor's phone is in his hand before I finish speaking.
I turn my attention back to Petrov, who looks like he might vomit. "You're lucky tonight, soldier. Lucky that your lie was motivated by stupidity rather than betrayal. Lucky that no one used your distraction to breach our defenses."
"Thank you, sir. I—”
"I'm not finished." The ice in my voice stops him cold. "You skirted your duties. You put my wife at risk because you were thinking with your dick instead of your brain."
The word 'wife' still feels strange on my tongue, but the possessive fury that accompanies thoughts of Ivy's safety is becoming familiar. Too familiar.
"What if there had been a real threat tonight? What if someone had used your fabricated story as cover to get close to the house? To her?" I lean forward, letting him see the violence simmering just beneath my controlled exterior. "What if your moment of weakness had gotten her killed?"
Petrov's face goes white. "I never thought… I didn't consider…"
"No, you didn't think. That's the problem." I drain the rest of my vodka and set the glass down with deliberate precision. "You will be dealt with accordingly."
"Sir, please—”
"You'll live," I cut him off. "This time. But you need a reminder of where your loyalties lie. Of what happens when you put personal desires above family security."
Viktor ends his call and looks at me expectantly.
"Take him to Maksim," I order. "Make sure the lesson sticks, but don't permanently damage him. He's young and stupid, not malicious."
"Understood." Viktor stands, his bulk casting a shadow over Petrov's trembling form.
As they head for the door, I call out one final warning. "Petrov."
He turns back, eyes wide with terror.
"If you ever—and I mean ever—compromise my wife's safety again, stupidity won't save you. Are we clear?"
“Yes, Pakhan. It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't."
Viktor escorts him out, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering taste of vodka. I should feel satisfied that the mystery is solved, that the threat was nothing more than a lovesick fool's poor judgment. Instead, unease crawls up my spine like ice water.
Something still feels wrong.
I push back from my desk and head for the door.
It's been a long night, and all I want is to check on Ivy, to see her sleeping peacefully in our bed.
The image of her curled up under the covers, blonde hair spread across the pillow, is the only thing that will quiet the restless energy thrumming through my veins.
The hallway is dimly lit, shadows dancing along the walls as I make my way toward the master bedroom. My footsteps are silent on the thick carpet—a habit ingrained from years of moving unseen when necessary.
I'm halfway down the hall when I hear it.
Voices.
Coming from my bedroom.
I freeze, every muscle in my body coiling tight. One voice I recognize immediately—Ivy's, though it sounds strained, frightened. The other is male, unfamiliar, speaking in low, urgent tones.
My hand moves instinctively to the gun holstered beneath my jacket as ice-cold fury floods my system. Someone is in my room. With my wife.
The unease I felt earlier crystallizes into deadly certainty. Petrov's lie wasn't just about Mila's jealousy—it was a distraction. And while we were all focused on phantom threats at the gate, the real danger slipped inside.