Chapter 38 Konstantin
KONSTANTIN
Aweek has passed since the party, and the silence is deafening. I pace the length of my office, phone pressed to my ear as Viktor updates me on our surveillance of Vadim's operations.
"Nothing, Pakhan," Viktor's gravelly voice confirms what I already suspected. "No movement from the Antonovs. No chatter from our sources. It's too quiet."
I end the call and stare out the window at the snow-covered grounds. Vadim Antonov isn't the type to go quietly into the night, especially with the court date looming next week. He's planning something. I can feel it in my bones like an old wound before a storm.
The soft knock on my door interrupts my brooding. "Come in."
Ivy enters, and despite my dark thoughts, my body responds immediately to her presence.
She's wearing a cream-colored sweater that hugs her curves and dark jeans that make her legs look endless.
Her blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, and those blue eyes that have haunted my dreams meet mine with determination.
"We need to talk," she says, closing the door behind her.
I lean against my desk, crossing my arms. "About?"
"This." She gestures around the room, then at herself. "I can't live like this anymore, Konstantin. Just sitting around the estate with nothing to do. I'm going stir-crazy."
Her frustration is palpable, and I understand it. She's used to working, studying, being productive. But understanding doesn't change the reality of our situation.
"What exactly are you asking for?" I keep my voice neutral, though watching her pace in front of me is doing things to my concentration.
"I want to get back to my studies. I want to finish my degree." She stops pacing and faces me directly. "I want to work. I want to feel useful again."
The passion in her voice stirs something in my chest. This woman—my wife—isn't content to be a pampered princess locked away in a tower. She has fire, ambition, dreams beyond just surviving.
"Until Vadim is behind bars or dead, you're not safe," I tell her honestly. "But your studies…" I consider this. "You can resume your online courses. As long as you do it from here, on the estate."
Her face lights up, and the smile she gives me is worth every security headache this will cause. "Really?"
"Really." I push off from the desk, moving closer to her. "I'll have Denis set up a proper study space for you. Whatever you need."
"Thank you." She doesn't move away when I stop just inches from her, and I can smell her subtle perfume, see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes.
But instead of leaving, she lingers, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Something's bothering her.
"What else?" I ask.
She bites her lower lip—a habit that never fails to make me want to do the same. "I'm just… worried about testifying next week."
There's something in her tone, a hesitation that doesn't ring true. I've become an expert at reading people's lies over the years, and my wife is definitely not telling me the whole truth. My mind flashes back to last week when I heard voices in her room, but she insisted no one was there.
"The prosecution team will prepare you," I assure her, though I file away my suspicions for later. "You'll be fine."
She nods, but the tension doesn't leave her shoulders. Before I can probe further, she changes the subject.
"There's something else. I miss jogging." She looks almost embarrassed by the admission. "I know it sounds silly, but I used to run almost every morning. It helped me think, clear my head."
Irritation flashes through me, not at her, but at myself. How did I forget something so basic about her routine? I've been so focused on keeping her safe that I overlooked what she needs to feel human.
"It doesn't sound silly," I tell her. "I jog too."
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You do?"
"Every morning at six. Usually alone." I study her face, noting the genuine interest there. "Would you like to join me tomorrow?"
"On the estate grounds?"
"Of course. With security." I can already see Viktor's disapproving frown, but some risks are worth taking. "We'll stay within the perimeter."
The smile that spreads across her face is radiant. "I'd love that."
"Good. Meet me in the foyer at six.”
She nods eagerly and heads for the door, but pauses with her hand on the handle. "Konstantin?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For understanding."
After she leaves, I return to my desk, but concentration is impossible.
The way she looked at me when I agreed to let her study again, the genuine gratitude in her voice, it does things to me that have nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with the growing connection between us.
But the nagging worry remains. She's hiding something, and in my world, secrets can be deadly.
The next morning arrives gray and bitter cold. I'm already dressed in running gear when Ivy appears in the foyer, looking like a winter goddess in black leggings, a fitted thermal top, and a bright blue jacket that matches her eyes.
"Ready?" I ask, trying not to stare at how the athletic wear showcases every curve of her body.
"More than ready."
We step outside into the crisp morning air, our breath forming clouds as we begin a slow warm-up jog. Two of my soldiers fall into step behind us at a respectful distance—close enough to respond to threats, far enough to give us privacy.
The rhythm of our feet on the packed snow path is soothing, and I watch Ivy from the corner of my eye. She moves with natural grace, her breathing steady despite the cold. This was clearly a regular part of her routine before everything changed.
We run in comfortable silence for a while, following the winding path that circles the estate. The property is beautiful in winter, all pristine snow and bare trees reaching toward the gray sky. But I'm more interested in watching my wife rediscover this piece of herself.
After about two miles circling the estate, we reach the old gazebo that sits on a small hill overlooking the frozen pond. I slow to a stop.
"Break?" I suggest.
She nods, breathing harder now but not winded. We climb the steps into the gazebo, and I turn to the soldiers trailing us.
"Give us some space. Stay within sight but out of earshot."
They nod and retreat to a position where they can still see us but can't hear our conversation. I turn back to Ivy, who's leaning against the gazebo railing, cheeks flushed from the cold and exercise.
"This is beautiful," she says, looking out over the winter landscape.
"It is." But I'm not looking at the view. I'm looking at her and the way the cold has brought color to her cheeks, how her eyes sparkle in the morning light, and the way her chest rises and falls with each breath.
She turns and catches me staring. The air between us shifts, becomes charged with the attraction that's always simmering just beneath the surface.
"Konstantin…" she starts, but whatever she was going to say is lost as I step closer.
"You're beautiful," I tell her, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her breath catches, and I can see her pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. The space between us disappears as I lean down, my lips finding hers in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens.
She responds immediately, her hands fisting in my jacket as she pulls me closer. The cold morning air fades away, replaced by the heat building between us. I back her against the gazebo post, my hands framing her face as I kiss her with all the pent-up desire I've been fighting.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard, and it has nothing to do with the run.
"We should—” she begins.
The sharp crack of gunfire cuts through the morning air. Pain explodes through my shoulder, spinning me around as the bullet tears through flesh and muscle.