Chapter 26 Konstantin
KONSTANTIN
“What do you mean Roman’s dead?”
The words leave my mouth before I can even register the weight of them. They sound stupid, slow. Like I’m the last person to catch up.
Lev’s expression is grim, eyes unreadable in the half-light. “He was shot outside a club. Downtown. Three rounds. One to the head.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “Which club?”
“Velour.”
“He was alone?” I ask, voice low now, calculating.
“That’s what they’re saying. He stepped out to take a piss, never came back. Security found his body fifteen minutes later.”
I shake my head slowly, tension winding through my chest like barbed wire. “He wasn’t alone,” I say, more to myself than to them. “No way Roman would step out without someone watching his back unless he believed it was safe.”
Nadya’s voice is soft but direct beside me. “How do you know?”
I turn toward her, and for a moment I just look at her—this woman who sees too much and still stands close.
“Because Roman was many things—reckless, arrogant, sometimes too sure of himself—but he wasn’t naive.
Not when it came to staying alive.” I pause, then add, “Someone either lured him or drugged him. Either way, it was a setup.”
Lev shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t disagree.
Nadya stays quiet for a beat, clearly trying to put the pieces together, eyes scanning both our faces. But I’m not in the mood to explain everything—not when I already feel the blood start to thrum louder in my ears.
“This changes things,” I say, mostly to myself. But it’s loud enough for them to hear.
“What’s going on?” Nadya asks, brows pinched with concern.
I turn toward her, jaw tight. “Dmitry is going to blame me.”
She looks stunned. “What? Why would he—”
“He doesn’t need proof,” I cut in. “He just needs an excuse to start a war, and now he’s got one.”
When we get back to the main house, I say, “Nadya, go check on the children.”
She pauses, lips parting slightly as if to respond—but she doesn’t.
She just stands there, eyes narrowing by a fraction, a glint of something flickering through her expression before it’s gone.
Disappointment. Hurt. She thinks I’m pushing her away—and maybe I am.
Not because I want to, but because I need a moment to think without her eyes on me, without her fear and questions clouding what comes next.
I watch as she nods, barely, and turns around without a word, disappearing down the hall.
I don’t let myself follow her with my gaze. I can’t afford to.
Lev’s already by the door when I reach for my coat. He doesn’t ask where we’re going—he never does.
Once we’re a few steps away from the house, he glances at me, sidelong, his voice low.
“You didn’t…” He trails off, the implication thick in the space between us.
I stop, letting the question hang. The air is damp, the kind that smells like asphalt and wet leaves. My hands ball into fists at my sides, and I don’t turn to look at him when I speak.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply,” I say evenly. “But I’m not fucking stupid.”
Lev exhales like he’s been holding something in for hours. “I know. It’s just, everything’s a mess. It’s hard to know who’s pulling which string anymore.”
“I’m aware,” I say. And I am. Roman’s death didn’t happen in a vacuum. Someone moved the pieces. The only question is who benefits most from the chaos.
Lev walks a little faster to match my stride. “You think Dmitry’s already plotting?”
“I’d bet my life on it,” I reply. “And he’s counting on me to react without thinking.”
He’s quiet for a moment before muttering, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I stop again, this time turning toward him. “You’re not here to babysit me, Lev. You’re here to stand beside me. If I wanted someone to second-guess every breath I take, I’d talk to my father.”
He studies me for a long beat, and then his expression softens just enough to let the concern show. “I’m not second-guessing you, Kon. I’m reminding you of the stakes.”
I nod once, jaw tight. “Good. Because this isn’t just about Roman anymore. It’s about the war we’ve been pretending isn’t coming.”
The morning sun is already climbing higher in the sky, reflecting off car windows and puddles of last night’s rain, bright enough to make my head ache.
Lev and I move swiftly toward the waiting SUV, gravel crunching beneath our feet as we leave the house behind us.
He slides into the driver’s seat, starting the engine before I’ve even fully closed the passenger door, urgency humming quietly in every movement he makes.
I pull the dashboard tablet out of its bracket, activating it quickly and watching as our assets and properties flash across the screen in a neat grid, each address and safe house pinpointed with clean precision.
It’s my empire laid bare, each dot representing a possible target, each line a lifeline I need to keep from severing.
“Start with the river houses,” I say, scanning the map closely, squinting slightly against the bright glare reflecting off the screen.
“I want two men permanently stationed on the docks and another positioned on the roof for visibility, rotations every six hours. Communication limited to hand signals during daylight hours. I don’t want Dmitry’s men picking up radio chatter. ”
Lev nods silently, entering a quick command into his own phone before turning back to me, his expression tight but calm, just as I’ve come to rely on.
“Done,” he says after a brief moment. “What about the garage in Brownsville? Sergei was managing it.”
The mention of Sergei tenses something deep in my gut, but I push the feeling down and keep my voice steady.
“Pull all vehicles immediately,” I say. “Get someone trustworthy to strip the plates and remove any traceable identifiers. Burn any burner phones or ledgers left there—we can’t leave even a shadow behind for Dmitry to sniff out.”
Another quick nod from Lev, another input into the tablet, the bright marker flickering from amber to green, signaling the task’s completion.
“The loft on East 11th?” Lev asks, his voice quiet but firm.
“Go dark completely,” I say without hesitation. “No one goes in or out unless they’re moving families silently, using only the freight elevator. Lights remain off, blinds stay shut—I want it looking abandoned.”
Lev acknowledges silently, continuing his work methodically, his movements calm and precise, never missing a step.
“What about the warehouse in Red Hook?”
“That stays operational,” I say, running my thumb over the marker thoughtfully. “Keep every shipment on schedule, staff present, operations normal. If Dmitry’s men are watching—and I guarantee they are—I want them to believe we’re scrambling and can’t afford to shut down a key asset.”
Lev nods again, entering more commands before turning to glance briefly at me as he steers the car into a busier intersection, the sound of traffic picking up around us.
“Safe apartments in Queens and Jersey—do you want patrols?”
“Every four hours, rotating two-man teams,” I say firmly. “Keep the patrol patterns unpredictable. If any team misses check-in by even five minutes, consider that location compromised, and trigger fallback sweeps immediately. Use an armed van, three-man crew, silent approach—no negotiations.”
Lev exhales slowly, a faint crease forming between his brows. He doesn’t challenge the orders—he never does—but I can feel the quiet weight behind that breath.
“You think Dmitry will hit us this openly?” he asks finally, eyes briefly leaving the road to meet mine.
“I think Dmitry will seize any chance to exploit confusion,” I say quietly, leaning back against the seat, rubbing my temple. “Roman’s death gives him the chaos he needs to move without restraint. We can’t underestimate how quickly he’ll act.”
Lev’s fingers tighten slightly on the wheel. “We’ve been ready for this a long time.”
“Maybe,” I say, feeling the slow burn of tension twisting inside my chest, thinking about Nikolai, about Nadya and Mila.
“But readiness isn’t the same as preparedness.
Dmitry has been planning this war longer than I’ve been breathing—he thrives in chaos.
Our best shot at staying ahead is to maintain order, move deliberately, and trust no one outside our immediate circle. ”
He glances at me again, expression hardening. “And if he strikes first?”
“Then we make sure it’s the last move he ever makes.”
He doesn’t respond, just tightens his grip again and keeps driving, sunlight slicing through the windshield, glinting off the passing cityscape. Every street, every corner, every window feels like a potential threat.
By the time we pull up to the first safe house in Queens, the tablet in my lap shows most locations secured, patrol routes activated, and backup plans locked in.
For now, everything holds together—barely. The storm is still coming, and we both know it.
It’s been four fucking days.
Four days of silence from Dmitry. Four days of driving myself insane pacing this house like a caged animal while my father plays whatever twisted game he’s orchestrated from the shadows.
I’ve turned every theory inside out, reviewed every file, every drop report, every call intercepted. And yet…nothing.
I monitor cameras, refresh encrypted messages, review patrol logs, refresh them again—anything to find proof that my father is on the move—yet the city stays maddeningly calm.
I’m standing in the study, the same CCTV footage from two nights ago replaying for the third time, my eyes scanning the corners as if I’ve missed something. I haven’t. But that doesn’t stop me.
The door creaks open. Nadya’s voice cuts through the fog in my skull.
She’s dressed for the morning run to the hospital—jeans, loose sweater, hair pulled back with that careless grace that always looks deliberate on her. Mila’s chatter drifts up from the kitchen, and Nikolai’s softer voice follows, punctuated by the clink of cereal bowls.