Chapter 4 - Vasily #2
Grigor was quiet for a long moment, calculating. I could see him weighing his options—loyalty to his boss versus the very immediate threat sitting in front of him.
I helped him with the calculation by pulling out my knife.
"She's on a list," he said quickly, his eyes fixed on the blade. "Pankratov has me watching everyone connected to the Chernov family. Girlfriends, relatives, anyone who could be useful."
"And how did this woman end up on that list?"
Grigor swallowed hard. "Someone noticed. Your car—the black SUV—it's been parking on her street every night for weeks. Word got around. Pankratov figured she must be important to you."
The ice in my veins spread, freezing me from the inside out. My own obsession had painted a target on her back. My nightly vigils, my inability to stay away—I'd led the wolves directly to her door.
"What does Pankratov plan to do with this information?"
"I don't know. I swear to God, I don't know. I just take the pictures. Someone else decides what happens with them."
I believed him. Grigor was too low-level to be included in strategic planning. He was a pair of eyes, nothing more—disposable and easily replaced.
Which meant Pankratov already had everything he needed. Photographs of Gabrielle. Her address, her workplace, her routines. All the information required to take her, hurt her, use her against me.
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the concrete floor. "Keep him alive for now," I told the guards waiting by the door. "I may have more questions later."
I walked out into the gray afternoon, my mind racing through possibilities. None of them were good.
***
The drive back to Manhattan felt endless. I sat in the back of the SUV, staring at nothing, running scenarios in my head.
I could walk away. Stop the surveillance, stay away from her street, let her fade back into the anonymity she deserved. Maybe Pankratov would lose interest if I showed no further connection to her.
But I knew that was a fantasy. The Armenians had already invested resources in watching her. They had photographs, documentation. Walking away now wouldn't erase her from their files—it would just leave her unprotected when they decided to make their move.
I could warn her. Approach her directly, explain the danger, give her money to disappear. But where would she go? She had no training, no understanding of the world she'd stumbled into. Pankratov's people would find her within days, and then she'd be alone, terrified, with no one to protect her.
No. There was only one option that guaranteed her safety.
I pulled out my phone and called Kirill. "The island. I need it ready within seventy-two hours. Full staff, full security protocols."
A pause. "The Greek property?"
"Yes."
"May I ask who will be staying there?"
I looked out the window at the city sliding past—millions of people living their small, ordinary lives, unaware of the violence that simmered beneath the surface. Gabrielle was one of them. Had been one of them, until I'd noticed her, wanted her, marked her with my attention.
Now she was mine to protect. Whether she knew it or not.
"Just have it ready," I said, and ended the call.
***
The penthouse was dark when I returned, but I didn't bother with the lights. I poured myself a vodka and stood at the windows, watching the sun sink behind the skyline, painting the clouds in shades of blood and gold.
I told myself this was necessary. That taking her was the only way to keep her safe from Pankratov's brutality. That I was being noble, even heroic, in my willingness to upend her life for her own protection.
But I'd built an empire on being honest with myself, even when the truth was ugly. Especially when it was ugly.
The truth was that I'd been waiting for this. For an excuse, a justification, a reason to cross the line I'd been toeing for weeks. The threat from Pankratov was real, but it wasn't the only factor driving my decision. It wasn't even the primary one.
I wanted her. Had wanted her since that first glimpse through a restaurant window. And now I was going to take her—wrap it in the language of protection and necessity, but take her nonetheless.
She would be terrified. She would hate me, at least at first. She would fight and scream and demand to be released.
The thought should have given me pause. Instead, it sent a dark thrill through my chest.
I drained the vodka and reached for my phone again. There were arrangements to make—the extraction itself, the cover story, the preparations at the island. I'd need to brief Kirill and select a team. I'd need to time it carefully, choose a moment when she was vulnerable and alone.
Seventy-two hours. Maybe less.
I thought of her face in the coffee shop—the startled recognition, the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide. Soon I'd see that face every day. Soon she'd be under my roof, under my protection, under my control.
Soon she'd be mine.
The city glittered below me, indifferent to the storm I was about to unleash on one innocent woman's life. I turned away from the window and began making calls.