Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Dimitri
The bar is closing for the night, and I watch the scene unfold on the CCTV cameras from the comfort and quiet of my office. Bouncers clear out all the drunken dancers and anyone looking to share a bed as the music switches from a pounding bass beat to softer ’80s jams—songs my employees sing under their breath without even realizing.
Katya counts her register, her lips moving silently as she works. She sways her hips and nods her head during the bridge of “Is This Love” by Whitesnake.
Uri leans over my shoulder. “Are you going to stare at her all night, or are you going to do something?”
“I’m not staring at her,” I reply, my tone sharper than I intended. But I am. She moves effortlessly, swaying her hips to the faint music as she works. Unbeknownst to her, I’m observing through a camera she’s clearly forgotten about. I could justify it—say I don’t trust anyone and I’m checking her work. But the truth? She’s earned her reputation as my best bartender. She doesn’t need me looking over her shoulder.
“You’re awfully curious about my love life tonight,” I add, leaning back in my chair with a smirk.
Uri huffs and turns away, pacing lazily across the office. “It’s more about your complete lack of a love life.”
“Dick.” I mumble under my breath, returning my attention to the desk. I scroll through emails, ignoring the irritation simmering in my chest. Legit bills to pay. Payroll to double-check. Crime isn’t as glamorous as people think. There’s a lot less punching and making threats and more math than we’re all willing to admit.
Uri disconnects from reality with earbuds, engrossed in whatever he’s watching on his phone. Ten minutes turn into twenty. The knot in my shoulder tightens, driving me crazy. I roll my neck from side to side, the joints cracking softly. That’s when I catch the motion on the back door camera.
It’s Katya, all bundled up and heading to her car. Her breath puffs like smoke in the icy night air, and she fumbles with her keys, fighting the stubborn lock.
A shadow moves behind her, silent and deliberate, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand as I watch his hand reach out.
She doesn’t see him.
“Uri! BACK DOOR!”
I’m already out of my chair, grabbing my gun and sprinting through the back hallway. The sound of my boots pounding against the floor echoes in the narrow space. The steel door looms ahead, stubborn and heavy. I slam my shoulder against it.
Nothing.
“Fuck!” I hiss under my breath. I told Anton to grease the damn hinges weeks ago.
One more full-body tackle, and the door gives way, screeching open. The cold punches me, almost blinding me to the scene in the alley. Viktor has Katya pinned against the wall, his hand gripping her throat, a knife hovering dangerously close to her eye.
“Katya!” I shout, my voice raw and desperate.
She twists, trying to break free, but Viktor’s hold is ironclad. Her breath comes out in frantic gasps, visible in the frigid air.
“I told you there would be consequences,” Viktor growls, his voice a low, menacing rumble. “But your family never listens.”
“Let her go.” I raise my gun, but my hands are trembling. The barrel wavers, because I know if I take the shot, I’ll hit her. My blood runs cold.
Katya squirms, trying to kick him, but her movements are restricted. Did he bind her hands and feet? How the hell did he do that so fast? Her face glistens under the dim streetlight—tears, sweat, maybe both. But he’s keeping her pinned to the wall, watching her squirm.
“Viktor,” I growl, my voice trembling with barely contained rage. “If you hurt her, I swear to God, I will hunt you down and rip you limb from limb.”
Her struggles weaken. His grip tightens. Katya gasps, a high-pitched squeak, and my stomach twists violently.
Then an explosion rips through the alleyway.
Viktor’s body jolts, a hole torn through his head. The force launches him forward, nearly crushing Katya. She screams as he collapses against her, his weight dragging her to the ground. Blood smears her coat as he slides lifelessly to the pavement. Rude ass bastard couldn’t even die without making a mess of her.
I turn, my breath catching in my throat. Uri stands a few feet away, his gun still smoking, his eyes blazing.
“Uri,” I exhale, relief and gratitude mixing in my voice. He doesn’t respond, already stepping toward the destruction he’s made.
I sprint to Katya, dropping to my knees beside her. “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice frantic. Her lip quivers, her body frozen. I pull her into my arms, cradling her trembling frame against my chest. My heart pounds so hard it drowns out everything else. “Let’s get you inside.”
Uri approaches, gun still in one hand while the other gently squeezes Katya’s shoulder. “Go. I’ll take care of this.”
He nudges Viktor’s corpse with his boot, flipping it over. The lifeless eyes stare blankly at me. Uri hums thoughtfully. “Huh. Headshot. Didn’t think I aimed there.”
Katya's eyes dart toward the body, but I block her view. “Don’t,” I murmur softly, scooping her into my arms. Her weight feels insignificant, but her fragility—that’s crushing.
I carry her back inside, my pulse pounding in my ears. Every step feels like an eternity. “You’re safe now,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out, and her apology tears through me like a blade.
“No. This was my fault.” I never thought he’d strike so fast. I should’ve sent her home as soon as they walked in the bar, but retaliation is never this efficient.
Inside my office, I set her gently on the desk. She’s shaking uncontrollably, her breaths coming in shallow bursts. I unzip her coat, scanning for injuries. My hands work methodically, brushing over her arms, her shoulders. Soft fabric, cold skin. No blood. No swelling. Just fear and the early hints of bruising around her neck.
“Thank God,” I whisper, cupping her cheeks. My thumbs wipe away her tears as I let my forehead linger against hers. “You’re not hurt.”
Katya nods, but her eyes remain unfocused, darting past me. “I didn’t see him,” she murmurs, her voice small. “I had my earbuds in. I was listening to the new Amanda Chase album.” A faint laugh bubbles up. “Damn you, Amanda,” she mutters, shaking a fist weakly. “With your heartbreaking yet danceable songs.”
She’s making jokes. She’s okay. The tension in my chest eases.
“You should give her album a one-star review. Dangerously distracting,” I tease softly.
Katya gasps in mock horror, pulling back. “How dare you disparage my queen, my mother, my goddess!”
“My deepest apologies.” I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips.
Her expression shifts to one of playful suspicion. “Oh no… don’t tell me you’re a Lena Goodlove fan.”
I shrug, smirking. “Honestly, their music sounds the same to me.”
“BLASPHEMY!”
She’s fine. She’s not hurt. She’s making jokes. I didn’t lose her.
Relief courses through me like a shot of adrenaline, grounding me for the first time tonight.
“Well, since I offended you so deeply,” I murmur, my voice low, “what can I do to make you feel better?”
My hand lingers on her cheek, my thumb brushing lightly against her soft, flushed skin. Her warmth spreads to my own skin, warming me… to the point of burning. I tilt her chin gently, forcing her to meet my gaze.
Her blush deepens, her lips parting slightly. What does she want me to do? Hold her? Kiss her? Lay her across my desk and take what I’ve dreamed about for the past year? The possibilities race through my mind, each one more graphic than the last.
She leans in closer, her lips grazing mine—a whisper of contact that sets my pulse hammering.
“I know where the cook keeps his secret stash of ice cream,” she whispers, her voice playful but laced with mischief.
“Ice cream is what you want?” I ask, barely managing to form the words.
Her voice lightens, soft and teasing. “Yes. I want to eat ice cream and watch funny animal videos with you.”
Not quite fucking her, but if this is what she wants, I’m happy to oblige.
She slides off the desk gracefully, her fingers lacing with mine. “Come on,” She leads me through the hallway to the kitchen. “He gets it imported from Switzerland,” she says.
Glancing at our entwined fingers, my heart clenches at how perfect and right it feels.
“And why does he hide it here?” I ask, watching her pull the pint from the back of the walk-in freezer, hidden beneath a stack of frozen meat.
“Because he’s afraid his wife will find it and eat it.”
A few minutes later, we’re in the kitchen, huddled over a pint of ice cream with two spoons. The lights hum above us and the stainless steel counters gleam. I laugh, scooping a spoonful. “Gotta have trust in a relationship. No secrets. Especially not hidden stockpiles of ice cream. Secrets kill marriages.”
She smirks but says nothing.
I nudge her lightly. “Tell me a secret.”
She turns her phone toward me, a soft grin on her lips. “Otters are my favorite animal.”
I arch a brow. “Your favorite animal isn’t a secret. That’s just a fun fact.”
She rolls her eyes and taps the screen, showing me a video. In it, an otter grabs another otter’s hand, presses it to its mouth, and holds it close. The caption reads: “Otters hold each other’s hands so they don’t float away while sleeping.”
“That’s sweet,” I say, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as I take another scoop of ice cream.
She swipes to the next video. This time, a group of giant river otters attack a caiman, tearing it apart with vicious efficiency.
“Holy shit, that took a turn,” I blurt, recoiling slightly as she quickly tosses the phone onto the counter. She laughs, the sound light and melodic. “Do you feel better now?” I ask.
“Better after what? The attack? Or the adorable otter image being completely shattered?”
I shrug, the corners of my lips twitching upward. “Either, I guess.”
“I’ll survive.”
I glance at the pint between us, now half-empty. The room feels warmer somehow. “Good,” I say, nodding. I take the spoon from her hand and slide the ice cream back into the freezer. “It’s late, and you should get home.”
As we step back into my office, she freezes. Her gaze locks on the blood-soaked coat lying crumpled on the floor. Without a word, I grab my coat from the hook and wrap it around her shoulders.
“Use mine until I can get yours cleaned,” I tell her softly.
The coat swallows her small frame, the sleeves dangling far past her hands. Her wide eyes fill with something—gratitude, maybe, or exhaustion.
“You’re like an otter,” I murmur, smirking. “Cute but dangerous.”
I half expect a playful retort, a grin, something. But she stays silent as I walk her to her car. The alley is clean. Viktor’s body and any trace of the earlier chaos are gone. Uri did a thorough job.
Still, I’m not taking chances. I scan her car carefully, my eyes darting to the undercarriage, the seams of the trunk. Everything appears fine, but I open the door myself, checking the interior before motioning for her.
“Get home safe,” I tell her, my voice quieter than before.
She steps inside, her expression soft. “Thank you, Dimitri.”
“Anytime, Katya.”
Really, my adorable otter. Anytime you need me, I’ll be there.