Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
KONSTANTINE
S ix months earlier
Veronika's blood stained my hands.
It pooled beneath her, a crimson tide creeping across the marble, violating the pristine white of her dress. The metallic scent of it burned my nostrils, a sickening reminder of my failure. Her ragged breathing scraped through the silence, each desperate exhale weaker than the last, a death rattle counting down the seconds.
My wife was dying.
Murdered by my enemies.
"Please, Kostya," she gasped, her voice wet, bubbles of blood frothing at the corners of her lips as she choked on what life she had left. Her fingernails dug into my wrist, leaving crescent moons of desperation. "She knows. Marina knows what I took from him. Solovyov will kill her for it. Protect her. If you ever loved me. If you ever cared?—"
Loved? We both knew better.
I should have loved her.
Maybe if I had, things would have been different.
Maybe if I had, she wouldn't have been so desperate for affection elsewhere. Wouldn't have clung to empty promises from men who only wanted what they could take from her. Wouldn't have made the mistakes that led us here, to her blood seeping between the tiles and her life fading in my arms.
Love had never been part of our marriage.
It was a contract sealed in blood and power, a political move disguised as devotion, a merger of families instead of hearts.
Her hands trembled as they clutched at me, fingers pale against my black sleeve, as if I could keep her tethered to this world.
I couldn't.
The last breath left her lips in a soft, surrendering sigh. Her body went limp, head lolling back, eyes fixed on something I couldn't see. All that remained was the echo of her words, haunting me in the sudden, stifling silence.
Protect Marina.
Protect her little sister.
Marina, the one woman I had never been allowed to touch.
The one who had haunted my thoughts since the moment I put a ring on her sister's finger.
I had resisted the gnawing urge to claim her.
She was my wife's younger sister .
For years, I ignored the way my blood ran hot, my skin tightened from Marina's sharp tongue and firestorm eyes. The way she looked at me, not with fear, not with obedience, but with challenge. A wildness that called to something primal in me.
She was forbidden fruit.
But before I could act, before I could even think, Marina ran.
Ran headlong into the dark. Innocent and unprotected from the wolves circling her scent.
It was reckless. Foolish.
And for the life of me I couldn't understand why.
Her sister had been murdered. Wouldn't it have been natural for her to seek my protection?
At first, I thought it was because of her confusion and grief. Then I blamed myself for keeping my distance from her all these years. As the months dragged on and she refused all attempts at communication, it became apparent this wasn't just grief…it was fear.
She feared me.
She wasn't just running…she was running from me .
It was obvious she blamed me for her sister's death, but that was no excuse for putting herself in danger. With Solovyov out to reclaim whatever it was Veronika stole, and convinced Marina was in possession of it, her best chance of survival was by my side.
She was mine to protect now.
She'd thought she could escape.
She'd thought wrong.
I'd never give up the chase.
Months later, I found her.
After hunting her across continents, through Moscow's stone-cold streets, Finland's endless nights, Sweden's stark forests, and finally the sprawling concrete jungle of the United States, I found her hiding in a dingy hole-in-the-wall diner in Chicago.
My fingers drummed against the sticky tabletop, the rhythm matching the pounding in my skull. Each passing second was sandpaper against my nerves.
Every cell in my body wanted to storm into the kitchen and drag her out.
Pin her against the wall. Make her understand that she was never truly free of me.
But I knew I shouldn't, not unless it was absolutely necessary.
The last thing I needed was to draw attention to myself with a scene.
I had not informed my cousin, Gregor Ivanov, that I was in the United States.
I was in his territory without permission, the ultimate disrespect to a mafia boss.
The fact that we were cousins wouldn't matter. Blood didn't trump business, not in our world.
If I caused problems for him, problems that could blow back on the family, he'd kill me, simple as that. Family feuds had been started over less.
Veronika had already caused me enough humiliation with her indiscretions, her weakness. The last thing I needed was to let everyone know I couldn't control her little sister either.
No. Marina was my responsibility. Now that I had her cornered, I would get us both back to Moscow before Gregor was the wiser.
I replayed Veronika's last words in my mind, her dying plea like a curse. The weight of it pressed down on my chest. Suffocating. Unbearable. I never loved my wife, but her death was on my hands. Another debt to be paid.
Where the hell was Marina? What was taking her so long to appear for her work shift?
She had been cunning over the last few months, slipping past security, avoiding airports, using trains and cargo ships where identification checks were lax. I had chased her through dead ends and false leads, tracking whispers and ghosts.
She was good. Too good.
And it infuriated me.
But now, she was within reach. I could almost smell her, that distinctive scent of vanilla and rebellion that had haunted me for years.
I would finally learn what Veronika had stolen from Solovyov that was so important.
And I would keep Marina safe.
Whether she liked it or not.
A waitress sauntered over, all synthetic curves and cheap perfume that couldn't mask the stale cigarette smoke clinging to her skin.
"Hey, sweetheart. Marina’s not here yet, but I can take care of you until she comes in." She bit the tip of her pen, leaving a smudge of coral lipstick. "Want something…special?"
I barely spared her a glance, my jaw clenched so tight I could taste metal. "Coffee. Black."
Her pout was immediate, lips pinching, but I didn't care.
I didn't have time for distractions.
Not when Solovyov's men could already be closing in.
If I found Marina, I knew they wouldn't be far behind.
I glanced at the clock, the second hand ticking away my patience with each jerky movement.
Marina wasn't coming.
She knew I was here.
She was running. Again.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor as I stood, the sound cutting through the low hum of conversation. Heads turned. Eyes widened, then quickly looked away. Nobody wanted to meet my gaze. I ignored them all.
My pulse hammered, drumming in my veins as I pushed through the restaurant, past waiters and patrons, and shoved open the kitchen doors, the hinges groaning in protest.
Chaos.
The scent of seared meat and frying oil filled the air, an assault on the senses after the dull mustiness of the dining room. Cooks moved in frantic bursts around the grill, steam rising in ghostly plumes, plates clattering.
But I only saw one thing. Her.
Marina turned.
And for the first time in months, I breathed.
Golden hair spilled over her shoulders, shimmering under the dim kitchen lights. A rebellious curl stuck to her temple, damp with sweat.
Those emerald eyes, wide with shock, locked onto mine.
Don't you fucking dare run from me, little rabbit.
She parted her lips, as if about to say my name. I could almost hear it in her voice, the way she used to say it years ago, before my marriage—before Veronika—changed things.
Then something shuttered in her gaze.
She turned and ran.
Instinct took over. I lunged, but a blur of movement cut me off.
A woman stepped into my path, small but unyielding, a chef's knife gripped in her wrinkled hand. The blade gleamed under the fluorescent lights, still slick with onion juice.
A babushka. Her face was lined with age and experience, deep-set eyes in a sea of wrinkles, but her gaze sharp as steel, cutting right through my expensive suit to the monster underneath.
"Why do you go after my girl?" she demanded, her accent thick as molasses, her stance unwavering. The knife didn't tremble in her hand.
I exhaled sharply, my patience unraveling thread by thread. "She's not your girl." I took a step closer, towering over her, my shadow swallowing her whole. "She's mine."
The old woman's mouth pressed into a firm line, years of defiance etched into the corners. "She does not want you," she said, her voice laced with quiet fury, the kind that had survived wars and famine. "She is safe here. You go away. Now."
Safe? She wouldn't be safe until she was under my control. And in my arms.
The thought intruded unbidden. I fought it, pushed it down where it belonged.
This wasn't about how badly I wanted her.
This wasn't about claiming her the way I'd always wanted to.
I would honor my wedding vows and not touch her.
This was about the vow I made to my dying wife. The wife I failed to protect.
I would not fail her sister.
" Ya Konstantine Nikolai Ivanov ." I let the weight of my name settle between us, let it sink into her bones like ice.
Her fingers trembled around the knife's handle. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.
Good. She knew the name. Knew what it meant. What I could do.
"Solovyov is looking for her," I said, my voice low enough that only she could hear. "If he finds her, she dies."
A flicker of hesitation crossed her features, fear wrestling with defiance. She knew I wasn't lying. The truth of the danger was written in the lines of my face, in the coldness of my eyes.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a card, and pressed it into her palm. Her skin was rough, calloused, the hands of someone who had worked her whole life. She didn't recoil from my touch. Brave woman.
"If anyone else comes for her, you call me. If she returns, you call me. "
A long pause. The kitchen seemed to hold its breath. Then, a single nod, a surrender of sorts.
I turned to one of the younger cooks, who looked between us nervously. "Where?"
He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing, and gestured over his shoulder. "L stop."
I turned on my heel and stalked out the back, my mind already on what came next.
The hunt. The capture. The reckoning.
When I caught Marina, there would be no more running.
No more games.
No more distance between us.
She was mine now. Mine to protect. Mine to keep.
And God help anyone who tried to take her from me.