Forced Bratva Virgin (Tarasov Bratva #2)

Chapter 4 – Kostya

Chapter 3 – Madelyn

The melancholic strains of Coldplay's “Fix You” filled my car as I drove home that night. With my hands on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the almost deserted streets ahead of me, I nodded to the soft piano-driven ballad. Chris Martin’s soaring vocals captivated my heart as I let the music wash over me.

It was almost 11 P.M., and I had stepped out to get some groceries at a supermarket three blocks away. I needed the drive anyway; I needed to unwind a little, considering that I had been thinking about the good news Dad shared with me. I'd been planning and strategizing how to help the company. Dad clearly had so much faith in me that I couldn't afford to let him down.

I spent almost the whole day planning and mapping out what I would do as head of the company's Research and Development. It was going to be quite demanding, and I had to prepare. But tonight, I needed to clear my mind and cool off a bit, and this song was really helping.

The line from the song played on: ...lights will guide you home…and I will try to fix you…

“Sorry, Chris, I'm not fixing anything tonight,” I said quietly, taking a careful turn down the street to my apartment. “I'm just gonna take a long nap.”

My phone chimed, stealing my attention for a moment as my gaze drifted to the device nestled in the dashboard's center console. I was already driving toward my apartment building, so I thought having my eyes on the phone screen was safe. Besides, what could possibly go wrong?

Suddenly, I jerked at the sound of a car's tires screeching loudly against the asphalt. Reflexively, my eyes returned to the road where a vehicle in the opposite direction was recklessly drifting toward a street lamp. It had veered off course, and seconds later, I watched it crash into the lamp, the metal pole bending like a twisted finger from the impact.

My foot hit the brakes immediately, bringing my car to an abrupt halt somewhere outside my apartment. My first instinct was to help the driver and whoever else was inside the car. Without a second thought, I rushed out of my vehicle, crossing over to the other side of the road to offer my assistance.

The pole was dented, but fortunately, the car wasn't, and I hoped whoever was inside was just as fine. Standing by the driver's door, I knocked on the glass of the tinted window, concerned for the safety of the one inside.

After a few seconds, I heard the sound of the window whirring down with a smooth mechanical hum, which soon ended in a soft clunk, revealing the driver's form.

He raised his head from the steering wheel, and the moment he turned to face me, I felt my heart leap into my chest. There was a lump in my throat, and suddenly, my breath hitched. The man was handsome— very good-looking—and he just sat there, staring at me with those light blue eyes that bore into mine. He looked pale; his pupils were dilated, and his face had a worn-out complexion. But even with all that, he still managed to leave me breathless.

I was here to help, not assess the man's handsomeness.

I snapped myself out of my reverie.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I asked, holding his gaze.

Of course, he's hurt. That's a dumb question, Maddie. You can tell that he's not okay, I thought to myself, but fuck it, I'd already asked.

He still had his eyes pinned on me, a serious look etched in his angular face. His chiseled jawline and granite features mirrored a sense of ruggedness. His piercing gaze hinted at his intensity and the authority he probably commanded.

“Are you okay?” I repeated, trying to keep a straight face.

“I'm fine,” he said, his voice a low, resonant rumble like thunder on a summer day, deep yet smooth. A groan escaped his lips, and his eyes squinted very subtly as he struggled to keep the pain down.

“You're bleeding.” My brows furrowed, noticing the blood dripping from his arm. “I'm calling an ambulance.” I glanced down at my phone, ready to dial the number.

“No!” he growled, snatching my phone with lightning reflexes.

“What the fuck?” I frowned, but I was a little amazed by his speed.

“No cops,” he added with a stern glare.

“Not the cops, dumb dumb.” I snatched back my phone, upset by his reaction. “I was gonna call the hospital.”

“No hospitals either,” he further clarified. “One will lead to the other eventually.”

He’d been a pain in the ass these past few seconds, but I couldn't leave him like this. The man was obviously in need of medical attention, but the fact that he didn't want anything to do with the hospital or the cops meant that he was probably into something shady. Yet, I wanted to help regardless.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my eyes as I finally decided to help. It was risky, but I ignored the thoughts running through my mind: thoughts of this act of kindness getting me into trouble. I was more concerned about this man's life right now than I was about anything else.

“I'm not a doctor, but I can help since you're too stubborn to go to a hospital,” I said, pinning my gaze on him.

The absence of a refusal in his silence was all the answer that I needed, and for a moment, we gazed into each other's eyes.

I couldn't tell exactly why I was helping this man, this complete stranger. But there was something beyond his good looks that seemed to draw me to him.

“Alright. Let's get you inside,” I muttered, opening his door from outside.

He stepped out of his car, and his towering height became apparent, making me feel unexpectedly petite in comparison.

He staggered, and I reached out to help him gain balance, but he wouldn't let me. “I'm good.”

I folded my arms across my chest, shooting a glare at him. “Are you always this stubborn?”

He looked at me with a blank expression. “Are you helping me or what?”

“Or you're arrogant, too.”

“And you're observant. Good for you.”

The sarcasm in his baritone caused my teeth to clench, and my brows furrowed. “You really shouldn't be such a pain in the ass, especially to someone who just wants to help.” I led the way into the building, and he followed me inside.

I lived on the third floor, and I could’ve easily taken him to the elevator, but as punishment for his arrogance, we used the stairs. As we ascended, I cursed myself for being so cruel, but he was a tough guy, obviously. Climbing up a few steps wouldn't kill him, even in his condition.

We got to my door, and I opened it. “Drop the attitude before you enter.”

He scoffed and walked in after me. As his eyes darted across my living room, I shut the door behind us, locking it.

Usually, my apartment earned praise for its cozy and warm atmosphere, making it friendly and inviting. It was expertly balanced with a touch of elegance through sleek modern furniture. However, this man just took a seat without saying a word, and I was sure it wasn't because he was in pain.

“I'll be right back.”

I headed to my room and fetched my first aid kit. I didn't know who he was, so I couldn't spend much time away, leaving him alone in my living room.

He was sitting in silence, his eyes glued to mine as I walked over and set the kit on the floor.

I pulled a stool over and sat on it, strapping my blue latex gloves on. “I'm gonna need you to take off your coat,” I announced.

He was hesitant at first, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I can't clean your wound if you don't do it,” I added, staring at him with raised brows. “Alright. Take your time. Besides, I'm not the one who's bleeding here.” I pulled back, palms up in a gesture of frustration, waiting for the man to relent.

Finally, he did; he shed his coat, his eyes still locked on mine, causing me to feel a flutter of discomfort at the intensity of his stare. His undershirt was next to mine, and I looked away when he began to unbutton it. Soon, he was stripped from the waist up, revealing his masculine physique. His chiseled abs were a clear definition of ridges and valleys, and his chest was broad, accentuating the contours of his muscles and leaving me momentarily breathless.

I cleared my throat in an attempt to get a grip of myself, focusing my attention elsewhere.

It's rude to stare like that, I reminded myself, tearing my gaze from his sexy and attractive body to the wound on his arm. “Let's see what we have here.”

I took his arm, and boy, it was heavy.

He leaned closer so I could have a better look at the wound. But he was way too close, so much so that I could feel his breath on my skin. He smelled nice, and this proximity was a distraction I didn't need.

With a delicate touch, I examined the wound, tracing the edges of the gash with gentle fingers. Sympathetically, I winced, seeing the jagged flesh and the blood slowly trickling down his arm. “It looks like you dodged a bullet, but it grazed your arm.”

I jerked my eyes to watch his reaction, but his expression was blank, as it'd been since I had met him.

He said nothing, his gaze unwavering.

It would be wise not to pry. The deal was to help clean his wound, not ask questions. He could've been a criminal on the run from the cops. But then again, he was too sophisticated for a criminal on the run. And that car outside, that cost a fortune. Of course, I knew; my dad owned many of them.

Usually, criminals on the run would be afraid or concerned, but he wasn't. He seemed more upset than concerned about anything, and he didn't strike me as a man who knew the concept of fear. Rather, he seemed like one to inflict it. However, despite the intimidating aura he exuded and the countless reasons I had to be afraid of this man, I simply wasn't—well, I was a little. Just a little. It was strange, but somehow, my instincts had decided to defy logic and refused to see the dangers this man posed.

“It's a flesh wound,” he replied to my previous statement, his eyes glancing at my fingers as I worked. “Nothing serious.”

“Yet you're bleeding out,” I said, reaching for the first aid kit to pull out a swab of cotton wool. “Shit.” My forehead creased upon realizing that I was fresh out of cotton wool. I thought for a moment, fingers under my chin; my only option was the handkerchief in my purse.

This was my favorite handkerchief—a piece I’d made myself and always held on to. But at this point, my passion for helping people got the better of me; his health was more important than this cloth. I let out a soft sigh and grabbed my purse, withdrawing the makeshift cotton wool.

I dipped it in an antiseptic solution and took a look at his arm one more time. “It's deeper than a flesh wound.”

As he shifted his weight, adjusting in the chair, his hand instinctively flexed, accidentally knocking the first aid kit off the edge. It clanked loudly against the floor, and the contents fell out, scattering across the ground.

“Hold still,” I said, knitting my brows, my face scrunching into a frown. I waited for an apology, but it never came. This man really was a proud one. I shook my head, brushed off the pang of annoyance in my stomach, and jerked my eyes to look at him. “This is gonna sting a little.”

It was a warning so he'd brace himself, but I had a feeling the warning was unnecessary.

“No, it won’t,” he said, his expression flat.

Carefully, I dabbed the wound, the antiseptic solution seeping into his flesh, but he just stared at me like he couldn't feel the pain. Maybe he didn't; honestly, I wasn't surprised.

“Most people would have flinched by now,” I said, wiping away the blood and debris. “But guess you're not like most people.”

“You said you're not a doctor.” His voice was low and husky, eyes narrowing slightly, hinting at the subtle amusement flickering in their depths.

“I'm not,” came my reply. The handkerchief absorbed the blood as I cleaned the area, and the full extent of the injury was revealed. “I’m a biomedical scientist.”

“Same thing,” he said with finality, leaving no room for argument. In the process, he moved again, disrupting my focus.

“For Christ's sake, hold still, goddamn it.” I glared at him, deep creases lining my forehead as I forcibly pulled his arm.

His brows rose instinctively at my reaction, and I could tell he was surprised by how I snapped and pulled his arm. My heart skipped a beat as he glared back at me like I'd crossed a line. But although the stern expression on his face shook me, I wouldn't let him see my fear.

“I said, hold still.” My tone was somewhat commanding. “I don't wanna have to repeat myself.” Honestly, I didn't even know where I got the guts from.

He squinted at me, but I ignored the attitude and continued to nurse his wound. I cleaned it up nicely and carefully bandaged it.

“There. Much better,” I said, exhaling sharply.

He rose to his feet and picked up his undershirt. Again, I looked away as he got dressed. He was really gorgeous, and his sexy body was quite enticing. He picked up his coat and headed out.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I rushed to block the door, palms pushing against his chest. “Easy there, tiger. Where do you think you're going?”

“Oh, so now, you wanna stand in my way?” He cast a disbelieving look at me.

“No, I don't wanna stand in your way, big guy,” I responded just as arrogantly as him. “I'm already in your way because I can't in good conscience let you go out like this.”

He put his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I feel fine.”

“Yeah, that's because, for some reason, you don't feel any pain,” I blurted out, the words jumping out of my mouth in a rush. “But just because you don't feel pain doesn't mean you can't pass out.” I shut my eyes and exhaled sharply, speaking with a much calmer tone. “Look, you lost a lot of blood, and driving in this condition is risky—you might end up in an accident.”

“Like I said, I'm fine.”

He tried to step out, but I wouldn't let him.

“Jesus Christ, why are you so stubborn?!” I stood in front of him, slapping a palm against my face, frustrated by his attitude.

“And why are you so resilient?” he asked, his tone dripping with a hint of irritation.

“Because I'm trying to help you, dumb dumb,” I replied, my glare unyielding.

He cocked his head to the side, and the expression on his face was a clear indication of his displeasure at both my tone and choice of words.

“Sorry,” I said casually, folding my arms across my chest.

He shook his head and scoffed. Clearly, he wasn't used to people standing up to him like this.

“You're not going anywhere until you're fully rested,” I declared, leaving no room for further arguments.

His brows were raised the entire time, and shock was evident in his gaze. He threw his hand to the back of his head and ruffled his black hair. We locked eyes for the next few seconds, and he saw how serious I was.

“That wound is worse than you think,” I said. “If you go out like that, I can't guarantee you'll get to your destination in one piece, so….” I gestured back to the living room.

He wiped a palm over his face, knowing this wasn't an argument he would win. With a deep breath, he stepped away from me and walked back to the living room.

“Oh, and you're welcome, by the way,” I said, my tone laced with sarcasm as I rolled my eyeballs, frowning at his ingratitude.

He ignored me completely and sat back on the sofa. Not even a thank you for dressing my wound . Nothing at all. That really pissed me off, but at least I helped a man in need.

Then, the question hit me.

Who is he anyway?

No woman had ever stood up to me the way that she did. At first, it was annoying, especially because she had the courage of a wild cat; she could look me in the eye and throw commandments, expecting me to obey. Maybe this was the reason I found her to be an interesting woman.

Indeed, she was. How else would I describe a woman who risked a lot to nurse the wound of a stranger? Her kind heart was a marvel. Despite how unbearable I was, she still didn't give up on me. What type of person was she?

Even though she talked a lot, she was smart enough to know when to keep her mouth shut. She knew she was nursing a bullet wound but decided not to pry further. This was enough reason to scare her, and most people would be petrified when in the same situation as her. But she wasn't. She wasn't just a pretty face with a kind heart but also a brave and fearless woman.

As I settled on the bed in the guest room she'd shown me, images of her face kept playing in my head. I recalled when I first saw her standing outside my car, with her brows furrowed and lips pursed.

Initially, my breath had ceased for a moment as I jerked my head and fixed my eyes on her—on the tall blonde with blue eyes and shoulder-length hair. She was so pretty that the sight of her numbed my pain. Her mouth was moving, but unfortunately, I couldn't hear a word she was saying until I finally snapped out of the spell that held my gaze.

It was amazing how she cared for me like we'd met before, and despite my arrogance, she still found a way to get through to me. The girl was able to convince me to stay in her guest room, and although I didn't appreciate her tone, I was glad that I'd listened.

She was right; I needed to rest. Besides, there was no way I could have found the one that got away. It was too late for that now.

My stomach rumbled, hunger slowly creeping in, and I wondered if my captor had any food in the house.

Just then, I heard a knock on the door.

“It's open,” I replied, eyes flying to the entrance.

She gently pushed the door open and walked inside with a tray in her hand. The air was immediately filled with the scent of her perfume, and her presence brightened my mood. She was wearing a nice pair of purple pajamas, and her hair was piled up to the top of her head.

“Hi,” she greeted, her voice calm and welcoming. “Figured you'd be hungry.” She set the tray of food and some fruits on the table by the window.

“Thank you,” I said, pinning my gaze on her like a hook to a fish. I watched her lips part into a faint smile, so beautiful and radiant.

“Anytime,” she replied. “Just make sure you eat everything, and you'll be fine.”

We were quiet for a while, and her eyes were everywhere except my face.

“I'll…uh…. I'll leave you to it, then.”

She headed out.

“Wait,” I called after her, and she stopped in her tracks and turned to look at me. “Why are you helping me?” I shifted on the bed, staring in her direction.

“Well,” she began with slow steps back toward me, “you were in need of help, and I couldn't look the other way.”

“But why, though?” I insisted, curious to know her reason. “I could've been a serial killer.”

“But you weren't.” She paused, and her breath caught for a fraction of a second as her eyes narrowed at me. “You're not a serial killer, are you?”

I scoffed, smoothing my hair backward. “Fortunately for you, I am not.”

“Fortunately for me?” She arched her brows, her blue eyes simmering with skepticism as she wagged her index finger in the air. “Oh, no, no, no. Fortunately for you , big guy.” Her lips curled into a sly grin. “Because I'd have taken you out if you were.”

“With what, those delicate petals you call hands?” I teased with a faint smirk. “I doubt you could squash a pesky little mosquito, let alone take down a foe.”

“You'd be surprised what these hands can do,” she said, wiggling her fingers.

Instant silence fell at the awkwardness of her statement. We both knew what she meant to say, yet it painted a different picture.

“That came out wrong, didn't it?” she asked, slightly lowering her head.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I replied, feigning ignorance; at least that way, the tension would ease off a bit.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered amidst chuckles.

She was so beautiful that I couldn't seem to tear my gaze off her, but I didn't want to come off as creepy, either.

“I never got your name,” I said, rising to my feet.

“You never asked for it,” she replied, watching me walk over to the tray on the table.

I helped myself to an apple and faced her. “I'm Kostya. What's your name?” I munched on the fruit.

“Madelyn,” she said.

I swallowed. “Nice to meet you, Madelyn.”

Her response was a charming smile that melted my heart. She spotted the handkerchief she'd used to wipe my blood. It was neatly placed on the table; I'd washed it for her.

“That's actually my favorite,” she said, returning her eyes to me, her shoulders shrugging casually. “Maybe because I made it myself.”

My brows shot up in surprise. “You made this yourself?” I asked, picking it up, eyes narrowing at the intricate patterns woven into this piece of cloth.

“Yep,” she replied with a faint smile, her eyes shining with pride. “Designed and embroidered it myself.”

It was surprising because the embroidery on it was a masterpiece.

“Nice,” I remarked, nodding subtly. “You did good.”

“Thanks.” Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes darted across the room.

“Here.” I handed it back to her.

“No, no, you can keep it.” She grabbed my hand and gently pushed it against my chest.

“I can't—”

“I insist,” she cut me off. “Consider it a gift from a random woman who helped you out at a time of need.” She smiled.

I let out a sigh, my gaze fixed on her pretty face. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Her eyes sparkled, but she wouldn't hold my stare.

Madelyn was trying so hard to avoid my gaze, and I found her attempts rather adorable. When she finally looked at me, her eyes betrayed her composure. I recognized that look; she wanted to ask me something but was wondering how best to ask.

“Spill,” I said, focusing my attention on her.

She shot her head at me as though she didn't hear me the first time. “Hmm?”

I let out a sigh and dropped the half-eaten apple back on the tray. “You wanna know how I got wounded, don't you?”

“Well, you can't blame me for being curious,” she replied defensively, shoulders shrugged.

“Of course not.”

“It's not every day you let a stranger into your house and treat their bullet wounds,” she added, watching for my reaction.

At this point, I had to make something up real quick. She seemed like a good woman, but she wasn't ready for the truth about my identity. Besides, it was a big city, and we might never cross paths again. One little lie wouldn't hurt.

I leaned against the table and began, arms folded across my chest. “My mission was simple: infiltrate, gather information…never to engage. But sometimes, simple doesn't mean easy.”

Her head tilted to the side as she paid rapt attention, trying to figure out where I was going with my story.

“Things went south, and my cover was blown,” I continued. “The mafia found out that I was a cop, and let's say that I barely made it out alive.”

“It was the Russian mafia, wasn't it?” She had a little frown, a testament to her dislike for the mafia.

It was an unexpected assumption, and it felt like she had an ax to grind with the Russians. Interesting. We didn't even know she existed.

“Yeah…yeah, it was them,” I said, playing along to see where this would lead.

“I knew it,” she said, placing her hands on her waist. “They're so ruthless and cruel, and sometimes, I wonder if they even have hearts in their chests.” Her words were biting, laced with resentment and hatred.

“So much anger for people you barely know,” I said, a little disappointed by how she saw my gang.

But then again, she was right. Everything she said about us was true. That was our reputation, and I couldn't care less how many others shared her opinion. We were a necessary evil.

“Oh, but I do know them,” she said, looking right at me.

My brows rose reflexively. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I can spot them from a mile away, and I always avoid running into them. They're trouble,” she further explained. “At least that's what I see in movies,” she added under her breath.

She had no idea how ironic her words were. If only she knew who she was talking to.

I chuckled at her ignorance, rubbing my eyes. “I don't doubt that you're a living, breathing Russian mafia detector.”

She laughed at my remark, gently pushing her hair behind her ear.

Seconds later, I changed the subject. “What about you?” Our eyes met in a fleeting moment. “You're obviously good at taking care of people. Why aren't you a doctor?”

She sighed softly. “Well, I'm more of a research type of woman, you see,” she began. “The whole nurturing and nursing thing isn't for me.” A smile played on her lips as she passionately explained her area of interest. “Biomedical sciences, though—ho, ho, ho. That's a different ball game altogether.” Her eyes lit up with excitement, brightening her face. “I mean, can you imagine anything more fascinating than understanding the intricacies of the human body?”

I could think of a thousand other things more fascinating than that, but okay.

She continued, gesturing her hands animatedly. “The way cells communicate, the dance of molecules, the resilience of the human spirit….” She sighed in amazement. “It’s like unraveling an unending mystery.”

Now, I was starting to regret why I asked what she was into because she just wouldn't shut up about it. And honestly, seventy percent of the time, I had no idea what she was saying. But it was fascinating watching her express herself.

As she spoke, her face radiated enthusiasm, her hands fluttered like birds in flight, and her voice was conviction-filled. My gaze was fixed on her as she continued to spill out her words in a cheerful torrent.

Madelyn was a fun person to hang around. She was blissful and quite friendly. Although she was the exact opposite of me, I was drawn to her somehow.

Sadly, we would likely never meet again.

Chapter 5 – Madelyn

Snuggled up in bed, loosely wrapped in the warmth of my mattress, a slight groan escaped my lips, and my eyelids fluttered for a moment as I drew in a deep breath. Blinking away the remnants of sleep in my eyes, I rolled over to the other side of the bed, too lazy to get up.

Last night, I spent a long time chit-chatting with the mysterious stranger—the undercover cop. It was a fun experience, and it turned out that he wasn't such a dick after all.

My face softened into a sly smile as I tossed the sheets aside and swung my legs over the bed. As I sat up, inhaling the fresh morning breeze blowing in through my window, my feet dangled in the air. My mind was occupied with thoughts of Kostya, the man who barely smiled, but the few times I caught a grin on his face, it was beautiful. We talked about many things, and I loved how he listened to my rants about biomedicals.

I could tell that he couldn't understand half the things I was saying, but it sure felt nice having him listen to me regardless. It was more than Ethan had ever done anyway.

Ethan was my former flame, a topic I often avoided at all costs.

Kostya was a mysterious one, and the mystery surrounding him was what I found rather interesting. At first, he was such an asshole, an arrogant and disrespectful prick, who later on, while I attended to his injury, was somehow more of a grump, talking less and brooding more. And then, after I convinced him to get some rest, I saw yet another side of him: the calm and reasonable one.

The fact that he showed me three different personalities in one night was really remarkable—fascinating, even.

I let out a sharp exhale, running my hands through my tangled hair, and with a gentle push, I got off the bed. My bare feet settled on the cool floor, sending subtle shivers up my spine. I walked over to the window and parted the curtains, feeling the warm glow of the sunlight on my face.

My steps were almost soundless—mere whispers on the floor as I glided toward the bathroom for the morning's refreshing ritual. I stretched, hands extending over my head as I swung the door open, yawning. I brushed my teeth in front of the sink and then cupped my hands to rinse my face. The water was cool, awakening my skin, and after patting my face dry with a soft white towel, I took one last look at myself in the mirror.

I had a guest in the other room—a handsome one, at that—and I couldn't go to him with my hair looking all shabby and unkempt. No, a quick fix was in order.

Swiftly, I ran my fingers through the tangled locks of my blonde hair, detangling the knots with a firm touch. After a couple more expert moves, I pulled the hair into a low ponytail and secured it with an elastic band.

“Much better.” I breathed out slowly and then stepped out of the bathroom.

I headed to the guest room and knocked, waiting for his response.

But it never came.

I knocked again.

Still no answer.

“That's weird.”

Maybe he was in the shower.

Well, that made sense.

I contemplated opening the door even without his permission to come in, but then I thought, What if I walk in and he comes out of the shower naked?

That would be a sight to behold. It would be an awkward moment, yes, but the mere idea already painted a picture of him naked in my head. I tried to get it out of my mind, but it was almost impossible. I felt a gentle thrill run through me like the silent hum of a string instrument.

However, beyond the possibility of running into him naked, there was also the fact that he wasn't answering at all.

“Kostya, you in there?” I knocked again. “Kostya.” Still no reply. I glanced at the door handle and summoned the courage to go inside. “Alright, I'm coming in now,” I announced, drawing in a deep breath.

Relaxing my shoulders, I dared to lean forward and grab the handle. The door creaked as I inched it open, my eyes scanning the room. “Hello? Kostya?”

There was no one there, and the door shut after I walked in, looking around for any sign of him. “Kostya?”

The bed was neatly made, and everything in the room was the same as before I brought him in. He was awake. Obviously. But where was he? He definitely wasn't in the shower because I couldn't hear the sound of running water.

Daring to go check it out, I found out that, indeed, he wasn't in there.

“Great,” I muttered, my shoulders slumping in dismay as I came to terms with the fact that he'd ghosted me.

Kostya was gone, and there was nothing in the room to indicate that he was ever here in the first place—nothing at all. It was sad but also to be expected. The man was an undercover cop, and with the type of life he lived, I honestly was not shocked that he'd just disappear without a heads-up. I was a little disappointed, though, considering that I was looking forward to seeing him one last time before he left.

I checked the bed, the drawer, and the table, hoping to find at least a note or something, but I found nothing. He’d left nothing behind. Kostya was gone, and we might never meet again. Even if we did, there was a fifty percent chance I wouldn't recognize him; he might be undercover with a different identity altogether.

I sank into the chair by the table, my eyelids drooping like heavy curtains as I exhaled softly.

I heard my phone buzz, pulling me out of my thoughts. Glancing at my lit screen, a smile brightened my face, and I answered. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice came from the other line. “How are you this morning?”

Well, I'm sad because last night, I met this really handsome and charming stranger whose wound I attended to. We shared quality time together, and I thought for a second that we connected, but now it appears he's ghosted me.

Those were the exact words I said in my mind; however, what came out of my mouth was, “I'm fine.”

I pressed my fingers against my temples, massaging them tenderly.

“Amazing,” he said. “Got any plans for tomorrow evening?”

My brows furrowed as I thought for a moment. “Uh, no.”

“Excellent,” he remarked, his voice tinged with subtle excitement.

“Okay, what's going on?”

“There's an important fundraising event tomorrow evening, and as the incoming head of R I could bet my life on that.

“So, sweetheart, will you come with me?” he asked, anticipating a positive response.

I chuckled, rubbing my eyes. “Of course, Dad. I'll be there.”

“Fantastic,” he said, ending the call.

I shook my head, scoffing at his attempt at matchmaking as I rose to my feet, ready to leave the room. My phone chimed, drawing my attention back to it, and for a moment, I honestly thought it was a message from Kostya. The only problem was that Kostya hadn’t taken my number, so could he possibly have texted me? Maybe it wasn't a big deal since he was an undercover cop. However, I knew better.

As I raised the device to my face, my breath caught in my throat, and my eyes widened. I stood frozen in shock, my heart plummeting as I read the text from my ex, Ethan—the last person I needed to hear from.

Chapter 6 – Kostya

“Americans, always showing off the first chance they get.” Alex scoffed contemptuously as we glided into the expansive space, surrounded by the cream of the crop that had turned out in force for this year's fundraising.

He wasn't the only one who despised the Americans. I, for one, didn't particularly enjoy their company. Not all of them, though. There were exceptions, like the kind woman who'd attended to my wounds two days ago.

With my hand buried in my pocket, I strolled through the grand ballroom, Alex moving beside me as we glanced around the sea of glamor with diamonds flashing like fireflies in the soft lights. Jazz music drifted through the air, mingling with the scent of blooming flowers and the mix of several colognes.

The hall was filled with the low hum of chatter and the gentle clinking of glasses as the who's who of society—the fucking hypocrites, wolves in sheep's clothing—laughed, sipping champagne and eating canapés. Clustered in small groups, businessmen, political leaders, and other quote-on-quote ‘important’ personnel stood huddled, their faces set in severe lines as they discussed.

I was nowhere close to being a good person, but at least I wasn't pretending—unlike the fucking hypocrites all around me, flashing plastic grins at one another when, in fact, a good number of them hated each other. I knew this for a fact because I could see a couple of people who'd once hired me to hurt the same people they were smiling with.

A waiter glided by, and I helped myself to a glass, snatching it from his tray. Taking a sip, the flavor danced on my palate, and I savored it.

Alex leaned forward, whispering, “Boss, incoming.”

I traced his gaze to a man in an impeccably tailored black tux with a bow tie around his neck. My brows furrowed as the man's eyes met with mine in a fleeting moment. It was Gabriel Brown—the man whose real estate property we'd vandalized.

“It was him,” Alex added. “He was the one who sent those goons after us back at the club.” He looked at me, his forehead creasing and jaw clenched. “I'm certain that Mr. Brown was behind that attack. It was his feeble attempt at payback.”

“Well, well, well,” Brown said, approaching us with majestic steps, hands dipped in his pockets. “If it isn't the insolent bastards responsible for costing me hundreds of millions.”

The corners of his mouth turned downward, and his lips pursed, hinting at his anger.

“I'd watch my tongue if I were you,” I said, my tone a low growl as I glared at him, displeased by his words.

“Or else what, Tarasov?” He stepped closer, his eyes a blazing crimson, yet he maintained his composure. “What're you gonna do, hmm?”

“I can think of a thousand things,” Alex replied, his gaze fixed on the man.

Brown snorted in derision, sneering at me. “Surely, this chattering animal doesn't speak on your behalf,” he said, his voice laced with disdain.

He extended a hand toward Alex, hovering it in his direction for a moment. The movement was slow and deliberate, intended to enrage the recipient with the dripping condescension that underscored the contempt in his voice.

“Son of a bitch,” Alex growled, his fingers balling into fists as he attempted to make a move on Brown.

Without looking at him, my hand slammed against his chest, a signal to stand down.

“Looks like I struck a nerve,” Brown said with a resentful grin as he shifted his gaze toward Alex.

“I will not have you insult him in my presence,” I said to Brown, gritting my teeth as I struggled not to smack that stupid smirk off his face.

He messed with his cufflinks. “I don't care what you think, Tarasov. I'm not one of your dogs.”

My face scrunched up, my brows knitting together. “You should really watch your tongue, Brown.”

“What're you gonna do, Tarasov, kill me?” He let out a contemptuous chuckle. “Over three hundred people are in this hall—three hundred eyewitnesses.” He looked right at me. “Surely, you're not that stupid.”

I was so mad at this man that I'd killed him multiple times in my head already.

My jaw tightened, and my breath became heavier by the second. My fists were ready to drill bone-breaking punches into his face. But the bastard was right; I couldn't do that now, not here.

“Have fun, Brown,” I said, boring my eyes into his.

“You mean like you did when you attacked my property?” His forehead wrinkled. “Do you know what damage you've done—how much you've cost me?” The bitterness in his voice couldn't be any more obvious, and frankly speaking, that gave me joy.

“A couple hundred million or so,” I replied sarcastically, and the way he narrowed his eyes at me indicated he wasn't pleased. I smirked. “Your estimation, not mine.”

“Fuck you, Tarasov,” he declared, his voice barely above a whisper.

Now, I was the one who had struck a nerve.

“They say you're not one to be messed with,” he added.

“They're right.”

“Are they?” he questioned, taking a step forward. “You see, Kostya. I'm not one to be messed with either, and I do not take it lightly when someone crosses me…let alone some decorated hooligan.” The slight pause came when he looked right into my eyes, waiting for my reaction.

He was speaking to me in the manner that he was simply because he had no idea what I was capable of. He clearly thought he knew me—probably did a little homework—but he didn't. If he did, he'd have known that I never responded well to threats and insults.

Despite my anger, I thought about how my older brother, Artem, would handle such situations. He was a master at staying calm, no matter the storm, and he'd tried several times to teach me how not to let the enemy see that you're upset. Brown was trying to get under my skin and offend me so I'd lose my temper and do something drastic—something stupid. But I wouldn't let him.

“Was that why you sent those weaklings after me?” I asked, keeping a straight face. “In case you haven't noticed, they failed.”

A dismissive laugh escaped his lips. “Maybe. Or maybe I just have something else in mind for you.” He smirked. “You played with fire; now you're gonna get burned.”

“Don't threaten me, Gabriel.” I took a menacing step forward, almost tossing my composure out the window.

“It's not a threat,” he replied with a grin perched on his face. “It's a fucking fact. I will destroy you.”

“Oh, yeah?” I leaned forward and whispered, “I'd like to see you try.”

“Your arrogance will be the end of you,” he said with the same tone. “Watch your back, Tarasov.” He tapped my shoulder, knowing I wouldn't hurt him in public. “You’ll be hearing from me soon enough.”

My fists trembled as I resisted the urge to swing a punch. “I look forward to that.”

The emcee, an elegant and witty woman, said into the microphone on the podium, “Ladies and gentlemen, can I please have your attention?”

Everyone paused what they were doing and turned to face her. She made a few jokes that cracked up the guests, and while she was at that, Brown and I were glaring at each other, uninterested in her jokes or her impending announcement.

He scoffed and adjusted his bowtie. “See you around, Tarasov.”

Brown walked away, whistling as he blended with the crowd.

“You should have let me put that bastard in his place,” Alex said, casting a sneer at Brown as he retreated.

Maybe I should have. But then again, I'd be playing his game. Brown had an agenda—to trigger my rage until I lashed out. It was a good thing that I was in control. However, I was so fucking pissed off that I needed some air to clear my head.

Without a word to Alex, I walked away while the crowd erupted into a heavy round of applause. The emcee had announced the evening's guest of honor and invited them up the podium. I couldn't care less who the fuck that was; I just needed some air.

The sun had long dipped into the horizon, casting a warm yellow glow over the manicured lawns in the garden outside. Soft lights from the lamp post shimmered overhead as I walked between the hedgerows, trying to ease myself of this rage surging through my blood. Several guests were littered across the garden, some alone, some in small groups.

I withdrew my cigarette, sticking it between my lips, ready to light it up when my eyes caught a familiar. Looking closer, I realized that it was the woman from the other day: Madelyn. What a coincidence!

She was sitting all by herself on a bench in a corner, but there was something different about her tonight. She didn't look as vibrant and full of life as she did the last time I saw her. No. She seemed sad—worried about something—and whatever it was, it was clearly eating her up from the inside. Her head was slightly hunched, with her chin almost on her chest. Shoulders slumped, she sat silently, her hands clasped on her lap, fingers intertwined.

I debated avoiding her, considering my current mood. But I needed to cool off, and just seeing her again had already helped me calm down. Besides, she looked like she needed to get something off her chest.

Her sobs caught my attention, and I watched her wipe her tears, sniffling.

It broke my stone-cold heart to see her like that, and immediately, I headed toward her, gentle as the breeze.

She was so carried away by her pain that she didn't hear me walk up to her, nor did she notice my presence as I towered over her.

I cleared my throat conspicuously, and she jerked in shock, her eyes fixed on the ground.

“Has anyone told you,” I began, a small smile playing on my lips, “that even when you're crying, you're beautiful too?”

Her face lit up with surprise as she lifted her head to look at me. She must have recognized my voice, hence why she faced me with raised brows. “Kostya. Hi.” She sniffled, drying her tears with a piece of cloth.

“Hey, Madelyn.” I flashed an encouraging smile at her.

She mirrored the gesture, and her eyes squinted at me. “Hold on a second, did you just quote John Legend?”

“Who?” I shot a brow up in bewilderment.

“Never mind,” she added, her smile still hanging on her cherry-red lips.

I meant it when I said she looked beautiful, even while crying. Her makeup was a little messy, but she still slayed regardless. Her eyes, once vibrant and bright, now wore a subtle shadow of fatigue. However, the sparks within her blue depths still flickered.

Her locks were swept up into an elegant updo with a couple of loose strands framing her face. Her green gown hugged her slender body like a second skin, accentuating her figure.

“May I?” I gestured at the vacant space beside her.

“Sure.” She squeezed out a smile, scooting over.

With a soft sigh, I settled on the bench, eyes fixed on her as she tried to avoid my gaze. “Wanna talk?”

She seemed confused. I was still a stranger, so sharing her concerns with me might have been a little awkward.

“I wouldn't wanna bother you with my problems,” she said, shifting her eyes across the vegetation.

“And who says you'd be bothering me?” I asked politely. “You were there for me once. You helped me even when you didn't have to.” I dared to hold her hand. “Let me help.”

She looked at me, and those tears returned, welling up in her eyes. “I don't think you can help,” she whispered, her voice breaking in despair.

“Try me,” I insisted, my eyes never leaving her. “I'm a cop, remember?” For some reason, I thought that if I reminded her of my made-up story about being a cop, she'd feel free to open up.

She exhaled sharply, wiping her palm over her eyes. “I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to.” Madelyn looked at me, blinking back her tears. “It's embarrassing.”

“I won't judge. I promise,” I assured her.

Her mouth opened as if to speak, but she froze almost immediately, her lips trembling, and her eyes returned to the ground. She was obviously struggling with trusting me and simply keeping whatever was going to herself. I didn't blame her, though; she was right to feel skeptical about opening up to me.

“Hey,” I called softly. “I can guarantee that you'll feel much better once you let it out.”

She was quiet for a moment, torn between uncertainty and the comfort of my assurance. However, her hesitation soon came to an end when she looked me dead in the eyes and asked, “Do you promise not to judge me?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I muttered to finally get her to trust me and open up.

“I fucked up, Kostya. Big time,” she confessed, letting out a sigh. “I made a mistake, a grave one, and now it's come back to haunt me.”

“What happened?” I asked, genuinely concerned about her.

“My ex-boyfriend is threatening to leak a nude photo of myself that I'd once sent to him,” she said, her eyes glued to mine. “He says he'll post the photo on the internet if I don’t do as he says.” She sniffled. “He's blackmailing me, Kostya.”

My face scrunched up immediately, and my jaw clenched at the guy's stupidity. He was an idiot to blackmail her with something so delicate, something she'd shared with him out of love. The guy was a fool, and in that instant, he'd made an enemy out of me.

“What does he want?” I asked, my tone tinged with rage. “Money?”

She shook her head, and I squinted in confusion, wondering what else the bastard was after.

“He wants to sleep with me,” she revealed.

My eyes narrowed, and my brows rose reflexively. I didn't expect that at all, and now I was confused. She noticed the creases on my forehead and saw the puzzled look on my face.

“When we were together, we never…you know,” she said with almost a whisper, her head tilting sideways as she hinted at what she had in mind. “We were never together-together because I wasn't ready to give up my….” She swallowed and paused for a moment before adding, “I wanted to wait. But he didn't understand, and he would always try to force himself on me. So, I had to end it.” She heaved a sigh. “If I'm being honest, his attitude and impatience were why I didn't want him to be my first.”

She was a virgin. Remarkable. Now, my hatred for that son of a bitch had doubled, and I was willing to take matters into my own hands. He would suffer for this because now he had my full attention.

“I don't know what to do, Kostya. I'm afraid. What if he posts the photo? I wouldn't be able to stand it. I wouldn't…. I just wouldn't.” She broke down in tears.

“Hey, don't worry,” I said, wiping her tears with my thumb. “He'll never hurt you again.”

“But the photo—”

“Will never get out,” I cut her off. “Just give me his full name, and your problems will go away in a heartbeat.”

She gazed at me, surprised by my words and probably wondering what I was going to do with such information.

“Gimme his name,” I repeated, already forging new ways to punish that bastard.

“Ethan,” she finally said. “Ethan David Snow.”

“Fantastic.” I smiled, wiping her tears as she melted at my touch.

We stared at each other in silence for a little while, and all I could think about was how insanely beautiful she was.

“Don't worry, Madelyn, you'll be fine,” I said.

She drew in a deep breath. “I guess you're right. Talking about it has made me feel a little better.”

“I'm glad,” I said, my eyes locking onto hers.

The silence between us was starting to grow, and so was the tension hovering in the air. I was drawn to her, and with the way she looked deeply into my eyes, I could tell that the feeling was mutual. Kissing her was a temptation that I had to resist with everything in me, even though both our heads were slowly drawing closer.

I cleared my throat and withdrew; she did the same.

“I have to go now,” I said. “Thank you for sharing, and I promise that all will be well in the end.”

She managed to muster up a smile. “Thanks for listening, and I hope you're right.”

I nodded with an encouraging grin and then turned to leave.

“Wait!” she said from behind.

I swiveled, eyes on her as I wondered what she was up to.

“Can I get your number?” she asked with a straight face, extending her phone.

A faint smirk played on the corners of my lips as I accepted her device and punched in my digits. “Done.” I handed it back to her.

Madelyn smiled at me, pushing a stray lock behind her ear.

I was right, after all; the feeling was mutual.