Chapter 21 – Ellie
I was lying down on the couch that afternoon, lost in the pages of a novel, when I heard a knock on my door.
“It’s open.”
A set of familiar footsteps strolled into the room, accompanied by a low melodic hum.
I covered the book and sat up, brows arched in disbelief. Something seemed different about Agata today, in a really good way. She looked more relaxed, happier even.
“Okay…” I drawled lazily, a small grin playing on my lips. “Someone’s glowing today. What’s going on?”
She halted in front of me, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “What are you talking about, ma’am?” Her cheeks flushed, her voice laced with her Russian accent.
I rose to my feet, retaining my smile. “You know damn straight what I’m talking about.” A quiet chuckle fell from my mouth.
In the fleeting silence that followed, I noticed that her lips were glossed. Nothing bold or pronounced. But enough to enhance her looks. For some reason, the same black-and-white she always wore now looked like a designer dress. Or was it just my eyes?
“You look beautiful,” I said to her, my gaze unwavering.
She glanced down, cheeks turning a shade of pink. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Does this glow-up have anything to do with Sergei?” I leaned in, whispering.
“Not really.” She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, her head slightly bowed. “I just woke up on the right side of the bed, I guess.”
“Hmm.” I stared at her for a moment. “Well, I like this version of you. So, keep waking up on the right side of the bed every morning.”
She met my gaze, her eyes crinkling at the corners with a small smile on her face.
“I haven’t spoken with my husband about that stuff yet,” I began. “But the fact that you’re both still here means he doesn’t plan on firing you guys.”
Silence.
Her grin gradually turned playful as she stared at me in a way that aroused my suspicion.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just that you called him your husband.”
That’s when it hit me. She wasn’t wrong. I actually referred to him as that. But why? Why did I do that?
“It slipped out. Don’t make it weird.” I shrugged, hiding my embarrassment behind a straight face. “Besides, it’s a lot easier than saying ‘my kidnapper.’”
She held my gaze with a slightly broader smile, like I’d somehow implicated myself.
“Didn’t I say not to make this weird?” My brows furrowed, accentuating the faint scowl on my face.
“Sorry.” She chuckled.
“Why are you here anyway?” I dropped myself back onto the couch.
“Your husband wants to see you,” she answered.
I let out a quiet exhale after my heart skipped a beat. “Now?”
She nodded.
Great.
The thought of being alone with him stirred up mixed emotions in me. Part of me was beginning to feel comfortable in his presence, even safe. Another part of me feared what could happen if we stayed together in a room for too long.
I’d fallen twice for him already. What was preventing me from falling a third time?
I had no idea why he wanted to see me out of the blue. And that piqued my curiosity.
“Where is he?”
“In his study.”
Thank God the location is his study, not his bedroom, I thought to myself.
But since when had the location ever stopped anything sexual from happening?
“All right. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She nodded and left the room in silence.
I rose to my feet after she closed the door behind her, then walked over to my vanity. Against my better judgment, I combed my hair, applied lipstick, and lightly dabbed perfume on my wrists.
All of this just because you’re going to see a man you claim to hate? a pesky little voice murmured in my head.
I straightened and exhaled sharply, ignoring the question even as it lingered on the fringes of my mind. After one last look at the woman in the mirror, I headed out.
When I got to his study, I pushed the door open and walked inside. He never bothered to knock on my door before barging into my room. So I decided to tear a page from his own book, give him a taste of his own medicine.
Reclining in his chair, he lifted his eyes from the file in his hands. “And you preach to me about knocking,” he said with his usual calm, his brows arched at my audacity.
“Sucks, doesn’t it?” I walked over to his desk, my gaze unwavering. “That’s how it feels when you invade my space like you own the place.”
A crooked smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I do own the place.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes, halting before his table. “You asked to see me. Why?”
He stared into my eyes for a second, that smirk retained. “Sit down.” He gestured at the visitor’s chair.
I hesitated, displeased with the authority in his tone. But eventually, I sat down.
The air smelled of aged paper, whisky, and the unmistakable scent of his cologne. Behind him, the afternoon sun filtered in through the window, cutting sharply across his desk.
“Why am I here, Karik?”
“You said the cases I assigned to you aren’t real.”
“Obviously.”
In silence, he gestured at a set of files on one side of the table.
“What’re those?”
“Feel free to check them out.”
I hesitated for a second before reaching for the top file. My eyes scanned the pages of the document, and I soon realized this file was cleaner, more direct. Names. Routes with specific coordinates. Dates that were recent enough to still feel present.
I grabbed the next file. Same thing.
The next few files. Same thing.
“These materials don’t look abstract.” I glanced up at him.
“They’re not.” A pause. “You said you wanted real cases. Well, here they are.”
I swallowed hard, unsure how to feel about this. Why did he go out of his way to get me what I wanted? What changed?
Real cases meant real people were involved. What did he want me to do with these files? Would my involvement in these cases affect people’s lives? Was I even ready for the burden that would come with this new role?
I noticed he was staring at me, watching me closely as if waiting to see if I’d fold or push through. I pretended not to be fazed by the intensity of his gaze, especially after he lit a cigarette.
He took a long drag, then released a puff of smoke into the air around his face.
I picked up the file and kept reading despite my discomfort.
These documents were directly linked to him—drugs, money laundering, assassinations, arms dealing, and a host of other crimes.
Fuck.
Karik Tarasov was deeper in this shit than I thought, and that made him even more dangerous. In the wrong hands, these files could be used to bury him. For good.
Yet he just handed them over to me. That’s when I realized I was in too deep. He let me feast my eyes on sensitive information about his work because he never intended to let me go.
He wanted me to know too much so that he’d use that as an excuse to keep me with him. By giving me this information, he’d indirectly made me an accomplice.
Motherfucker!