Chapter 26 Zoya
Zoya
His kiss takes over. Hard, not soft—marking me like he did my wrist. I grab his neck and press against him, wanting to disappear into the taste of coffee and control.
The gun’s metal edge cuts into my hip, cold against his heat.
It keeps me present. He gave me a weapon. The thought makes my head swim.
I adjust under the guise of passion, but really, it’s to make sure my doodlings are covered up.
I’m so close, but not close enough to reveal to him what I have.
What I know. He breaks the kiss and steps back, his gaze skating over the notepad.
My heart skips a beat, but then he looks back at me with a slow smile.
“I’ll join you for dinner. I got caught up over lunch. ”
I nod and let him step back. When he is gone, I write BLACKMAIL in big letters under Nik’s code and circle it a few times. It has to be. Treasury for me. Blackmail on Nik over something big. A for Baron. Assets? Is that asset me?
The suffix narrows the city. MK—Metro Bank Kensington.
I grip my key again, testing the weight as if it can answer me.
76 is mine. 23 is Nik’s. 88 is Baron’s. Not to mention the dozens and dozens of others in this ledger.
Different banks scatter the board, different branches lock the secrets. It’s elegant. Paranoid. Pure Mikhail.
But where are the keys?
It is pointless to have all of this knowledge without being able to access the boxes.
Where would Dad have hidden them? If they are back at the townhouse, I’m fucked.
No, he would leave them where I had access to them if I were removed from my home, which I was.
Back in the safety deposit box for the key I did find?
No. I didn’t see any keys in there. It was the passport, the cash and the diamonds.
The cash…
I stand up, nearly knocking the chair over, and race to the wardrobe.
I pull out the pillow I stuffed the cash and passports into and rip the hole wider so I can reach in and grab the wads of cash.
I flip through it and spot it in the middle.
One single key. Dad didn’t hide it in the deposit box. He hid it in what I’d take out.
I yank it out from between the notes and turn it over. Box 23.
Nik’s. It’s a treasure hunt. T for treasure. “Thank you, Daddy. Now what did you have on Nik?”
That is the biggest question of all. The rest can certainly wait. I need something on Nik, something that will guarantee my safety. But I don’t even know where this box is. I need to do a Google search. There is no other option.
I breathe in deeply and touch the gun stuffed into my jeans. I have no other option.
I’m going to have to trust Roman and hope it doesn’t blow back on me in a spectacular fashion that will see me dead or shipped off to auction in Siberia.
My hands tremble as I shove the key into the front pocket of my jeans.
I grab the ledger and the notebook and steel myself for this confrontation.
I step into the corridor before I can overthink it.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I move fast, bare feet silent on the runner as I head for the main landing.
Two guards clock me and stiffen. I don’t falter. If they try to stop me, I’ll make a scene loud enough to rattle every painting in this mausoleum.
I reach the turn and take the stairs down. The entrance hall yawns open—polished floors, too much quiet. Roman’s office sits off to the left somewhere, from what I gathered during his meeting with Nik. I will knock until I find it. I cross the marbled expanse with my chin high.
Andrei ghosts out of nowhere, a wall in a suit. “No offices, Miss Antonova.”
“I need Roman.”
“I will tell him.”
“No. I’ll tell him. He’ll want to hear what I have. Now.”
Something flickers in his eyes. He lifts a hand like he might herd me towards the library instead.
“Touch me and end up like Ymir,” I say sweetly.
The office doors open before he answers. Roman fills the frame in navy and menace, eyes flicking from my face to the stack of paper pressed against my chest, then to Andrei. “Inside,” he says, the word for me. The next is for his man. “Out.”
The door shuts behind us. My skin prickles. I hate that I like the click.
He doesn’t speak. He just stares like he can peel me open without a blade.
My gaze scans the office. I see a bank of monitors along the left wall, showing cams from every angle of the perimeter and some inside.
I run my tongue over my top teeth, looking for a screen of my room, but come up with two blank screens.
“Zoya?” Roman prompts, drawing my attention back to him.
“Can I trust you? Truly?” I demand.
“With your life. That is why we are here, are we not?”
“That remains to be seen. You brought me here without giving me a choice, but I understand why. Had you simply explained the danger, maybe I would’ve been more open to an invite.”
He chuckles darkly. “Now, where is the fun in that? What is this stack of papers? Sketches you want to show me?”
The look I give him must reflect my disdain. Sketches? Like I’m a child who wants him to put it on the fridge? “No. Not sketches,” I grit out. “Something far more valuable.”
He perches on the edge of his desk, leaving me standing in the middle of the room. “I’m listening.”
“Before I was forcibly removed from my townhouse, I found something. I was looking for an insurance policy, hoping Daddy wouldn’t have left me in the lurch, and found this.” I hold up the ledger.
His eyes go to it briefly, his expression remaining blank. “What is it?”
Whether I believe he doesn’t know or not will have to wait.
I need to press on under the assumption he has no idea.
“A ledger of names attached to safety deposit boxes,” I say.
“Numbers, letters, branch codes. My father scattered leverage across the city and wrote it in a way only he knew I would be able to crack once I found the key for mine.”
He doesn’t blink. “Go on.”
I set the notebook on his desk and flip it open to my mess of squares and circles.
“First numbers are box numbers. Seventy-six is mine. I have the key. MK is Metro Bank Kensington. I’ve already emptied it, right before you…
came for me. The middle letter is the category.
T for treasure. That’s me—cash, diamonds, passports.
B for blackmail.” I reach into my pocket and hold up the key. “Twenty-three. Nik’s.”
His attention drops to the key. For a man who pretends not to flinch, his stillness is a tell.
“I found it hidden in the cash Dad left me in my box,” I add. “It’s like a treasure hunt, I think. Every box will have another key.”
“Like Matryoshka dolls,” he murmurs.
“Precisely. Inside each box is another layer.”
“Why didn’t you bring this to me earlier?” he asks. There is no threat. No demand. Simply a question requiring an answer.
“I didn’t trust you until you handed me a loaded weapon and turned your back on me.”
“Not before then? Not when you were riding my cock like you couldn’t get enough of me.”
My cheeks burn hot as a poker, and I can’t quite meet his eyes as my thighs press together involuntarily, the ghost of his touch still lingering on my skin.
“Not then,” I admit, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
“Sex can be used as a weapon. Turning your back on me after handing me a gun is an action that speaks louder than anything else you have done.”
“Actions,” he murmurs. “Always actions.”
“Precisely. So now, I am acting. I want what is in that box. If I am correct and this B…” I stab the notebook, “…stands for blackmail, it holds everything I need to take Nik down without firing a shot.”
He nods slowly. “What do you need?”
“Google. I need to know if there is a bank beginning with R on Victoria Street in London.”
He frowns and pulls out his phone. He starts tapping and then turns it around to show me the screen. “No Rs.”
“Fuck!” I exclaim and slam my fist on the desk before snatching it off him and zooming around Google Maps.
“There has to be. I’m not wrong. I know it!
” Panic hits my chest, and my hand shakes enough that Roman places his over mine to steady it.
He takes the phone from me and looks again.
“NatWest? RBS is part of the NatWest group…” He frowns and taps again.
“Yes, there used to be an RBS branch on Victoria Street.”
“What?” I ask and take the phone from him, staring at the proof. “So why didn’t he update the code?”
He shrugs. “Up until two minutes ago, I didn’t know there was a code.”
“I wasn’t asking you a question,” I snap. “It was rhetorical.” I put my hands on my hips and start pacing. “NatWest. It’s all we’ve got. We have to go. Now.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Nik is planning to announce his succession. We need to stop that.”
“And when we do?” He straightens up to his full height, looming over me as he asks a question I don’t have the answer to.
“We will cross that bridge when we come to it.”
He closes the distance, heat rolling off him, and I force myself not to step back. Retreat is not an option.
“Now is how people get dead,” he says, quiet as a blade.
“Later is how Nik gets there first.” I hold up the key. “This is time sensitive. He knows I have the ledger.”
A beat. His jaw ticks once. “You will do exactly as I tell you. You will not speak to anyone unless I prompt you. If I say we abort, we abort.”
I nod. “Done.”
He studies me like I’m a device that might detonate if he breathes wrong. He reaches for the desk phone. “Yuri. Ghost car. Plates BGL-three-nine-four. Two decoys. Route through Pimlico. Park two streets down from Victoria Street. Ten minutes.” He hangs up and turns to me. “You have ID?”
“In my gym bag.”
“Let’s just hope that you are listed on the safety deposit box.”
“Dad wouldn’t have left me the key in the wad of cash if I wasn’t.”
He nods. “Go and get changed into something demure and forgettable.”
“Did you buy anything demure and forgettable?”
He smirks. “Probably not, but try your best, malyshka.”
I gather up my notes and the ledger, still clutching the key. At the door, I pause and look back. “Don’t make me regret trusting you, Roman.”
“Never,” he replies, his face as serious as I’ve seen it. “You never have to doubt my intentions are always for you, not against you.”
I leave his office with my heart in my throat and run.
In my room, I fling open the wardrobe. Demure and forgettable in a palace of silk and sin is a joke, but I dig.
I pull out a slate-grey knit dress with a thin black belt that hits just below the knee, and a camel coat with clean lines.
Flats. Black. Sensible. I twist my hair into a low knot that tames the damp and skip makeup except for concealer to hide the evidence of his mouth on my throat.
The gun sits heavy at my back; I thread the belt tighter.
The ledger goes into the gym bag with my notes, and my ID into the coat pocket, with the key, so that I can find it without fishing.
Out in the corridor, Katya appears like smoke. Her eyes sweep me top to toe, taking in the coat, the flats, the tension fizzing under my skin. She thrusts a tiny black case into my hand. “Phone. Dumb as a brick. Prepaid. One number stored. Mine.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t faint. Breathe from the belly.”
“I don’t faint.”
“You will if you forget to breathe.” Her hand cups the back of my neck for a swift press and a muttered blessing. “Do not be stupid. Stupid girls end up dead.”
“Noted.”
She snorts and vanishes the way she does, as if she steps into the walls.
I head for the stairs, clutching the gym bag. At the foot of the vestibule, Roman is already there, coat on, suit muted enough to pass for wealth without screaming it. He takes one measured look at me, and something like approval flickers.
“Good,” he says.
He offers his arm. I slip my hand through, because it steadies me.
Outside, the air is wet and cold, mist fine as powder coating the hedges. Three cars idle in the sweep—two glossy distractions and one plain executive saloon with plates that look like they belong to a man who reads the FT and cheats on his taxes quietly.
Roman leads me to the ghost car. A driver sits behind the wheel. He gives me a single nod and pulls out.
“Route?” Roman asks.
“Through Pimlico. Traffic is shit,” the driver replies, eyes cutting to the mirror. “Good for us.”
Roman’s hand rests on my knee—firm, proprietary, calming, infuriating. “I am trusting you,” he says, stiffly, not looking at me. “That isn’t easy for me. If you betray me, I will hunt you down, and you will never breathe fresh air again.”
“You can trust me, Roman. I’m not going to do anything stupid. I want to end Nik.”
“And that is the only reason?”
I squeeze his hand. “No.”
His fingers slacken against my knee, the exhale between us releasing something tight in my chest, straightening my spine inch by inch until I’m no longer the hunted thing I was moments before.
The countryside slides by quickly, and soon we are entering the heavy traffic of London. Roman stiffens again, his eyes everywhere. I count breaths. In for four, out for six. It helps. The key is a heavy weight in my pocket. Box 23. B for blackmail.
We turn onto a side street near Victoria. The car rolls to a stop two streets back from the bank. Roman peers through the windscreen, taking in sightlines.
The driver says, “Two cameras on the corner. Security guard inside the lobby.” He kills the engine. I take his hand and squeeze it, needing something solid and reassuring to hold on to.