Chapter 26
Varvara
“Bastard,” I hiss, practically kicking the bedroom door open. “That fucking smug, arrogant bastard! How dare he?”
The image of that swallow tattoo burns in my mind.
He had gloves on. Black cotton gloves. Thin enough to be able to grip properly but not leave prints behind.
He ripped my shirt, and I clawed at his hand, half pulling it off.
It’s the only reason I saw it in the alley, and yet I didn’t even remember until I saw it today.
He sat across from me in that station with his pressed suit and his fake sympathy, one hand over the other, his cuffs pulled low, while my skin still crawled from his touch.
He watched me struggle to breathe. He watched me try to piece together a nightmare he’d authored. It wasn’t incompetence. It was a game.
My chest heaves. The pull of the fresh cuts reminds me I’m already marked by a different monster.
But Lev doesn’t hide behind a badge. He doesn’t pretend to be a hero while he acts like a predator.
Mercer is filth. He used my fear to insulate himself.
He looked me in the eye today and didn’t even blink.
But now I have a monster who will protect me. Kill for me. It’s the only thing keeping me from shattering into a million jagged pieces. This city is a graveyard, and I’m tired of being the one who gets buried.
I sit on the edge of the bed and drop my face into my hands. I’m on the verge of sobbing when the door opens. I push it down, refusing to be the victim in front of him.
“You don’t need to be strong for me,” he says.
He knew I was about to cry. Damn him.
“I wasn’t,” I snap. “I’m furious.”
“So you should be. But you can also cry, and no one will think any less of you.”
“I will. I am tired of being this way. He made me this way.”
“Do you think he knows you know?” he asks, coming closer.
The question catches me off guard. “I—I’m not sure. Why?”
He shrugs. “He might try to run or dig a deeper hole for himself.”
“He saw me look at his hand. But I don’t know if he remembers that I clawed at his gloved hand in the alley.
I don’t even remember doing it until I saw the tattoo earlier.
How fucking stupid is that? How pathetic am I that I had a great, big clue in my stupid brain and I didn’t even remember until two fucking years later? ”
“You aren’t pathetic or stupid,” Lev says. He doesn’t move toward me immediately. He stands by the door. His blue eyes are like ice. “Shock does strange things to the memory. It buries what you can’t handle.”
“I should’ve handled it,” I snap. I stand up and pace the small space between the bed and the window. I keep my distance from the glass. “I should’ve known the second he opened his mouth. The tone. That fucking smug tilt to his head. It was all there.”
Lev moves then. He stops right in front of me. He reaches out and tilts my chin up. His thumb is firm against my jaw. “Stop punishing yourself for surviving. I will fix this.” His voice is a low, dark promise. “He used his position to hurt you. He used his badge to hide. That ended today.”
I look at the dark ink on his throat. I can feel the brand on my chest pulsing. It’s a dull ache that grounds me. “What happens at the club?”
“Mercer is the priority for the family,” he says. His hand moves from my jaw to the back of my neck. He pulls me closer until our foreheads touch. “I’ve got a meeting with Baron in an hour.”
“Baron?” I ask, looking up at him.
He smirks. “Baron Voronov. Pakhan and my uncle.”
My mouth goes dry. “Oh.”
“You are coming.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. He needs to see why I’m taking Mercer off the streets.”
“I’m causing you too many issues,” I blurt out. “First this Popov guy and now Mercer.”
Lev lets out a harsh sound that isn’t quite a laugh. He doesn’t let go of my neck. His thumb traces the line of my jaw again. “You aren’t an issue, Varvara. You’re the reason I’m cleaning house.”
I don’t know what that implies, but it sounds as though I’m the trigger for a bloodbath. “Baron doesn’t care about complications. He cares about results. Mercer is a liability to the Voronovs now.”
“What if he doesn’t like me?” I ask.
Lev’s eyes turn dark. “He doesn’t have to like you. He has to respect that you belong to me. My mark is on your skin, and that’s all the permission he needs to see.”
He pulls me into his chest. I feel his heart through the fine fabric of his suit. It’s steady. Mine is a wreck. I’m about to meet the most powerful man in London’s underworld because the detective who mugged me is a serial predator.
“Get dressed,” he says, letting me go.
“Into what?” I ask. “Jeans and a work shirt?”
“Works for me.”
I take that in. He doesn’t care about me being dressed in silk and heels. I’m not a trophy to be paraded around.
I’m his.
That means more than it should.
I move to the suitcase and pull out my dark jeans and the crisp white shirt. My hands tremble as I work the buttons, doing them all up for the sake of propriety in front of Baron Voronov.
“Good,” Lev says from the doorway.
“I feel like I’m heading to my own execution,” I mutter, grabbing my boots.
“Baron doesn’t execute family assets. You’re the most valuable one I have.”
“Is that meant to make me feel better?”
“It’s meant to make you realise you have backing. Mercer thinks he’s the law. Baron is the reality. Let’s go.”
Grabbing the phone off the dresser, I shove it into the back pocket of my jeans and follow him out of the room, my heart hammering against the brand he gave me.
The hallway feels narrower than before. We’re moving toward a collision, and I’m the spark.
I don’t know if I’m ready to face a Bratva Pakhan, but with Lev’s hand heavy on the small of my back, I don’t have a choice.
I’m deep in the shadows now, and the only way out is through the blood.
Lev leads me down the wide staircase. The sound of my boots on the marble echoes through the quiet foyer.
I keep my chin high. He stops at the front door and scans the area before we step out.
He unlocks his Ferrari and opens the door for me.
I slide in and clasp the seatbelt, watching him as he moves around to the driver’s side.
When he gets in, I ask, “Where does Baron live?”
“Belgravia.”
“Oh.”
“It’s a five-minute drive.”
“Oh, nice.”
He snickers. “Yeah. Nice.”
“Fuck off,” I mumble and stare out of the window as he fires up the engine. It growls like a big cat ready to lunge at the nearest prey.
The black electric gates slide open, and Lev drives out.
The streets of Mayfair give way to the even more prestigious area of Belgravia. My hands are knotted in my lap, knuckles white. I’m not just a girl from North London anymore. I’m a liability with a name carved into her skin, heading to a meeting that could end my life as easily as it could save it.
“Don’t overthink it,” Lev says. He doesn’t look at me, but his hand leaves the steering wheel to squeeze my thigh. “Baron is a man. He likes loyalty and hates loose ends. Mercer is a loose end.”
“I’m a loose end too,” I whisper.
“No. You’re the evidence.”
He pulls the car to the kerb in front of a townhouse that looks more like a fortress than a residence. The gate opens, and Lev drives in. Two men in suits stand by the door, their hands clasped in front of them. They don’t move until Lev kills the engine.
“Wait for me to open the door,” he commands.
I watch him walk around the front of the car. When he opens my door, he reaches in and takes my hand. His grip is a physical reminder that I’m not alone in this.
“Chin up, Varvara,” he murmurs. “Show them the fire I saw in the park.”
I step out onto the driveway, the air warm against my face. I’m terrified, but as we walk toward the door, I find the anger again. Mercer is out there, breathing the same air, thinking he’s safe.
The guards nod to Lev and pull the heavy doors open. We step inside, and Lev ushers me down a hallway to a study. It’s not an office. It’s an enormous room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stacked with Russian titles. A man is sitting behind the desk, glasses perched on his nose, reading a file.
“Pakhan,” Lev says.
Baron Voronov looks up. His eyes are the same icy blue as Lev’s, but they’ve seen decades more of the dark. He looks at Lev, then his gaze drops to me. It’s a slow scan that makes me gulp.
“You must be Varvara Krestova.”
Lev’s hand tightens on my waist. “Yes,” he replies for me, “and she has something to tell you about Detective Inspector Mercer.”