Chapter 33
Kolya
The Starlight Motor Court lives up to its name. The motel’s one of those places that peaked in the sixties and has been sliding downhill ever since.
A neon sign flickers against the afternoon sky, the star sputtering as if on life support. The smell of pine cleaner fights a losing battle against mildew and desperation.
I stand in the doorway of Cottage Seven.
Outside, Alexei holds his phone to his ear and paces with long strides while explaining to Roman why Gio Falcone is dead but the diamonds still aren’t in our hands.
Inside the sad little living area, Chloe perches on the edge of the sofa, a small white bandage taped to her cheek. Her bare toes curl against the threadbare carpet. Someone gave her a change of clothes. A t-shirt too large. Sweatpants rolled at the ankles.
Vanya’s, probably. He’s always prepared. Like a less wholesome Boy Scout. Even now, he’s unpacking a duffel bag of first aid supplies.
“Hold still.” With an uncharacteristic frown, he dabs antiseptic on a cut I missed along her hairline. “Beauty like yours shouldn’t be scarred.”
She doesn’t flinch at the sting. Just smiles. A real one, not the forced brightness she used to wear like armor. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed.”
Vanya jerks back and clutches his chest in mock offense. “Blasphemy. The universe doesn’t allow perfection to be marred.”
“Tell that to my split ends.” Chloe flips her hair, and he laughs.
I should be jealous. Should bristle at his easy charm and the way she responds to him. Vanya’s as deep as a sake cup, and Chloe has surely picked up on that already.
Instead, I’m transfixed. Seeing her like this—bruised but unbroken, joking after torture—is like discovering a gem in a handful of gravel.
Roman might not have his diamonds, but I have mine.
And I’m never going to lose her.
Max scowls from the kitchenette, gulping water like he’s trying to drown something inside himself. His disgust radiates across the space in waves.
Not at Chloe. His glare is all for me.
“We should’ve finished it.” His voice is a barely controlled growl. “Ensured he was dead.”
“The building collapsed on him.” Kirill cleans his knife with precise, entrancing motions. Blood flakes away beneath his cloth. “No one walks away from that.”
“You hope.” Max caps his water bottle with unnecessary force. “You hope he’s dead because you chose to save her instead of confirming. Sloppy. Unprofessional.”
The room stills. Even Vanya’s charm falters.
Alexei enters, pocketing his phone. His bright blue eyes sweep over us, taking in the tension. “Kolya, a word in private?”
Suka.
The air outside is cool, a layer of cloud coverage weakening the intensity of the afternoon sun. The motel parking lot is empty save for our two vehicles, a black SUV and the van we used for extraction.
Both are stolen and due to be torched once we’re on the move again.
“I’m sorry.” Apologizing to Max is out of the question, but Alexei… He has his own personal reason for wanting Gio dead. Gio directed attacks on Alexei’s wife in an attempt to hide the truth about MJ’s death. “About Gio. I should have confirmed the kill.”
Alexei flips a coin between his fingers, the motion catching the light with each rotation, each hypnotic flash of silver. “Would you do it differently? If you could go back?”
I consider lying and giving the expected answer. The right answer.
Yes, of course, the mission above all.
But I’m tired of lies. “No.”
He nods, like I’ve confirmed a truth he already knew. “I get it.”
That surprises me. Alexei has always been Roman’s unpredictable but ultimately loyal wild card. “You do?”
“Some things matter more than orders.” His gaze drifts to the window where Chloe is visible and laughing with Vanya. “Like family.”
I study his face, trying to read the subtext. Alexei is the one who went against orders, dug into his brother’s death, and learned about the diamonds in the first place. And while doing so, he got himself engaged to a cocktail waitress.
To his credit, he’s seemed happier since marrying the woman. He’s even wearing a blue shirt today instead of his usual black one.
Roman accepted Aurora into the family, but I’m still not sure about her or about Alexei’s actions.
But those actions make a lot more sense to me now than they did just a week ago. “Max doesn’t agree.”
Alexei shrugs. “Max is a weapon. Point and shoot. No complexity.” He pockets the coin. “But we’re not just weapons, are we? Not anymore.”
Behind the layered question lies years of service, loyalty, of following orders without question. And beneath that, doubt.
“I don’t know what we are.” The words, though true, surprise me.
Before he can respond, the door to Cottage Seven opens.
Vanya leans out, his hazel eyes flashing with amusement. “If you two are done with your heart-to-heart, Kirill’s ready to get sewing, Kolya. Unless you’d prefer to bleed out dramatically in a parking lot.”
I’d forgotten about the steady drip of blood down my fingertips. Adrenaline is a hell of a painkiller.
Inside, the atmosphere has shifted. A makeshift medical station waits on the small coffee table. Suture kit, antiseptic, gauze. Max is gone, probably cooling off outside somewhere. Chloe, still on the arm of the sofa, looks like she belongs in a room full of Kozlov Bratva enforcers.
Even three days ago, that thought would’ve made me laugh.
“Sit.” Kirill points to the spot on the couch. No please. No coddling. Just efficiency.
I obey, stripping off my ruined shirt. The bullet that grazed my shoulder and Gio’s clawing left an angry red crater. My left arm, shot clean through, is the bleeder.
Chloe’s sharp intake of breath draws my eyes to her. “You need a hospital.”
I shake my head. “No hospitals.” My skin twitches as Vanya probes the wounds, which are starting to ache again in the wake of my fading adrenaline. “Too many questions.”
“Too many bodies.” Vanya smiles at her. “Tends to complicate the paperwork.”
Kirill pours antiseptic directly into the wounds while Vanya holds me in a vice grip. Sudden, blinding pain triggers a white starburst behind my eyes.
I don’t make a sound. Old habits die hard.
“That building.” Chloe’s eyes shine with tears. “All those men. They’re really dead? Because of me?”
Kirill’s hands pause for just a moment before continuing their work, threading the curved needle with practiced ease. For a half-gorilla, half-man, he’s creepily deft with a needle.
“Because of Gio.” I’m about to shake my head, but Kirill stops me when the needle pierces my skin again. “Because of his own choices.”
“But if I hadn’t—”
“No.” Softening my tone, I pat her hand. “None of this is on you.”
She doesn’t appear convinced. Her fingers twist in the hem of her borrowed shirt, the gesture childlike and vulnerable. I want to reach for her, but with Kirill partway through stitching my shoulder, I can’t move.
“He’s right.” Vanya shocks me with his addition. “This game was in motion long before you were a player, darling. Those men knew the risks when they signed up with Gio.”
She glances around at all of us. “What about you? You could’ve died. For me. A stranger.”
Vanya laughs, bringing unexpected warmth to this cold place. “Oh, we didn’t do it for you, love.” He winks at me. “Well, maybe one of us did.”
I shoot him a glare that would prompt most men to rear back.
He just grins wider. “Besides, any excuse to mess up Gio’s perfect hair was worth it. Man spends more on product than I spend on suits, and that’s saying something.”
A reluctant smile tugs at Chloe’s lips.
Vanya has that effect on people. He eases even the most unbearable situations, making them more manageable. It’s why he’s so good at extracting information. People tell him things they shouldn’t, just to please him.
Kirill works in silence, his stitches neat and precise. Three, four, five… Eventually, I lose count. The pain fades to background noise, to a dull throb beneath my skin. He concentrates on my arm, repeating the process.
Through the thin walls, I hear Max outside, arguing with someone on the phone.
Probably Roman.
Probably about me.
“There.” Kirill cuts the thread and sprays the puckered flesh with disinfectant. “Try not to tear them out doing something stupid.”
“No promises.”
That earns me the faintest twitch of his lips. As close to a smile as Kirill ever comes.
He focuses on Alexei next, examining a gash on the other man’s forearm. Vanya excuses himself to make a call, leaving me alone with Chloe for the first time since the warehouse.
She slides down from the arm of the sofa to sit beside me, not quite touching. In the few centimeters separating us, her heat blazes.
“Thank you. For coming for me.”
No drama or tears, just quiet gratitude.
I think of her bound to that chair, Gio’s gun to her head, and the rage that nearly consumed me.
The absolute certainty that I would burn the world down to retrieve her.
“Always.” A promise I intend to keep.
Blood still crusts my knuckles. Evidence of what I am, what I’ve done.
Her hand finds mine anyway, threading our fingers like they belong together.