Chapter 37
Kolya
The gates of Roman Kozlov’s compound swing open like the jaws of a beast. One I spent my entire adult life serving.
For the first time, I’m bringing a girl home to the family.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. Chloe’s presence beside me is a bright spot in my peripheral vision. The tote bag rests between us, the cheerful sunflower pattern a mockery of the violence that led us to this point.
Driving through the gates, I notice the increased security. Four men at the gatehouse instead of the usual two, roving patrols visible through the trees, the subtle bulge of extra weapons beneath jackets.
Tension creeps into my muscles. Roman’s anticipating trouble. Whether he believes that threat will come from Gio, us, or a different entity remains to be seen.
I continue scanning the perimeter. “You okay?”
Chloe nods and traces the edge of the sunflower bag. “Just processing. This place is…not what I expected.”
I follow her gaze across the manicured lawns.
The gray stone mansion rises like a fortress at the end of the curved driveway.
Crystal gleams from the windows, reflecting the late afternoon sun.
The balconies on the second and third floors could use a good scrubbing to show off their white and ensure the railings match the trim of the windows, but it still looks good.
Beauty masking danger. Like Chloe herself, in a way.
Despite my prickling nerves, I smirk. “What did you expect? Barbed wire? Armed guards with automatic weapons?”
“I don’t know. Something less…normal. Ostentatious, but with much less curb appeal.” She grimaces at her sweater and jeans. “I’m underdressed.”
My gaze roams her body rather than the driveway, and I need to correct my steering before we hit a tree. “You’re perfect.”
After everything she’s endured—kidnapping, torture, a warehouse fire, discovering twenty million in diamonds hidden in her home—my little teacher’s worried about her clothes.
The absurdity is so distinctly Chloe that my chest loosens a fraction.
The SUV crunches to a stop on the gravel roundabout.
Alexei pulls up behind us, and the others soon spill out of his vehicle.
Max’s eyes sweep the grounds, no doubt charting and critiquing the guys on guard duty today.
Vanya straightens his jacket, and Kirill checks his weapon before tucking it away.
We move as one unit toward the house, with Chloe protected in the center of our formation.
She stares up at the third-floor windows, then at the stone steps between the white pillars leading up to the front porch. The redwood double doors are fitted with bulletproof glass. We can see out, but bullets can’t get in.
The massive front doors open before we reach them.
Mikhail, Roman’s older brother and Alexei’s father, stands in the threshold, his face revealing nothing beneath his gray-streaked hair. His dark gray eyes narrow on Chloe before traveling to the tote bag I carry. He steps aside without a word, a silent command to enter.
Inside, the marble foyer echoes with our footsteps, ushering us into a world of crystal chandeliers, antique furniture, and priceless art on the walls.
The trappings of old money and older power.
Chloe tenses beside me. “Holy guacamole.”
Vanya snickers on my right. “Hear that, Max? Holy guacamole.”
No reply from Max, though I can sense his irritation.
Mikhail leads us through the house toward Roman’s inner sanctum, the wood-paneled room where decisions are made, sentences are passed, and lives are altered.
I’ve entered countless times, always as Roman’s weapon. Never as a man with a woman of his own to protect.
The door opens, inviting us into the war room.
Glowing cherry wood panels with matching trim border the walls above and below the chair rail molding. The textured plaster design on the white ceiling is the only thing that keeps it from being too oppressive.
Chloe tugs on my sleeve. “Who’s that?” Her question rings half a decimal above silence.
She zeroes in on the lone wall decoration, a life-sized portrait of Roman’s late wife, Lilia.
She’s occupied that spot for as long as I can remember, her beautiful face peering down on the proceedings without judgment.
On the top left corner, an old key hangs on a chain, dangling just beside Lilia’s eye.
I drop my mouth to Chloe’s ear. “Later.”
Chloe nods, lips thinning as we approach Roman.
He holds court behind an enormous redwood desk. His short silver-streaked brown hair stands out against the earth-toned decor. Dressed impeccably in a tailored pinstripe suit, pointed chin lifted slightly and back ramrod straight, he rules the room without a single word.
Igor, Roman’s cousin and trusted second, hovers by his right side with the same pointed chin, salt-and-pepper hair, and a scowl on what might’ve once been a handsome face.
It’s the third figure that catches my attention.
Sasha, Igor’s son, rests against the wall with forced nonchalance, trying to hide a wince every time he shifts position.
Bruises mark his skin, and a fresh cut slashes his cheek. His brown hair is buzzed on one side, showing off a line of neat stitches. A bandage peeks out from beneath his sleeve. Battle wounds, worn with obvious pride.
The boy is striving so hard to belong among killers.
To be one of us.
When he spots us, the grin splitting Sasha’s pale face quickly morphs into a grimace as he tries to straighten. “The conquering heroes return.”
Max studies the boy, detailing Sasha’s injuries. “Surprised Igor let you go.”
Roman’s jaw tics. “It was time for him to start doing jobs.”
“I got my eye on him.” Max’s words come out like a threat, but I’ve known him long enough to recognize the undercurrent beneath the ice. The protective instinct of a man who’s seen too many young men die.
It’s not a threat. It’s a promise to monitor and mentor.
Poor kid.
Igor ignores Max in favor of Chloe, inspecting her clothing, her boots. His lip twitches.
I curve my free arm around Chloe’s back. She shoots me a tiny smile and inches closer, prompting Igor to slide his brown-eyed gaze to me. Then his eyes shift to the sunflower tote in my hand.
Roman’s attention journeys from my hand on Chloe’s back to my face. An unreadable expression flickers over his. He correctly reads my possessive gesture as a declaration to everyone in the room.
Chloe is mine. Touch her at your own risk.
To my surprise, Roman smiles. Not the cold, calculated smile of a man about to order a hit, either…a genuine one. More terrifying than his frown, quite frankly.
“Miss Davidson.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk. “Welcome to my home. I’m relieved to see you safe after your ordeal.”
Chloe blinks, clearly caught off guard by the warm greeting. “Thank you, Mr. Kozlov. I appreciate your hospitality.”
“Roman, please.” He sandwiches her hand between both of his. “Any friend of Kolya’s is a friend of mine.” His eyes flick to me with a message I can’t quite decipher. “I understand you’ve been through quite an experience. Is there anything you need? Anything at all?”
She starts talking then, babbling in a nervous stream of words that I recognize as her defense mechanism.
“Oh, um, just a shower would be amazing, and maybe some clean clothes, though these are mine. I grabbed them from home, but they still smell kind of weird from the ransacking…and maybe a phone to call my work? I’ve missed days of class, and the fire trucks, and my students must be worried, and I may need help so I don’t lose my job.
My friend Bree has probably reported me missing at this point… ”
I swallow a groan and battle the urge to drop my head into my hand. To my astonishment, Roman listens, nodding at appropriate moments with an attentive expression. When she finally runs out of breath, he smiles again.
“We’ll take care of everything. Valeria will show you to a room where you can rest and clean up. We’ll have clothes brought for you, and you can use a secure line to call whoever you need.” He gestures toward the door at his niece Valeria and Alexei’s wife, Aurora.
Guess Aurora is visiting.
My forehead creases.
This is not the Roman I know, the ruthless Pakhan who orders executions between bites of his lunch. Who once had a man’s fingers cut off for disrespecting him. Who views people as either assets or liabilities, nothing in between.
Alexei shifts to stand beside me as Roman escorts Chloe to the door. “Confused?”
I can’t quell the suspicion in my tone. “He’s being nice.”
Alexei’s coin appears between his fingers, flipping with hypnotic precision. “Remember how he was with Aurora once she was one of us? Practically adopted her. Scared the crap out of me at the time, but he was sincere. Still is. He even bought one of her mosaics and hung it in his den.”
Vanya, never far from a conversation, slips into our space with practiced ease. “Believe it or not, Roman’s a Casanova. Has a soft spot for women.” He winks. “Always has.”
“Our women.” Kirill’s meaning is clear.
Roman respects what belongs to his men. Property rights, in a way.
I would be pissed, but right now, I’ll take any protection Chloe can get.
Max glares at all of us, radiating his impatience. The message is evident in the tight line of his jaw: What does any of this matter? We’re wasting time.
Chloe glances back, both trust and uncertainty glimmering in her eyes.
I nod my encouragement. Go. It’s okay. I’ll be there soon.
Her shoulders drop an inch before she follows Valeria and Aurora, who chatter at her as they leave the room.
As she disappears from view, my chest loosens, opening up space where tension lived before.
The hard, persistent knots of my existence unspool more than they have in thirty years. The sunflower tote is absurdly heavy in my hand as I set it on the polished desk.
Twenty million in stolen diamonds. A fortune in blood money.