Chapter 4
Dominik
My decision has been made, for better or for worse. Gavriil is going to be furious. In fact, he may want her even more now than he did before. But there are certain parts of our customs that not even a Pakhan would dare disrespect.
The truth is, I’m not entirely sure why I decided to keep Alina.
All I know is that the thought of sending her home with Gavriil tonight is enough to turn my stomach.
I believe her when she says that she doesn’t know where Archer or the money is, which makes her innocent in all this.
She’s a bargaining chip, but she doesn’t deserve to pay for her brother’s mistakes.
“Viktor,” I say when he opens the door behind us, letting fresh air into the stuffy torture room. “Knife.”
My second doesn’t hesitate. He pulls the small tactical blade from his belt and lays it on the metal work bench. He doesn’t hand it to me. No one in the Bratva passes a blade hand to hand. It’s a silly superstition really, based on the fear of causing bad blood or severing friendships.
Alina stiffens when I pick up the knife, causing the steel to scrape against the table’s surface. But she doesn’t recoil when I approach her with it in my hand.
“Hold still,” I tell her as I crouch down next to her legs.
Her knees press together and her chin lifts like she’s daring herself not to flinch. I cut through the plastic binding at her ankles first, then the zip tie around her knees.
“You’ll be able to walk now,” I tell her as I put the knife away. “Walk not run, and I’ll free your wrists when we get upstairs.”
She doesn’t nod her agreement or thank me.
Reaching for her upper arms, I pull her to her feet as I straighten to my full height, well over a foot taller than her.
I jerk my head toward the door where Viktor is waiting. Petrov’s gone up ahead of us to get the guest room ready for Alina, and Renat should be nearly finished reviewing the surveillance cameras from my office upstairs.
“Follow Viktor,” I instruct her, placing my hand at the small of her back. Not pushing but steering her as I take up the position behind her.
The walk through the parking garage to the elevator is quiet except for her uneven breaths and the soft thud of her boots.
She doesn’t ask where we’re going or any other questions.
I’ve told her what she needed to know about the situation, about her traitorous brother.
It can’t be easy for her to wrap her head around all that if he didn’t tell her about his scheme.
Inside the elevator, Alina moves to the corner behind Viktor who swipes his card through the slot on the panel, then puts in my code to the penthouse.
With her wrists behind her back, she keeps her head up, pretending she’s not nervous, but I see her wince in the reflection of the mirrored walls when the doors close, shutting us inside the small space together.
“You’re not going back in that room again,” I assure her.
She swallows hard, then lowers her eyes, focusing on the seam of the floor.
The elevator doors finally open revealing the polished floors of my penthouse’s floor.
Viktor leads the way to the apartment door, punching in the same code needed to unlock it and holding it open for us.
Alina’s footsteps drag across the threshold, wary.
While she’s standing still, taking in the view of my living room and kitchen, I retrieve the knife again to slice through the plastic binding her wrists.
The severed piece drops to the floor, leaving red abrasions on her skin that make my teeth clench.
She then walks forward, headed toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the city.
“Are you hungry?” I ask as I follow her.
“No.” Her lie falls flat.
“No? You just worked ‘a twelve-hour shift catering to the whims of every damn guest,’ and you don’t want anything to eat?” I press her, using her words from earlier.
Her mouth softens for a fraction of a second before she forces it neutral. “Not anymore. I’ve lost my appetite tonight.”
Of course she’s hungry, but I can’t force food down her throat.
“Renat,” I call out, knowing he’s likely eavesdropping from my office. “Make us some tea.”
Alina frowns at the order or at my choice of beverages, but I ignore her glare in my direction. A comfortable hostage is easier to manage, and I have a feeling that her brother is going to drag this shit out longer than either of us would like.
As Renat appears and gets to work in the kitchen, Alina says, “I’m not thirsty either.”
“You’ll drink something,” I tell her.
“He doesn’t need to make anything for me.”
“He does and you’ll drink it,” I reply. Quiet, but final. “Tea won’t kill you, but dehydration will.”
She mutters something under her breath before turning back to the view of the city.
I ask Renat in Russian, “All clear?”
“All clear,” he agrees while he works. “Petrov just got a call from Matvey asking for a report on tonight’s mission. He told him she was snatched off the street without causing a scene.”
“Good,” I reply. Gavriil’s already had one of his men check up on what happened tonight.
I’m annoyed but not surprised. At least Petrov gave him the simple version and not the full truth.
And if satisfied his order has been fulfilled, then the Pakhan may not make a trip into the city tonight after all.
When the kettle clicks off, Renat pours the steaming black tea into several glass mugs and places them on the kitchen island along with a tray of sugar cubes and a pitcher of milk. Alina side-eyes it like its poison.
“If I wanted to drug you, you would’ve been knocked out in the car when you were screaming like a banshee.” Her head snaps up in surprise that I knew what she was thinking. “Drink the tea, dikaya koshka.”
Before she caves, the elevator chimes just outside the apartment. The three short, deliberate tones make Viktor and Renat freeze in place and my jaw lock.
Of course he came tonight, right after I was so certain he wouldn’t. And in a matter of seconds, he’ll have entered the code for the apartment.
While keeping an eye on the door, I tell Alina under my breath, “Don’t speak unless necessary and don’t ask questions.”
She blinks, listening to me carefully but refusing to acknowledge my advice.
The penthouse door swings open. Gavriil stalks into the room, flanked by two of his guards.
Even this late at night his black three-piece suit is pristine.
The tie underneath is a threatening dark red.
Every wavy black hair on his head is tamed, his beard neatly trimmed like usual.
He’s barely five years older than me, but the difference always looks like decades on him.
Petrov reappears from the back as if he was worried that I might need him. His presence gives us a number advantage if nothing else.
Gavriil’s frigid blue gaze flicks over my three men briefly, measuring their perceived loyalty. Does he silently wonder the same question I sometimes do, if the men I work with on a daily basis would choose me over him if they had to pick sides? I hope it never comes to that.
Finally, Gavriil addresses me without giving me his full attention.
“Bratishka.” His voice is warm, his accent heavier than my own.
I’ve been required to speak English to the people outside our family on a regular basis in New York.
He uses his thick, Russian accent to disarm people who are unaware that he’s fluent in three other languages and then cuts them while they’re still underestimating him.
“You have something of mine that you failed to deliver to me tonight.”
My best course of action is to take full responsibility rather than jump straight into being defensive.
It is my mistake after all for trusting Archer, and maybe it will soften the blow of refusing to let him take her.
“This whole ordeal is my fault. Therefore, it’s my responsibility to resolve it. ”
His eyes continue to move, taking in the rest of the room, and landing on Alina who remains standing near the window in her torn shirt and wrinkled pants.
Gavriil doesn’t leer at her. He assesses, like he’s at one of his private art auctions and already knows he’ll bid last because he always gets what he wants.
Alina evaluates him as well. She doesn’t appear to be impressed or intimidated. Her spine is straight; her small hands folded in front of her bare stomach. She’s trying to make herself look less delicate. If her attempt works, it’ll only make her more interesting to him.
“She’s very pretty,” Gavriil says in Russian while watching her.
He wants her to know damn well that we’re talking about her, but not what is said.
He wants to see her squirm. She doesn’t give him an inch.
Alina just looks tired, and I don’t think that’s an act.
“You failed to mention that detail in your texts. Is that why she’s not bound?
I was expecting to see ropes or duct tape… ”
“Her looks are irrelevant. And she’s not a flight risk, so she doesn’t need to be restrained,” I respond as I shove my hands into my pockets before he can see the scratches on them.
One of Gavriil’s eyebrows lift. “Her looks are relevant if they’re the reason why she ended up here in your apartment instead of at my estate.”
He strolls over to the window as if he has all night to waste my time, as if I haven’t spent the past week searching every single block of the city for Archer and have hours of more work to get done tonight.
I hate that I couldn’t find him, find the money and guns, and handle the situation before Gavriil learned about his betrayal.
My brother walks a full, slow circle around Alina now, letting his jacket sleeve intentionally brush against her back to try and get a reaction out of her. “She doesn’t startle easy,” he remarks.