25. Alina
ALINA
Vladimir’s smile holds as if he’s waiting for me to argue, to flinch, to prove I’m still a problem. I let my shoulders drop instead.
“I am,” I say quietly. “Desperate.”
He nods, pleased with himself, and goes back to his drink like he’s earned it.
“Good,” he says. “We can finally speak like adults.”
I keep my hands in my lap. Fingers folded. Nails biting skin just enough to keep me present. The capsule presses near my throat when I swallow, a small, steady reminder that I’m not here alone, even when it looks like I am.
Vladimir takes his time. He walks to the window and watches the river as if he owns that too.
“Vienna’s a funny city,” he says. “It likes to pretend it’s above everything. All those old buildings. The museums. The music. Everyone acting civilized while they sell each other quietly.”
I don’t answer. I let him keep talking.
He turns back and looks at me again, slow, obvious, like he expects me to blush. He doesn’t get it.
“You know what you are?” he says.
“A person,” I reply.
He laughs once. “A person. Sure. You’re a symbol. You’re a contract. You’re a clean name that doesn’t scare bankers. You’re the kind of wife a man can show in public without looking like he’s crawling out of a basement.”
My teeth tighten. I soften my face instead.
“I was married already,” I say.
“Yes,” Vladimir replies. “That’s why this is satisfying. Mikhail thought he could take what was promised and make it permanent. He thought that stamp on a paper meant more than my claim.”
“You’re still talking about paper,” I say, voice mild. “For a man who says he prefers force.”
“I prefer results,” he corrects. “Force is loud. Results are quiet. Quiet keeps borders open.”
He walks around my chair again, close enough that I feel his body heat. He stops behind me and rests a hand on the backrest like he’s testing what I’ll tolerate.
I don’t move.
“Tell me something,” he says. “Did Mikhail teach you to sit pretty like that, or did your father?”
“My father taught me to be invisible when men get excited,” I say.
Vladimir’s hand taps the chair once, amused. “Smart girl.”
I hear the door open behind us. Soft steps. A man enters and stops near the wall. Vladimir doesn’t look back.
“One of yours?” I ask.
“One of mine,” Vladimir says.
I glance just enough to register details. Mid-thirties. Close-cropped hair. Weapon under his jacket. Eyes that don’t wander. Not a cutout. Not a delivery boy. This is someone who expects blood.
Vladimir returns to his seat and leans back. “Now. Your father.”
My stomach tightens, but I keep my voice calm. “What about him?”
“What about him?” Vladimir echoes mockingly. “He owed me.”
“He owed a lot of people,” I say.
“True. But he owed me first,” Vladimir replies. “That’s the part he tried to rewrite. He thought he could spread a debt across men and nobody would notice. He thought he could use Sergei’s impatience to cover his double dealing.”
I keep my gaze on Vladimir’s face. “You’re proud of killing Sergei.”
“I’m proud of removing a problem,” he says. “Sergei was a loud boy with loud appetites. He would’ve gotten you killed within a year.”
“And you wouldn’t?” I say.
Vladimir’s pale eyes narrow. “Careful.”
I lower my gaze and nod once. “Sorry.”
His mouth curves again, satisfied. “That’s better.”
He picks up his glass and swirls it. “Your father approached me in Odessa first,” he says. “Not Vienna. Odessa is where men talk plainly. Ports make people honest. Goods move. Money moves. Bodies move. Everyone knows what everyone is.”
I keep my face blank while my mind files it away.
Odessa. He’s anchoring the story in a place that matters to his pride and his routes.
He continues, “He didn’t come with tears. He came with a proposal. He said he had a daughter who could solve his problems and mine.”
I force a small, careful inhale. “He sold me.”
“He offered you,” Vladimir corrects. “He was a broker. He brokered alliances. Women make alliances clean.”
I don’t give him the reaction he wants. “What was the debt?”
Vladimir grins like that’s the right question. “Your father owed for protection. He owed for access. He owed for a mistake.”
“What mistake?” I ask.
Vladimir’s eyes brighten. He likes being asked. “He lost a shipment.”
“I thought he gambled,” I say, letting a little bitterness into it.
“He gambled with my money,” Vladimir replies. “He got clever. He thought he could move product through the Adriatic corridor without paying who needed to be paid. He thought Trieste could hide him.”
My throat tightens at the mention of Trieste. I keep my face tired and resigned.
Vladimir notices anyway. “Ah,” he says. “There it is. You remember that city. You hid there for years.”
I lift my eyes. “I didn’t hide. I survived.”
“You hid,” he insists. “Survival is hiding with better branding.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Trieste is useful,” he says. “It’s small, it’s busy, it’s polite. People pretend they don’t hear accents. People pretend they don’t see cash. But it’s still a port, and ports don’t forget. Someone always watches the docks.”
My fingers press together harder in my lap. He’s saying it because he wants me to know he knows.
I nod slowly. “So the debt was about a shipment.”
“And an insult,” Vladimir says. “Insults matter more.”
“Because you’re proud,” I say, soft enough to pass as an observation.
He laughs. “Because I’m alive.”
He reaches out and tips my chin up again. His touch is light. Familiar. Practiced.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
“You know why your mother died?” he says.
My stomach drops. I keep my eyes steady. “Because my father betrayed you.”
“No,” Vladimir replies. “Because your whole family betrayed me. She knew about the contract too.”
My throat feels dry, and I tremble for real as I try to make sense of what he’s saying.
If Mother knew about the deal with Vladimir, the only reason she talked me into marrying Mikhail was she believed he was the lesser evil of the two.
She protected me till her last breath. “You removed her because she went along with my marriage to Mikhail,” I murmur.
“Very good,” he approves, clapping his hands with a mocking smile etched on his mouth. My nails dig into skin. I let my breath shake. He watches the shake like it’s entertainment.
“Your father didn’t deserve a soft ending either,” Vladimir adds. “But he got one. He got a quick death. That was my generosity.”
I swallow again, slowly. The capsule presses. Good. Stay there.
“You’re shaking,” he says.
“I’m angry,” I reply coolly.
He smiles wider. “Anger looks good on you. It makes you feel alive. It also makes you reckless. Don’t be reckless.”
I tilt my head slightly. “What do you want from me today?”
Vladimir pauses like he’s savoring the fact that I asked it that way. “I want the truth,” he says. “I want to hear you say you understand.”
“I understand,” I say.
“Say what you understand,” he presses.
I keep my voice low and flat. “My father promised me to you. He promised me to Sergei too. You removed Sergei. Mikhail took me anyway. You’re here to collect what you believe is yours.”
Vladimir’s eyes gleam. “Better.”
He leans back and crosses one ankle over the other. “Now we talk politics.”
I keep my expression blank, but my pulse spikes. That’s what I need.
“Vienna is divided,” Vladimir says. “Not by neighborhoods on a map, but by habits and loyalties, and more importantly, which men think they can play both sides.”
I nod once. “Mikhail’s men run the city.”
“They run what they can hold,” Vladimir replies. “The Morins rely on people who feel loyal to their name. Old crews. Old rules. Old pride.”
“And you don’t,” I say, careful with how far I reach.
“I rely on contracts,” Vladimir answers. “Contracts don’t get sentimental or tired, and they sure as hell don’t decide they love someone and ruin everything.”
The last part lands like a needle. He watches my face for a crack.
I give him nothing.
“Who’s with you here?” I ask, as if I’m only trying to understand what I’m walking into.
Vladimir’s eyes narrow. “You don’t need names.”
“I do if I’m meant to stand beside you,” I say, quiet and obedient. “If I’m meant to be your wife, I need to know what kind of war you’re building.”
That gets him. His pride perks up like a dog hearing its leash.
“My war isn’t loud,” he says. “It’s structural—money, property, routes.”
He gestures toward the river. “Look out there. That water moves goods, people, and stories. You can’t stop a river. You can only own the banks.”
I keep my face calm and tired, but inside I’m counting every word.
“North ring,” Vladimir says. “River exit. That’s where Vienna bleeds. Trucks, vans, private cars. People think they can disappear if they take the right ramp. They can’t.”
“You bought property there,” I say, like I’m slowly connecting dots.
Vladimir’s smile turns smug. “Yes. Not one property. Several. Warehouses. Garages. A residential block. Things that look legal.”
“Who signed the papers?” I ask softly.
He gives me a look. “You’re curious.”
“I’m scared,” I correct. “Curiosity is all I’ve got left.”
He chuckles and takes a sip. “A lawyer signed. A notary signed. A banker looked away. That’s Vienna.”
I push gently, “Which banker?”
Vladimir’s eyes glitter. He likes the game. “Northern Italy,” he says. “The kind that smiles at priests and launders cash at lunch.”
“Trieste again,” I say, as if I’m guessing.
“Trieste touches it,” he admits. “So does Budapest. So does Bratislava. So does anyone with a river and a customs gate.”
He watches me closely. “You’re listening.”
“I’m learning,” I say.
“That’s the first useful thing you’ve said,” Vladimir replies.
He stands abruptly and walks to a sideboard, pouring another drink, then pouring one for me too. He brings it over and sets it on the table in front of my chair.
“I don’t want it,” I say.
“You’ll drink,” he says.
I look up at him. “I don’t drink with men who killed my parents.”
He smiles like I’m adorable. “You’ll drink with your husband.”