Chapter 22 Dimitri
DIMITRI
“DIMITRI!”
My head snaps up from where it’s bent over my desk, staring at phone records. That sounds like…
Vera.
I’ve never moved faster in my life as I explode out of my office and race down the hall. My gun is already in my hand, but when did I draw it? The cool metal is familiar and comforting in my palm.
“DIMITRI! HELP!”
Her voice is coming from the east wing. I run faster, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard it hurts. Behind me, I hear my guards mobilizing, boots thundering on marble, and radios crackling with rapid Russian.
But I’m faster.
I hit the hallway at a dead sprint and crash through the guest room door hard enough to splinter the frame.
The window is open and the curtains billow in the night breeze, bringing in cool air. And Vera—
Vera is on the floor beside the dresser, one hand braced against the furniture for support. Her face is white and tear-streaked. There are red marks forming on her arms that are already darkening into bruises.
Bruises shaped like fingers.
Someone put their hands on her. Someone grabbed her hard enough to leave marks.
The white-hot rage that floods through me is incandescent. It takes every ounce of control I have not to start roaring.
Mikhail and Viktor burst in behind me, weapons drawn. They move immediately to the window, checking the perimeter, but I barely register them.
All I can see is Vera. Shaking. Hurt. Terrified.
“Vera.” I’m at her side in two strides, holstering my gun so I can touch her. My hands hover over her face and arms, checking for injuries but afraid to hurt her more. “Are you okay? The baby?”
“I’m okay.” Her voice is shaking as she slowly sits up and I gently help her, needing to feel her. “I’m okay, but Dimitri…” She swallows, looking stricken. “It was Alexei. He was here.”
The world seems to crumble. Alexei. My brother was here. In my house. He put his hands on my wife.
“He climbed through the window,” Vera continues, words tumbling out in a rush. “He told me everything. About Konstantin, about the plan, about—” Her voice breaks. “He tried to make me go with him. Said I was his. That the baby was his. That you—”
She stops, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
“What?” I force the word out through clenched teeth. “What did he say about me?”
“He said you won’t live long enough to stop him.” She wipes her face, and I notice that her nails are caked with blood. But it’s not her blood as there isn’t a scratch on her. “He said—he said you won’t live long enough to stop him.”
The rage singing through my veins intensifies and becomes something cold and lethal and absolutely focused.
My brother. My fucking brother broke into my home and put his hands on Vera—on MY wife. On the mother of the baby I’ve claimed as my own.
I want to hold Vera. To pull her against my chest and promise her everything will be okay. To comfort her and check every inch of her for injuries and make sure she knows she’s safe.
But the rage won’t let me be still or be gentle. It’s coursing through me like electricity, demanding action, demanding blood.
“Get her to the safe room,” I order Mikhail without taking my eyes off Vera. My voice comes out harder than I intend. “No one goes in or out except Dr. Petrov and me. Understood?”
Mikhail’s eyes dart between me and Vera. “Sir—”
“NOW.”
Mikhail moves immediately, helping Vera to her feet carefully. She winces the moment her weight shifts, her face contorting with pain.
Wait, when did she injure herself?
“Stop.” The word cracks like a whip and Mikhail freezes. “Why is she wincing? Vera, what hurts?”
“It’s nothing,” she tries to say, straightening up, but I’m already moving toward her.
“What. Hurts?” I ask again, my voice rough. “What happened, Vera?”
She sighs in resignation. “My hip.” She touches her side gingerly. “When Alexei shoved me, I hit the dresser. It’s just bruised, Dimitri. I’m fine.”
He shoved her. He shoved her hard enough to injure her.
My brother put his hands on my wife.
The violence inside me intensifies until I can taste it. It’s metallic and sharp like blood in my mouth.
“Dimitri.” Vera reaches for me, but I step back.
If I touch her right now, if I let myself hold her, I won’t be able to let go and do what needs to be done.
“Carry her,” I tell Mikhail, and my voice doesn’t sound like my own. “Don’t let her put weight on that hip. Get Dr. Petrov to examine her immediately. If there’s any damage beyond bruising, you call me. Understood?”
He nods sharply. “Yes, sir.”
Mikhail moves to lift her, but Vera pulls away from him, looking irritated. “Dimitri, I’m okay. I can walk. I’m not going to be carried like a baby.”
“You’re not walking anywhere on an injured hip.” I force the words out through clenched teeth. “Please, Vera. I need to know you’re protected. I need to know you’re safe before I can—”
Before I can hunt down my brother and uncle and tear them apart with my bare hands.
The look on Vera’s face tells me she understands exactly what I’m not saying. She studies me, those brown eyes sharp and assessing. Before I can question her, she rushes over to me, grabs me by the front of my shirt and yanks me down so her lips cover mine.
Her hands frame my face, and her lips are soft and desperate against mine. She tastes like salt from tears and something sweeter—something that’s uniquely her. The kiss is fierce and tender all at once, full of everything we can’t say out loud.
I love you.
Don’t die.
My hands find her waist automatically, pulling her against me despite the rage still singing through my veins. For just a moment—just this one stolen moment—I let myself feel the softness of her body, the way she fits against me like she was made for this, and the warmth of her breath on my lips.
The absolute terror of losing her.
My fingers curl into her sweater, holding her like she might disappear if I let go. One hand slides up to tangle in her hair, angling her head so I can deepen the kiss. She makes a small sound of pleasure and presses closer.
I pour everything into this kiss. Every word I can’t say. Every promise I want to make. Every ounce of love and fear and desperate need.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathing hard. Her eyes are bright but she doesn’t look scared.
She looks fierce.
“Be careful,” she whispers against my lips. “Please. Come back to me.”
“Always.” The word is a vow.
She gently touches my face once more then steps back and heads back to Mikhail. “I don’t think so,” she says sternly as Mikhail moves to carry her. “I can walk by myself.”
I groan, still feeling her lips on mine. “Vera, you promised.”
She glares at me. “I did no such thing. If you want me to go to the safe room, I am going to walk there, like an actual adult. I will not be treated like a child, Dimitri.”
Mikhail looks at me helplessly.
Sighing, I acquiesce, ignoring the flare of triumph in Vera’s eyes. “Fine. Mikhail, you may escort Vera to the safe room.”
She smiles at me before turning to Mikhail. “Lead the way.”
She disappears into the hallway, and the moment she’s gone, the tenderness drains out of me as I refocus on what I need to do.
Viktor clears his throat awkwardly. When I look at him, he’s staring very intently at the wall and the ceiling. At literally anywhere except me.
The poor bastard looks like he’d also like to jump out the window too.
“Something to say, Viktor?” I ask lightly.
“No, sir.” His voice is strained but professional. “Absolutely nothing, sir.”
Despite the rage and violence churning through me, I almost smile. But there’s no time for humor. There’s no time for anything except what comes next.
“Get me everything,” I tell him, and my voice is all business now. “Every piece of evidence we’ve compiled. Financial records, phone logs, security footage, and forensic reports. All of it. I want it on a tablet I can carry. You have ten minutes.”
Viktor salutes. “Yes, sir.”
He's gone before I finish speaking.
I stand in the empty room, staring at the open window. He was here. In my house. Touching what’s mine.
The beast inside me (the part I usually keep carefully controlled and contained) strains against its leash. Not yet. Not until I have everything I need.
But soon.
Viktor meets me in my office exactly nine minutes later with a tablet loaded with everything we’ve found.
I scroll through it as my team briefs me, and with each piece of evidence, my rage climbs so high I’m surprised I don’t have a heart attack.
Financial records showing Konstantin making payments to offshore accounts—accounts that trace directly back to shell companies Alexei set up three months before his “death.” Millions of dollars funneled into those accounts. That was enough money to disappear and start over.
Phone records showing hundreds of calls between Konstantin and a burner phone that pings from every location Alexei has been spotted over the past six weeks. Prague. Vienna. Berlin. And three days ago—here. In the city.
Security footage from Konstantin’s home showing Alexei visiting just three days ago. He fucking walked through the front door like he belonged there and sat in the study with our uncle, drinking scotch and laughing.
Laughing.
While I grieved him and married Vera to avenge him.
The forensic evidence is the most damning.
Konstantin personally oversaw Alexei’s autopsy. He personally signed off on the identification and suppressed any questions about the inconsistencies in the forensics report.
My uncle. The man who I trusted with everything betrayed me in the most elaborate, vicious way possible.
“Sir?” Viktor’s voice cuts through my roiling thoughts. “Your orders?”
I look up at my assembled team. Six men who’ve been with me for years and have proven their loyalty a hundred times over. They look at me now with expressions that are equal parts fury and anticipation.
They want blood. So do I.
“Full tactical gear,” I say. “We’re going to Konstantin’s estate.”
“How many men do you want?” Pavel asks.