Chapter 22 Dimitri #2
“All of them. Every guard we have. This ends tonight.”
It’s two a.m. when we arrive at Konstantin’s estate.
The property is massive with a ten foot wall that surrounds the grounds. Konstantin’s security stops us at the gate. Two guards, both armed, both looking nervous at the convoy of black SUVs pulling up to the entrance.
“Mr. Volkov.” The older guard (Abram, I think his name is) steps forward. “It’s late. Does Mr. Konstantin know you’re—”
“Open the gate.”
My voice is flat and cold, the tone I use when I’m about to do violence.
Abram hesitates, glancing at his partner. “Sir, I’m going to need to check with—”
I step out of the SUV. The movement is casual and unhurried, but something in my expression makes both guards take a step back.
“I’m going to say this once,” I tell them coolly. “Open the fucking gate and stand aside, or I’ll drive through it. Your choice.”
They look at each other, then at me, then at the six vehicles behind me, each full of armed men.
The gate opens.
Smart.
We drive up the long curved driveway. More guards appear as we get closer to the main house—at least a dozen, all armed, all taking defensive positions.
Good. Let them try.
I’m out of the SUV before it fully stops, my men fanning out behind me in practiced formation. Sergei on my right, Viktor on my left. The others create a perimeter.
Konstantin’s head of security—a man named Boris who I’ve known for ten years—steps forward with his hands raised.
“Mr. Dimitri. What’s this about?”
“Where is he?” I demand, not wanting to bother with niceties.
Boris raises a bushy brow. “Mr. Konstantin is in his study. But you can’t just—”
I don’t wait for him to finish. I walk past him toward the front door, but two guards move to block my path.
I don’t slow down.
The first guard reaches for my arm. I catch his wrist, twist, and use his own momentum to send him stumbling into his partner. They both go down in a tangle of limbs.
“Anyone else?” I ask the remaining guards.
No one moves.
I thought not.
The front door is unlocked and I walk through like I own the place (which I might, after tonight is over). I head down the marble hallway with its expensive art and antique furniture and past the sitting room and the dining room and the library.
The study at the back of the house is my true focus.
The door is closed but not locked. I can hear classical music playing inside. Mozart, maybe.
The door slams open hard enough to bang against the wall and Konstantin looks up from behind his desk, a crystal tumbler of scotch halfway to his lips.
He doesn’t look surprised or worried.
He looks—pleased.
“Nephew,” he greets me pleasantly, setting down his glass. “It’s a bit late for a visit, isn’t it?”
I throw the tablet onto his desk hard enough to make papers scatter, not even bothering to exchange niceties. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.
“Explain.”
He picks up the tablet and scrolls through the evidence. His expression doesn’t change. There’s no shock, denial, or even concern. There’s just mild interest, like he’s reviewing a business proposal.
Finally, he sets the tablet down and pours himself more scotch.
“You were never supposed to figure it out,” he says conversationally. “You were supposed to be too grief-stricken. Too focused on revenge. Too in love with your new bride to see the pattern.”
The casual admission—the complete lack of remorse—makes something dark and violent unfurl in my chest.
“Why?” The word comes out strangled. “Why fake his death? Why start a war? Why any of this?”
Konstantin takes a long sip of his scotch, savoring it. Like we’re having a friendly chat instead of the conversation that’s about to end with one of us dead.
“Because you were always the problem, Dimitri.” He says it so simply. So matter-of-factly. “Too strong. Too smart. Too beloved by the men. I could never move against you directly. They’d never accept it. The family would fracture. Chaos would follow.”
He stands, walking to the window with his glass and looking out at the grounds like a king surveying his domain.
“But if you died in the war? Or were killed by an Ashford? Or were conveniently eliminated by Alexei after discovering he was alive…” He shrugs. “Then I could take control of both families.”
“Through Alexei.” I say flatly, that familiar rage building up in me again.
“Through Alexei and the baby,” Konstantin corrects, turning to face me, looking impassive.
“Alexei as the grieving brother seeking revenge for your death. The baby as the legitimate Volkov heir—everyone believes it’s yours by now, I assume.
Vera as leverage over the Ashfords. Me as the wise uncle guiding young Alexei. Perfect control.”
The casualness with which he discusses murdering me—using Vera, manipulating everyone—makes bile rise in my throat.
“Alexei agreed to this?” I need to understand how deep the betrayal goes. “To faking his death? To letting me think he was murdered?”
Konstantin laughs. Actually fucking laughs.
“Agreed? Dimitri, it was his idea. He was tired of being the baby brother. The disappointment. The one who never measured up. He wanted power.” His smile is cruel. “I offered him a path to it.”
The words cut deeper than any knife could. Alexei wanted this. He planned this. It wasn’t just Konstantin manipulating him.
“He’s not—” I start, but I can’t finish what I’m thinking because the truth is staring me in the face. Alexei orchestrated all of this. The fake death. The war. Using Vera. All of it.
“Where is he?” I snarl, my hand moving to my weapon. “Where is Alexei?”
“You’ll never find him.” Konstantin’s voice is almost pitying. “He’s good at hiding, he always has been. And even if you did, it wouldn’t matter.”
He stands, and I see his hand move towards the drawer. The glint of metal informs me that Konstantin has removed his gun.
But I’m not fast enough.
Konstantin clearly anticipated this and planned for it. His hand moves, pulling the gun from his desk drawer and leveling it at my chest in one smooth motion.
The cold calculation in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.
“Because you’re not leaving here alive,” he says quietly. I move on instinct, diving behind a chair as the shot rings out, wood splintering where my head was a second before.
What follows is chaos.
I return fire, scattering for cover behind a heavy oak bookshelf. Bullets tear through leather-bound books, sending paper and wood splinters flying.
And suddenly the room explodes with movement.
Doors I didn’t know existed burst open. Armed men pour in—not the guards from outside, but professionals in body armor. There are at least a dozen of them, moving with military precision.
They were waiting.
Konstantin’s security was ready for this. They knew I was coming. This whole thing was a trap.
My uncle planned for this confrontation. And I fell for it.
“AMBUSH!” Anton roars from somewhere behind me. “Fall back! Fall back!”
Gunfire erupts from multiple directions. My men return fire, but we’re surrounded and outgunned. This isn’t a fight we can win.
I need to get out and get back to Vera.
I fight my way toward the exit, taking out two guards who try to block my path. My team provides covering fire as we move, but we are barely holding against superior numbers.
A bullet catches my shoulder.
The impact spins me around as I cry out. Pain explodes through my arm, white-hot and blinding. I stumble, my vision blurring at the edges.
But adrenaline keeps me moving.
Another guard goes down. Then I’m through the door, bleeding, but still on my feet.
Viktor appears at my side. “GO!” He shouts. “I’ve got your six!”
We fight our way through the mansion. Bodies drop—theirs and some of ours. The sound is deafening and smoke from gunfire makes everything hazy.
Behind us, Konstantin’s voice echoes through the house. Taunting and confident.
“You can’t protect her! She’s ours! The baby is ours! You’ve already lost!”
I grit my teeth at both the pain in my shoulder and the fear that’s coursing through me.
But I don’t stop running. I don’t stop fighting.
We burst through the front door into the pre-dawn darkness. My men are already at the SUVs, engines running, and providing covering fire.
I dive into the backseat. Viktor slams the door and we're moving, tires screeching as we speed down the driveway.
Bullets ping off armor plating. The rear window spiderwebs but doesn't shatter.
And then we're through the gate. Away. Escaping.
But all I can think about is Konstantin's voice echoing in my head.
The baby is ours. You've already lost.
The drive back feels endless.
I’m bleeding heavily, vision starting to blur at the edges. I press my fingers against the gunshot wound, trying to slow the bleeding, but blood pours between my fingers.
Too much blood.
“Faster,” I grit out.
“We’re already doing ninety, sir,” Dmitri says tightly, but the engine roars louder anyway.
All I can think about is getting back to Vera. I need to warn her. Protect her.
Konstantin has revealed his hand. He’ll make his final move soon. He has to. He can’t let me regroup.
How much time do we have? Hours? Minutes?
I don’t know.
But I know one thing with absolute certainty. I will die before I let Konstantin and Alexei take Vera and my baby.