Chapter 38
There wasn't a perfect place on this earth.
But if there were a perfect place on this earth, it would be the island of Port Isle.
Port Isle was the kind of place people thought didn't exist anymore.
Situated off Florida's east coast, the island was surrounded by beautiful water.
The Atlantic stretched endlessly beneath a cloudless July sky, the water shifting between deep blue and shades of turquoise depending on where the sun hit it.
Palm trees swayed in the ocean breeze. This place catered to people with too much money.
Expensive homes dotted the shoreline and luxury yachts crowded the marina. It was beautiful.
Parts of Port Isle, like Russian Row, where the estate my whipped ass father had gifted my mother sat, were exclusive.
The estate stretched along a private section of the beach.
It was all white sand and sea oats. A huge house was hidden behind carefully landscaped greenery.
Sergei had built what I wanted to build for Theory. I understood the old man more each day.
The Atlantic rolled against my chest as I cut through the water.
Swimming had always helped me think. The ocean wasn't Siberia, but there was something familiar about the cold and the silence.
I surfaced and turned toward home. Closer to shore, I spotted Theory immediately.
That wasn't a surprise. I always spotted Theory immediately.
She was stretched across a chaise beneath a large umbrella, sunglasses shielding her eyes.
A cream-colored one-piece hugged every lush curve God had given her.
Sunlight kissed honey-gold skin the way that I loved to.
Beside her, Epiphany sat beneath her own umbrella scrolling through her phone.
Pip looked up first.
“Oh, Lord,” she muttered.
I ignored her. Theory lifted her sunglasses as I approached. I stared down into those eyes that never failed to mesmerize me. She frowned.
“Targen! You dripping on me.”
“Am I?” I asked nonchalantly.
Her nose wrinkled. “Yes.”
I stood there, just dripping. On purpose. I lifted my hand. A bead of water slid down and landed on her shoulder.
Theory gasped. “Targen!” She sat up and punched my leg.
“Ouch, girl!”
“You did that on purpose,” she accused.
I grabbed my chest. “I would never.”
“Yes, your annoying ass would.”
I stepped closer. She narrowed her eyes immediately.
“Targen, don’t come up here with no bullshit. What?”
I pointed at her shoulder. “You need more sunscreen.”
“I do not,” she said, shaking her head.
“You do.”
“I literally put some on twenty minutes ago.”
“Not enough.”
Theory sighed. “Targen.”
I crouched beside her chair, bringing us eye level.
My gaze moved slowly over her beautiful face, then lower.
Then back up again. My baby was so fucking fine.
I would never not want her. Like right now, I could—I cut off the thought, but Theory caught it.
Immediately. She bit her lower lip and her eyes darkened, but she shook her head.
“Don't start,” she warned.
“What? I haven't said anything.”
“You don't have to.”
Pip made a dramatic gagging sound. Neither of us looked at her. Theory's cheeks reddened slightly. My second favorite color. The first was the pretty honey-gold of her skin. But shit, I loved the way her skin turned red any time she felt heated.
“I think I should help. After all, you are my wife.”
“And?”
“I take my responsibilities seriously.”
“Targen.”
“My responsibility is keeping you safe.”
She laughed. “From sunburn?”
“Among other things.”
Her lips pursed. “You just want an excuse to touch me.”
I nodded. “That too.”
Pip sighed. “This is disgusting.”
“You don't have to listen,” Theory popped.
“Apparently, I do.”
I found myself watching my wife instead of listening to Pip complain. Theory looked so peaceful. I used to wonder if she'd ever look peaceful again. I used to pray she’d look peaceful again. So, hell, yeah, I loved looking at my wife, basking in the glow of the sun, finally at peace.
“You staring,” she accused, but her tone was soft.
“I am.”
“So rude.”
“So beautiful.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“For the love of God,” Pip muttered.
I reached for the sunscreen beside Theory’s chair, but she snatched it first.
“No.”
“Theory.”
“No.”
“I’m trying to be helpful.”
“You trying to be handsy.”
I thought about that and nodded again. “Okay. Helpful and handsy.”
Theory adjusted her sunglasses and held the sunscreen more tightly.
“I’m not starting with you. Pip and I have plans anyway.”
I frowned. “Plans?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“With who?”
“Remember that lady we met yesterday?”
“The neighbor?”
She nodded.
“We going to grab coffee with her, then we meeting Ms. Joia to help with last minute things for your party.”
The woman had apparently introduced herself while Theory and Pip explored Russian Row. Friendly and talkative, she’d explained she was staying a couple of doors down at the Kozlov estate. They were good people. Still…
“You’d rather have coffee with her than spend the morning with me?”
She laughed. “We've spent all week together.”
I didn’t see the problem. “And?”
“Targen. I gotta be neighborly. I’m trying to be a good Bratva Bride like your mama.”
I scoffed. “Joia too hard-headed to be a good Bratva Bride.”
I reached over and squeezed her ankle. She kicked at me, but there was no force behind it.
“Baby… I gotta do some shopping, too.”
“For what?”
“The events your parents planned.”
I groaned. That alone told me everything. When Sergei and Joia planned celebrations, the preparation was hell for everyone else.
She leaned forward and kissed me, quick and sweet. It was still dangerous, because now I wanted more.
“Behave, husband.”
“I always behave.”
Theory laughed so hard she nearly dropped her sunglasses. Then she stood.
“We gotta go get ready. Come on, Pip.” She turned back to me. “See you later.”
Her parting kiss was slower, hotter, full of promise.
“Off the bone,” I vowed to her before letting her go and watching her walk away.
The Atlantic breeze tossed and teased her curly hair. She glanced back once and smiled before disappearing into the house. I stared after her, longer than necessary. I loved that damn girl.
An hour later, I was dressed and seated with my father in his office.
The room overlooked the water. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view worth millions.
The view usually helped, but neither of us was paying attention to it.
A secure video call occupied the large monitor mounted across from us.
Maxim appeared on one side of the screen.
He claimed he was escaping most of Joia’s hoopla by arriving tomorrow.
Personally, I think he didn’t know what to do with Seraph.
Kael Walker occupied the other side of the screen.
Maxim had called the meeting because Kael said four words: “I found something interesting.” Kael rarely asked for meetings. When he did, we listened.
“Let me begin by saying, you know for the last few weeks, I’ve been watching Marguerite Armstrong even more closely, especially once we suspected she might have a Russian ally.
I've been following leads. Money transfers. Travel records. New business connections. At first, it looked random. Small pieces, nothing substantial,” Maxim said.
“What changed?” I asked.
“A name.”
“What name?” Sergei demanded.
The answer came immediately. “Nikolai.”
There were a million Russian Nikolais, but only one could explain Kael’s presence. I frowned.
“Nikolai Sokolov?”
Maxim nodded. “So, I reached out to Kael.”
Kael leaned back in his chair. He always managed to look relaxed while discussing violence, almost bored. “And I’ve been keeping an eye on them.”
Kael was technically a Sokolov but was once permanently banished from the family.
That tended to happen when you killed your father, the head of a Bratva cell.
He would’ve been dead himself, if Sergei hadn’t taken the extraordinary step of intervening in family business and offering Kael and his family protection and asylum.
Apparently, Kael’s father, Vladimir, had been an abusive piece of shit.
Still, the Sokolovs, under Kael’s uncle Kolya, had hated him.
For a long time, the only ally Kael and his brother Kieran had in that family was their uncle Nikolai who had secretly helped their mom and worked to change some of the family’s mind about Kael.
Nikolai had eventually pushed Kolya out of power.
In the years since then, the Sokolovs and the Sidorovs had reached an uneasy peace, mostly political.
We could play the part, but none of us completely trusted them.
I was surprised by Kael watching them, though. He and Nikolai seemed close.
“Nikolai has indeed been meeting with people tied to Marguerite Armstrong,” Kael continued. “Not directly. He isn't stupid enough for that. But the connections are there.”
“So, all that bullshit about peace with us was a lie?” I asked rhetorically.
Maxim nodded. “But you know, we were always suspicious of that.”
Sergei chuckled ruefully. “He is patient. To lie in wait for years like that. I’ve heard of stranger things.”
“And with Marguerite, he covered his tracks well, I have to admit,” Maxim said.
Kael nodded. “The more I looked and politely asked questions, I found it wasn’t really a partnership.”
Maxim leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Marguerite thinks she's working with Nikolai,” Kael said.
“She thought that,” I corrected.
Kael acknowledged my words with a nod. “Nikolai had no intention of honoring any agreement. He never did. She was simply part one of a multipart operation.”
“She was a brilliant woman. He must have talked a good game to fool her.”
“Or her feelings about Chauncey got in the way,” I said, thinking about what Theory had said: “Targen… they don’t care if they win or survive, especially not right now. They just want revenge.”
“The best I can tell, he planned to come at the three of you differently. He started with Targen through Theory. But Maxim, I think I see the plans he was lying down for you. But we don’t have time for that right now. I found out something interesting about his current location.”
“And where is he now?” Sergei asked.
Kael's eyes shifted toward him. “Port Isle.”
My jaw tightened. Across the screen, Maxim's eyes narrowed. “Are you certain?”
“Completely. I have confirmation.”
Port Isle.
Of all the places in the world, Nikolai Sokolov had chosen to be here, right now? There was no such thing as coincidence. Sergei had drilled that into us. I was going to have to increase the detail around Theory until we could leave this island. Party be damned, I was taking my wife home.
My phone buzzed then, and I looked down. Theory. I smiled as I opened the message.
“Going in. I love you.”
I typed the sentiment back, not realizing how hard I was smiling until Maxim said, “I presume that is your lovely wife.”
“Yeah. She and Pip are going to meet a neighbor, then Mama.”
The words left my mouth before I thought about them. Suddenly, I went still. What did I really know about this damn neighbor? I swiveled toward my father.
“Papa, have you talked to the Kozlovs this summer? Who’s staying at their place?” I asked.
He stiffened, glanced at my brother then me.
“What?” I demanded.
Finally, he spoke. “The Kozlov estate is empty.”
The office suddenly felt hot. “What?”
“It hasn't had guests in months. Abram Kozlov has cancer.”
I stared at him. Then shook my head.
“No. The woman specifically mentioned that house.”
“Targen,” Maxim said quietly.
“Theory talked to her.”
He nodded. “I believe she did.”
“Pip talked to her.”
“I believe that, too.”
The calmness in his voice made me want to punch something.
“Then who the fuck is she?”
Nobody answered immediately. They didn't have to.
The possibility was already forming in my head.
A woman just happened to be walking on Russian Row while Theory and Pip were out and chatted them up, invited them out?
She claimed she was being connected to an estate that shouldn't have had anybody staying there.
I grabbed my phone and called Theory. The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Voicemail.
The strange feeling in my stomach became something colder. I called again. Nothing. Across the room, Sergei slowly rose to his feet.
“Targen.”
Ignoring him, I called Juvie. Straight to voicemail. Now the cold feeling felt like ice. My father was already moving.
“Mikhail!” His voice thundered through the house.
I stood, every instinct I had was screaming the same thing.
Theory. I had to get to her, save her. I headed toward the door, already dialing again.
Still nothing. No answer, ot from Theory or Juvie. Behind me, I heard doors opening, footsteps and movement. The entire house was coming alive. The call continued ringing in my ear, before disconnecting.
Voicemail again.
For the first time in a very long time, real fear crawled up my spine. Sergei caught up to me just outside the office.
“Targen.”
I turned. My father rarely looked worried. Even now, he mostly looked angry.
“We'll find her.”
The certainty in his voice should've helped, but it didn't. Behind him, Mikhail appeared carrying a rifle case. Two of his men weren't far behind. His right hand was already speaking into a phone, issuing orders. Vacation mode had disappeared. This was all Bratva.
My phone vibrated again. The hope I felt quickly died when I saw Unknown Number. I answered anyway and silence greeted me. A few seconds passed, then the line disconnected.
My stomach dropped.
“Targen?” Maxim's voice came through the still-open office door.
I turned, walked back toward the screen. My brother was standing now. Kael had lost the bored expression. Both men looked deadly serious.
“I want you to be strategic. I need you to realize something. If he wanted money, he would've taken money. If he wanted leverage, he would've approached one of us directly. He wants something else.”
Theory. My hand tightened around the phone.
“Don't waste another second standing there, brat. Get your woman.”
I nodded, turned, and led our team out the door.