Chapter 2 Daria
Daria
The man Dmitri sent to watch me is more terrifying than I imagined.
I knew he was coming. Dmitri told me when he hauled me to Moscow and accused me of plotting against the family.
Pyotr Fedorov would be moving into my apartment until this was over.
I sat in Dmitri’s study, trying not to shake while my daughter played with her cousin in another room, blissfully unaware while my life hung in the balance.
I told myself I could handle it. I’ve survived worse. Three weeks of surveillance is nothing next to the years I survived married to Bogdan.
But looking at this massive Bratva enforcer, I’m wondering if I was wrong.
Pyotr is standing in my living room, examining a small black device he pulled from behind Kira’s radiator, and I can barely breathe.
My daughter is asleep down the hall, unaware that a man who could snap our necks without breaking a sweat has been prowling through our apartment.
“This is high-end equipment,” he explains without looking at me. “It’s not available for civilian use. Whoever planted this has resources.”
I’m not surprised. I’m also not about to tell him that I know who planted it.
My ex-husband, Bodgan. The man I fled three years ago with a toddler on my hip and bruises hidden beneath my sleeves. That bastard has spent every day since then reminding me that I’ll never escape him, no matter how far I run or how well I hide.
We met when I was twenty-three and stupid enough to believe that a charming smile meant a kind heart.
The abuse started small and grew until I couldn’t recognize myself in the mirror.
By the time I found the courage to run, he’d already isolated me from everyone I loved and set up accounts in my name that I knew nothing about.
Accounts he’s been using ever since to move money for people who want to see my family destroyed.
Bogdan warned me this would happen. He told me that if I didn’t cooperate with his demands, Dmitri would start asking questions, and everything Bogdan built using my name and accounts would come crashing down on my head while he walked away clean.
And now, Pyotr Fedorov is here, as Dmitri promised. Standing in my living room like a weapon waiting to be aimed.
“I don’t know how it got there.” I keep my voice steady through sheer will. “Maybe the previous tenant left it.”
Pyotr finally looks up, and his eyes pin me in place.
He’s enormous, making my small apartment feel like a closet.
His dark hair is cropped close to his skull, and a scar cuts across his left forearm where his sleeves are pushed up.
His eyes are the color of winter ice, pale and unnerving against his tanned skin.
From the looks of it, his nose has been broken at least twice, and his jaw is covered in dark stubble that does nothing to soften the brutal angles of his face.
He’s handsome, but not in a classical way.
More like dangerous and compelling, and it makes my body respond in ways my mind knows are foolish.
I notice the thickness of his neck, the breadth of his shoulders beneath his dark shirt, and the way his forearms flex as he turns the camera over in his scarred hands.
Burn scarring covers his right shoulder where the collar of his shirt gaps open, and tattoos snake up both arms, dark ink against skin that’s seen too much violence.
I wonder how far those tattoos extend across his body. I wonder what stories they tell about the things he’s done and the people he’s hurt.
I close my eyes and shake my head. I shouldn’t be wondering anything about this man. He’s here to find evidence that will get me killed.
“The camera is transmitting to an active server,” he explains “Someone has been watching your daughter sleep. This isn’t equipment left behind by a careless tenant.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“You could tell me the truth.”
“I am telling you the truth.” I hope he doesn’t see the way my right eye twitches the way it always does when I lie. It’s my only tell. “I don’t know who put a camera in my daughter’s room. I don’t know why anyone would want to watch us.”
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I’ve had years of practice swallowing bitter things.
Bogdan taught me well.
He taught me how to smile through pain, hide bruises beneath long sleeves, and pretend everything was fine when my world was falling apart. Those skills are serving me now, even if they make me hate myself.
Pyotr squints at me, and I see him taking note of every micro-expression and sign of deception I’m struggling to hide.
Men like him are trained to read people, find weaknesses and exploit them, and break down resistance until nothing remains but the truth.
I can’t let him break me. Too much depends on my silence.
“I’ll need to sweep the rest of the apartment,” he finally declares. “Make sure there aren’t other devices.”
I wave him off. “Do what you need to do.”
“I’ll also need access to your financial records. Bank statements, tax returns, anything connected to the flagged accounts.”
“I already gave all that to Tony and Sasha when they were here. And then again to Dmitri when he brought me to Moscow.”
“Then you won’t mind providing it a third time.”
I want to scream at him. I want to shove him out the door, lock it behind him, and pretend none of this is happening.
But Dmitri has made it clear that refusing to cooperate would only confirm my guilt.
“The filing cabinet in the corner over there.” I jerk my head toward the cabinet. “Second drawer. Everything is organized by year.”
He pockets the camera. “Good. I’ll finish the sweep tomorrow. You should get some rest.”
“Rest.” I almost laugh at the absurdity. “With a stranger prowling through my home while my daughter sleeps?”
“I’m not here to hurt you or your daughter.”
“No, you’re here to decide if we deserve to be hurt.”
Something passes in those gray eyes. Guilt, maybe, though that seems foolish to think about. For a moment, he looks almost human beneath all the detached professionalism.
“Show me to my room,” he requests. “Then go to bed. We can talk more in the morning.”
I lead him down the hallway, hyperaware of his presence behind me.
He moves quietly for such a large man; his footsteps are barely audible on the worn carpet.
The hallway has never felt so long, and I’m acutely conscious of how close he is and how easily he could reach out and grab me if he wanted to.
But he doesn’t. He just follows, patient and silent, like a predator who knows his prey has nowhere to run.
I stop at the second door on the left and push it open. “The spare room. It’s small, but the bed is clean. The bathroom is across the hall, and towels are in the cabinet under the sink.”
Pyotr steps past me into the tiny space, and his bulk fills the doorway so completely that I have to flatten myself against the wall to avoid touching him.
This close, I catch his scent—something clean and masculine beneath the faint smell of winter air. No cologne, just soap and skin and something underneath that makes my stomach do things it shouldn’t.
He surveys the room with those assessing eyes, taking in the small bed, the minimal dresser, and the single window overlooking the alley.
“This will be fine,” he says.
“Good.” I step back from the doorway. “Then I’ll leave you to settle in.”
I retreat to my bedroom and close the door, pressing my back against it and breathing through the panic clawing at my throat. My hands are shaking. My body is shaking. I wrap my arms around myself and squeeze until the trembling subsides.
Then, my phone vibrates in my pocket, and it starts all over again.
I pull it out and see the words that make my blood run cold. Blocked number. I don’t even know why he bothers trying to mask it anymore.
I slip into my bathroom and lock the door before answering in a whisper. “Hello?”
“Darling.” Bogdan’s voice is smooth and pleasant, and it sets my heart racing. This is the way it always sounds when he’s about to hurt me. “I hear your houseguest has arrived.”
“How do you know about that?”
“I know everything about you, Daria. I thought you’d learned that by now. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out that Dmitri sent one of his dogs to sniff around? I have eyes everywhere, minus one little camera in Kira’s room, thanks to that stupid mutt.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “What do you want, Bogdan?”
“The same thing I’ve always wanted. Cooperation.
” His tone hardens beneath the silk. “Your cousin suspects something, and that’s inconvenient for both of us.
Especially for you. All those accounts in your name, all that money I’ve moved through your identity over the years.
How do you think it will look when Dmitri’s man starts digging? ”
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“The evidence says otherwise, and evidence is all people like Dmitri care about.” A pause stretches between us, heavy with unspoken threats. “But there’s a way out of this. A way to protect yourself and our daughter.”
“You lost the right to claim her as your daughter when you started using her as a weapon against me.”
He tsks and replies, “Careful, darling. I’m trying to help you.”
“What do you want?”
“Information. Your new roommate works for Dmitri, which means he has access to things I need to know. Government meetings. Business dealings. Strategic plans. Find out what Dmitri is planning and report back to me.”
“You want me to spy on my cousin.”
“If Dmitri decides you’re guilty, you’ll disappear, and Kira will be all mine.” His voice drops to something almost tender, which is worse than his cruelty. “Is that what you want for her? Growing up without a mother, wondering why you abandoned her?”
“I would never abandon her.”
“Then do what I’m asking.” I hear him settle back on the other end of the line, preparing to deliver his final blow.
“Bring me something useful about Dmitri’s plans, and do it quickly.
If you don’t, Kira will be spending a lot more time with her father.
I’m sure the courts will be very interested in your family’s criminal connections when I file for custody. ”
The threat lands where he intended. I grab the edge of the sink to keep myself upright so hard that my knuckles go white against the beige porcelain.
“Don’t disappoint me, Daria.”
The call ends, and I stand there in my tiny bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. The woman looking back at me has fear carved into every line of her face. She looks like someone who’s been running for so long she’s forgotten what it feels like to stand still.
Pyotr is searching for evidence that will get me killed. Bogdan is demanding that I pass along information on Pyotr that could also get me killed.
If I refuse Bogdan, I lose Kira to a man who sees her only as leverage.
If I help Bogdan, I am guilty of everything Dmitri suspects.
I stare at my reflection and wonder how long I can survive between these threats. How long I can keep lying, pretending, and holding myself together when everything around me is falling apart.
For Kira’s sake, I have to find a way.
I just don’t know how yet.