Chapter 15 Pyotr
Pyotr
She’s been gone for twenty minutes when I reach for my coat.
Every instinct I’ve honed over fifteen years of fieldwork screams at me to stay invisible, wait at the apartment, and let her walk into whatever trap she’s set for herself.
But when I watched her step out into the rain with her shoulders squared like she was marching toward a firing squad, something inside me refused to let her go alone.
The restaurant is twelve blocks from the apartment.
I trail her at a distance, keeping to the shadows and doorways the way I learned in places far more dangerous than St. Petersburg. She never looks back. Either she’s too focused on what’s ahead, or she’s given up caring who might be watching.
Pushkin Restaurant glows like a beacon through the gray evening. I position myself across the street, partially sheltered by an awning that does nothing to keep the rain off me. Through the panoramic windows, I watch her approach a table near the center of the room.
A man rises to greet her.
I see the easy confidence in his posture even from this distance. This is the kind of man who’s never been told no.
He kisses her cheek, and her body goes rigid.
I pull out my phone and zoom the camera to snap several photographs as they sit at a table. The man’s face fills my screen. Strong jaw, cold eyes, and a smile that doesn’t reach past his lips.
He looks an awful lot like the man identified as her ex-husband in Daria’s file, but from a distance, through rain-streaked glass, I need to be certain.
The facial recognition software confirms what my gut knew. Bogdan Lebedev. Nephew of Yevgeny Lebedev. Ex-husband of the woman shrinking into herself across from him like she’s trying to disappear into the chair.
For forty-five minutes, I stand in the rain and watch.
He does most of the talking. His hands move in expansive gestures before he shows her something from a folder. At one point, he reaches across the table to touch her hand, and she flinches so hard that the waiter pauses mid-step to stare.
She doesn’t eat or drink, just sits and absorbs the poison he pours into her ears.
When she stands to leave, her legs are barely able to hold her. Bogdan flags down the waiter for another glass of wine, dismissing Daria like a servant who’s completed an unpleasant errand.
I slip into an alley before she exits and take the long way back to the apartment.
I need to be there when she arrives. I need to see her face when she realizes I know.
The apartment is dark when I let myself in. Kira is still at Natasha’s house. Daria won’t pick her up until tomorrow morning. The thought of that child sleeping somewhere other than her dinosaur-covered bed doesn’t sit right with me, but I push it aside.
I lower myself onto the couch and wait.
The door opens at 9:47 p.m.
Daria steps inside and fumbles for the light switch. When the lamp clicks on, and she sees me sitting there, her face cycles through surprise, then fear, then resignation.
“You followed me.”
“You lied to me.”
She closes the door and leans against it. Her coat is soaked. Her hair hangs in wet tendrils around her face. She looks like a woman who’s been drowning for years and has finally stopped fighting the current.
“I had to,” she whispers.
“No. You didn’t.” I rise from the couch and cross the room. She flattens herself against the door, but there’s nowhere to go. “I told you I could help. I told you no one would take Kira. And you walked out of here to meet the man who’s terrorized you for years.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.” I stop two feet away, close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat. “Tell me what he wants.”
She shakes her head.
“Daria.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You just won’t.” I take another step. “I know who he is. I know what he’s done. I know about the accounts, the shell companies, and the money he’s moved through your name. What I don’t know is what he demanded from you tonight.”
Her eyes go wide. “How do you—”
“It’s my job to know. I’ve spent the past two weeks tearing apart every thread connected to your life, and every single one leads back to him.” I drop my voice to add, “Tell me what he wants, and I’ll make sure he never gets it.”
She blinks hard, and wetness streaks down her cheeks, mixing with the rain still glistening on her skin.
“He wants information about Dmitri. Things I couldn’t give him even if I wanted to.
But if I don’t provide it, he’ll take Kira.
He’ll destroy me in court and take my daughter, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. ”
“You’re wrong.”
“You don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“I know what men like him are capable of.” I lean closer and brace my hands against the door on either side of her head.
“I’ve killed men like him. Men who hurt women.
Men who use children as weapons. Men who think they’re untouchable because they have money and connections and people who are too afraid to stand against them. ”
She sucks in a shaky breath. “What are you saying?”
“Say the word.” My mouth hovers inches from her ear. “Say yes, and I’ll end him. Tonight. Before he ever has a chance to touch you or Kira again.”
The quiet wraps around us. I feel her body shaking against mine and her body heat even through her wet clothes. Feel the moment when something inside her snaps.
She kisses me.
Her mouth crashes against mine, and the world narrows to this single point of contact. Fear and loneliness pour through her lips, and she twists her fingers into the front of my shirt and yanks me closer. Her body arches off the door and molds itself against me.
I freeze just long enough to register her taste; rain and salt and something sweeter underneath. Then, the last thread of my restraint snaps, and I’m kissing her back with everything I’ve held in check since the day I walked through her door.
I cup her face in both hands and tilt her head back. She parts her lips, and I sweep my tongue inside to claim every corner of her mouth. A moan vibrates against me, and the sound travels straight down my spine.
I pull back just enough to see her face. Her eyes are dark and glassy, hungry in a way that makes my blood run hot.
But I don’t let her pull me back in yet.
“What did he ask you to do tonight?”
She tries to kiss me again, but I turn my head so her lips land on my jaw.
“Pyotr—”
“Answer me.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” I grab her chin and force her to meet my eyes. “You sat across from him for forty-five minutes. You let him put his hands on you. You came home looking like you’d been gutted. So, tell me what he said that made you look like that.”
Her lower lip trembles. “He gave me a task. Something I’m supposed to do before he arrives.”
“What task?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.” She shoves against my chest, but I don’t budge. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Pyotr—”
“I’m done being patient, Daria.” I pin her against the door with my body. “I’m done watching you carry this alone while he tightens the noose.”
“You can’t help me. No one can.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
She stares at me, breathing hard. I watch the fear and shame warring in her eyes. The desperate need to trust someone after years of having no one.
“He wants me to betray you,” she finally whispers. “To get information from you about Dmitri and the family.”
“You were going to do it?”
“No.” Her voice cracks. “I don’t know. I can’t think when he’s in my head. I can’t—”
I kiss her again, hard and angry. Not to comfort her this time, but to shut her up. To make her feel something other than the terror he’s planted in her bones.
When I pull back, we’re both heaving breathlessly.
“You don’t go to him alone again,” I tell her. “Not ever. You don’t take his calls without telling me. You don’t make deals behind my back. Whatever he asks you to do, you bring it to me first. Understand?”
“And if I work with you instead of against you?”
“I’ll handle him permanently. In a way that keeps your hands clean and your daughter safe.”
She searches my face for the lie. Looking for the trap.
She won’t find one.
“Okay,” she breathes.
“Okay what?”
“Okay. I’ll work with you. I’ll tell you everything. Just…” She fists the front of my shirt and pulls me closer. “Not tonight. Tonight, I need to not think about him. I need to feel something that isn’t fear.”
She kisses me again, and this time, I let her. Because I’m tired of being noble. Because she tastes like rain and desperation and something I’ve craved since the first night I heard her play Chopin in the dark.
When she pulls back, her eyes are wet but steady.
“Stop means stop,” I remind her. “Say it back to me.”
“Stop means stop.”
“Good girl. Now stay still for me.”
I hold her wrists in one hand while the other finds the ribbon she used to tie back her hair this morning. It’s damp, but it’ll work. I wrap it around her wrists three times. Not tightly enough to hurt; just enough to hold.
A shudder runs through her. I watch her pupils expand at the praise, and satisfaction curls through me.
I keep her hands pinned above her with one fist while my other traces down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, and down the center of her chest. She’s wearing a simple black dress with buttons down the front. I undo them one by one, taking my time, making her wait.
The dress falls open. Underneath, pale blue lace latches onto flushed skin. I trace the edge of her bra with my fingertips, and goosebumps rise in my wake.
“Beautiful,” I mumble. “I can’t understand why anyone would want to hurt this body.”
I lower myself to my knees in front of her.
She sucks in a sharp breath as I push her dress aside and press my mouth to her stomach. My lips blaze a path downward, over the soft curve of her belly and along the line where her underwear meets her hip. She squirms against the door, but the restraints on her wrists hold her in place.
“Stay still, baby girl. I’m going to make you forget.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” I hook my fingers into the waistband of her underwear and drag it down her thighs. “You will.”
She’s soaked. The evidence of how much she wants this glistens in the light from the lamp.
“He doesn’t get this anymore,” I murmur. “Only me.”
I lean forward and inhale deeply, letting her scent fill my lungs before I press my mouth against her center.
She cries out, and the sound bounces off the walls of the quiet apartment. I don’t care if the neighbors hear. I don’t care about anything except the taste of her flooding my tongue and the way her thighs quiver against my shoulders.
I work her slowly at first. Long, languid strokes from her entrance to her clit. She bucks her hips against my face, trying to chase the pressure and find the release her body craves. But I don’t give it to her yet.
“Pyotr.” My name tears from her throat, rough and broken. “Please.”
I pull back. She makes a sound of protest, and I squeeze her thigh.
“Tell me you’re done keeping secrets.”
“What?” She’s panting, barely coherent. “Pyotr, please—”
“Say it. Tell me you’re done hiding from me.”
“I’m done. I’m done hiding. Please—”
“Tell me you’re mine to protect.”
“I’m yours. I’m yours to protect. Please, Pyotr, please—”
I seal my mouth over her clit and suck hard while I slide two fingers inside her. She’s so wet that they glide in without any resistance. I curl them forward, searching, and when I find the spot deep inside her, she nearly screams.
She’s close. I feel it in the way her inner walls clench around my fingers. In the way her thighs shake against my ears. In the broken, wordless sounds spilling from her lips like prayers.
I stop again. She sobs in frustration.
“Pyotr—”
“Look at me.”
She drops her chin and meets my gaze. Her eyes are glazed with pleasure, swimming with unshed tears, and full of trust.
“You don’t go back to him,” I tell her. “Not alone. Not ever. Say it.”
“I won’t go back to him alone.”
“You bring everything to me first. Every threat. Every demand. Every fear you’re too ashamed to name. Say it.”
“I’ll bring everything to you.”
“Good girl.”
I increase the pressure. Faster. Harder. My tongue works her clit in tight circles while my fingers drive into her again and again. I feel her climbing higher. Feel the moment she tips over the edge.
The orgasm buckles her knees. Only my grip on her bound wrists keeps her upright. She screams my name as waves crash through her body, and I work her through every tremor, drawing out her pleasure until she’s gasping and limp against the door.
When I release her wrists, she slides down to the floor in a heap.
I untie the ribbon carefully and check her skin for marks. Nothing that will bruise. I lift her hands to my mouth and kiss each wrist, feeling her pulse flutter against my lips.
She reaches up and touches my face. Her fingers trace the scar near my ear with featherlight pressure. “But you have to promise me something in return.”
“Name it.”
“Don’t kill him until we find another way. Kira deserves a father, even if he’s a monster. I won’t take that choice away from her.”
The request guts me. Every part of who I am says that Bogdan Lebedev deserves to die slowly and painfully for what he’s done to this woman. But she’s looking at me with those eyes, asking me to show restraint when restraint is the last thing I want to give.
“For now,” I agree. “But if he threatens you or Kira again, all bets are off.”
She nods and lets her hand fall from my face.
I gather her against my chest and hold her while the rain pounds against the windows. Her body fits against mine like it was made to be there. I press my lips to the top of her head and breathe her in.
I have eight days left to destroy the man who’s been destroying her.
And I intend to use every one of them.