Chapter 25
Pyotr
The apartment is so empty without Kira.
It’s been four hours since we watched the train disappear around the bend, and Daria hasn’t stopped moving. She’s cleaned the kitchen twice, reorganized Kira’s room, and is now standing at the window staring at nothing while I coordinate with Tony and Boris over the phone.
“We’ve got eyes on Bogdan’s lieutenant,” Boris reports. “Ms. Svetlana has been making her rounds through the city, checking in with various contacts. Looks like she’s trying to figure out why her boss’s accounts were suddenly frozen.”
“Any sign of Bogdan?”
“Nothing yet. He’s gone to ground. But Svetlana will lead us to him eventually. Fixers always report back to the boss when things go sideways.”
“What about the surveillance on this building? Has there been any movement?”
“Quiet so far. The two watchers from yesterday haven’t been replaced. Either Bogdan’s pulling back on his resources, or he’s repositioning for something bigger.”
Neither option makes me comfortable. A cornered predator is the most dangerous kind.
“Keep me posted.” I end the call and walk over to Daria. “Hey.”
She doesn’t turn around. “I keep thinking I hear her. Little footsteps in the hallway or her voice asking for a snack. The apartment is too quiet.”
“She’s safe. End of story.”
“I know.” She finally looks at me, and her eyes are red-rimmed from the crying she’s been doing when she thinks I’m not watching. “I just miss her. I’ve never been away from her for more than a few hours. Not since she was born.”
“We’ll get her back soon. Once we deal with Bogdan—”
My phone dings with a text from one of Boris’ men stationed outside. I read it, and every muscle in my body locks tight.
Two men just entered the building. East stairwell. Armed.
“Get away from the window.” I grab Daria’s arm and yank her toward the kitchen, positioning us against the counter where we can’t be seen from the street or the door. “Armed men in the building.”
Her face pales. “Bogdan’s people?”
“Unknown. Assume yes.” I drag her to the counter and stand behind her with one hand against her stomach to keep her still. My other hand rests on the gun at my hip. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”
We stand frozen, barely breathing, as footsteps echo in the hallway outside. Heavy boots on thin carpet. Two sets, moving slowly.
They’re getting closer.
I feel her heart hammering under my palm where it rests against her ribs. Every breath she takes presses her back against my chest. My mouth hovers close to her ear, ready to whisper instructions if needed.
The footsteps stop outside our door.
I hold my breath. Daria holds hers. The seconds crawl by.
A voice comes then, muffled through the door. “This one?”
My fingers tighten on the gun.
“No. Two more down. 4C.”
The footsteps continue down the hallway. A door opens and closes somewhere in the distance, and then nothing. Just the faint creak of the building settling and the thunder of my pulse in my ears.
Not Bogdan’s men. Not our door.
This neighborhood has never been safe, which is why Daria could afford to live there. Drugs, debt collectors, angry ex-boyfriends… any number of reasons for armed men to come knocking on doors that aren’t ours.
Neither of us moves.
The adrenaline is still coursing through me, with nowhere to go. Daria is trembling against my chest, but when I check her face in the reflection of the window, I realize it’s not fear making her shake. Her breathing has gone shallow and fast. She’s arching back against me, probably unconsciously.
I know this feeling. It’s a desperate need to feel alive after a brush with death. The way danger heightens every sensation until even the smallest touch feels electric.
I slide my hand from her stomach to her hip. She sucks in a breath but doesn’t pull away.
I move my hand lower, finding the hem of her dress and sliding beneath it. Her skin burns under my palm as I trace up the outside of her thigh. I take my time, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. She doesn’t.
I pause again when I reach the edge of her underwear, pulling back just enough to see her face. She turns her head, meeting my eyes over her shoulder. Her lips are parted. Her cheeks are flushed. I mouth a single word.
Yes?
She nods.
I spin her around and lift her onto the counter. She gasps, but I capture the sound with my mouth before it can escape. My tongue sweeps against hers as I push her dress up around her hips. She fumbles with my belt buckle, tugging at the leather until it opens.
“We have to be quiet,” I breathe against her lips. “They could still be nearby. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.”
“If you can’t, I’ll help you.” I hook my fingers in her underwear and drag it down her legs, letting the fabric fall to the floor. “Understood?”
Another nod. I can see the need in her eyes, dark and desperate.
I reach between us and find her center, sliding two fingers through her folds. She’s fucking soaked. She lets out a soft moan, and I flatten my other hand against her mouth.
“What did I just say?”
She nods against my palm, smiling against my hand.
I work her slowly, circling her clit with my thumb while my fingers slide inside her.
She holds onto my shoulders, digging her nails through the fabric of my shirt.
I watch her face, reading every sensation as it passes.
The way her brow furrows. The way she rocks her hips forward, chasing my touch.
“That’s it,” I mumble against her ear. “Stay with me. Breathe with me.”
I match my rhythm to her breathing. Slow when she needs slow. Faster when she grinds forward, demanding more. I curl my fingers, finding the spot inside her that makes her jerk against me.
“Pyotr—” My name comes out as a strangled whisper against my palm.
“I know. I’ve got you.”
I pull my hand away, and she whimpers at the loss. But I’m already freeing myself from my pants and positioning at her entrance. When I push inside, we both swallow the sounds that want to escape.
I give her a moment to adjust, holding myself still even though every instinct tells me to move. She’s tight and wet and perfect around me, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to lose myself.
“Okay?” I ask.
“More than okay.” She wraps her legs around my hips and pulls me deeper.
She parts her lips as I start slow, and she flutters her eyes closed as she digs her fingers into my shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. I don’t care. I want her marks on me. I want to carry the evidence of this moment on my skin.
I hook one hand under her knee and lift her leg higher, changing the angle. The new position makes her gasp against my palm, and I feel the sound vibrate through my bones.
“Hold onto me,” I tell her. “Don’t let go.”
She wraps her arms around my neck, fingers threading through my hair and tugging hard enough to sting. I reward her by driving deeper, setting a rhythm that matches the frantic pace of her heartbeat, where her chest presses against mine.
This is about survival, proving we’re still alive when we could have been caught or killed. Every stroke is defiance. Every breath is victory.
“Look at me,” I demand. “I want to see you.”
She opens her eyes, and the vulnerability there nearly undoes me. No defenses. Just Daria, stripped bare in every way that matters.
I slow my pace, drawing out each thrust until she squirms with frustration. She tries to rock her hips faster, but I pin her in place with one hand on her hip.
“Patience.”
“Pyotr, please—”
“Please, what?” I roll my hips in a tiny circle, hitting every sensitive spot without giving her the friction she needs. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
“I want to hear you say it.” I nip at her earlobe, then soothe the sting with my tongue. “Use your words.”
She groans in frustration, her nails biting into my shoulders. “I want you to stop teasing and make me come.”
“Good girl. I love it when you tell me what you want.”
I give her what she asks for, hard and fast. The counter creaks beneath us, and her breathing goes ragged. I feel the tension building in her body, coiling tighter with each thrust. She’s so close, and I want to watch her fall apart.
“That’s it,” I breathe against her temple. “Right there. Stay with me.”
I reach between us and find her clit, rubbing circles in time with my thrusts. The added sensation makes her body jerk.
“Oh, God—”
“Say my name when you come.” I increase the pressure. “I want to hear it.”
She’s trembling now, every muscle drawn tight as a bowstring. Her inner walls flutter around me, the first warning of what’s about to happen.
“Pyotr—” She bites into my palm as her release hits, muffling my name against my skin.
I watch her face as she shatters. The way her brow furrows, then smooths. The way her lips part around a silent cry. The way her body goes rigid, then limp. She’s never looked more beautiful than she does right now, wrecked and satisfied and mine.
The sight of her pushes me over my own edge. I bury myself deep and let go, spilling into her with a groan I can’t contain. For a few blinding seconds, nothing exists except the heat of her body and the pulse of pleasure radiating through every nerve.
We stay locked together as the aftershocks fade. Her head drops to my shoulder, and her breath comes in warm puffs against my neck. I keep one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady while we remember how to breathe.
“Stay right here,” I tell her after a moment.
I grab a clean dish towel from the drawer and wet it with warm water from the tap. When I return, I clean her gently, watching her face for any discomfort. She watches me with something soft and wondering in her gaze.
I smooth her dress back down over her hips, then I help her down from the counter, keeping one hand on her waist until I’m sure her legs will hold her.
“Water?”
She nods, and I fill a glass from the tap and place it into her hands.
“Drink. All of it.”
She takes a long sip, watching me over the rim as I tuck myself back into my pants and refasten my belt. “You keep doing that.”
“What?”
“Taking care of me afterward. No one’s ever done that.”
The words settle in my chest, in the space that’s been slowly filling with feelings I don’t ever let in. She reaches for my face, and I catch her hand and kiss her palm, right over the spot where she bit me.
“Get used to it.”
Her phone goes off on the counter beside us, and we fall silent.
I reach for it before she can, checking the screen. Unknown number. Video message.
“Don’t,” I warn, but she’s already taking it from my hand.
“I know it’s from him. I have to see.”
She opens the message, and the video plays automatically. Bogdan’s face fills the screen.
“Hello, darling. I hear you’ve been busy sending our daughter away and conspiring with your family against me. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”
Daria’s hands are shaking. I wrap my fingers around hers, steadying the phone so we can watch.
“I’m impressed. You’ve grown a spine since we were together. The Daria I married would never have had the courage to fight back.” His smile widens, and there’s nothing pleasant about it. “But you’ve made a mistake, my love. You’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with.”
The camera pans, and I freeze.
He’s outside the train station on the same platform where we said goodbye to Kira just hours ago. He holds up a photograph of Kira with her face pressed to the window.
“Beautiful girl,” Bogdan continues. “She looks so much like you. I hope the train ride to Moscow isn’t too frightening for her. Children can be so sensitive to change.”
Daria makes a wounded sound beside me.
The video ends.
Daria drops the phone like it burned her. “He knows where she is. He’s going to—”
“He’s not going to do anything.” I grab her shoulders and make her look at me. “Listen to me, Daria. Alexei is with her. Two of his best men are on that train. Bogdan is bluffing.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know what he’s capable of—”
“I know exactly what he’s capable of. And I know that going after that train would be suicide for him. He’s desperate. He’s trying to scare you into making a mistake. Don’t let him win.”
She’s crying now, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I can’t lose her. Pyotr, I can’t—”
“You’re not going to lose her.” I pull her against my chest and hold her tight, with one hand cradling the back of her head. “I made her a promise. I meant every word.”
“What do we do?”
I reach for my phone and dial Alexei’s number. He answers on the second ring.
I grip the back of her neck, gentle but absolute, and make the call.
“We’ve got a problem,” I tell him. “Bogdan knows about the train.”