7. Dmitri
Dmitri
“You look like shit,” is my brother’s greeting before he even sits down.
“Good morning to you, too, brother.”
Alexei’s always been the impulsive one. Quick to anger and slow to think. Deadly when it counts. He looks like he wants to strangle someone today, and I’m pretty sure it’s me.
“We need to talk.” He glances toward the door. “Is she here?”
“Sleeping. We have time.”
“Good. What I’m about to say isn’t for her ears.”
Alexei stands to pace the small office, running his hands through dark hair that’s a shade lighter than mine.
Where I got our father’s green eyes, he got our mother’s brown ones, though neither of us likes to think about her much.
“The Petrov situation is getting worse,” he says flatly. “They’re running product through our streets like they own them. And the other families are watching to see if you’ll stop them, or if you’re too busy playing house.”
“How much product?”
“Enough to matter. And they’re not being subtle about it.”
I lean back in my chair, trying to focus on business when all I want to do is check on Katya. “What do you recommend?”
“Normally? We send a message. Make an example of a few of their street soldiers, remind them why our territory stays our territory.”
“But?”
“But our men are asking why their boss is holed up with some woman instead of handling business.” Alexei stops pacing to fix me with a glare. “They’re questioning your judgment, Dmitri. And when your people question you, other families smell weakness.”
The words sting because he’s right. I’ve been distracted, spending more time thinking about Katya’s recovery than managing the organization that keeps us all alive.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that Semenov asked me if you were still running things or if he should be talking to me now.”
Semenov runs the docks for us, moving more money in a month than most families see in a year. If he’s asking questions about leadership, others are thinking the same thing.
“What did you tell him?”
“That you’d personally break his legs if he asked again.” Alexei resumes pacing. “But that only works for so long. Eventually, you need to show up and remind people why they follow you.”
“I know.”
“Do you? From where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve forgotten we have a business to run.”
I study my brother’s face, noting the tension around his eyes and the way his shoulders are set.
“The woman is becoming a problem.”
“Katya isn’t a problem.”
“You’ve been here for three weeks, Dmitri. Three weeks of letting business slide while you play nursemaid to someone who tried to destroy us.”
“She has amnesia. She doesn’t remember?—”
“Bullshit.” Alexei stops pacing and leans against the wall. “From what I hear, she’s asking a lot of questions for someone with no memory.”
Before I can respond, I catch movement in the doorway. Katya stands there in jeans and an oversized T-shirt, looking like she just woke up. Her hair is messy, and there’s something soft about her face that makes my chest do stupid things.
There’s a pistol on my desk, half-buried under reports. She picks it up like it belongs to her. Grip firm. Finger clear of the trigger.
My brother notices it. So do I.
That weapon belongs in her hand, and that’s the problem. She’s one memory away from remembering it was meant to kill men like me.
“I’m sorry.” She glances between Alexei and me. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was looking for coffee.”
“Kitchen’s that way,” Alexei reminds her, jerking his thumb toward the back of the penthouse.
But she doesn’t move. Instead, she studies my brother with the same focused attention she gives everything else these days.
“Alexei,” she assumes. “Dmitri’s told me about you.”
“Has he now?” Alexei straightens, and I can see him evaluating her just as thoroughly as she’s evaluating him. “And you’re the wife with the convenient memory loss.”
“Alexei…” I warn.
“What? Just stating facts.”
Katya’s posture doesn’t change, but something in her eyes goes cold. “Yes, I’m the wife with the convenient memory loss. Lucky me.”
The way she says it makes both Alexei and me go still. There’s an edge to her voice I haven’t heard. It’s harder and more direct.
“I’ll leave you to your meeting,” she continues, but doesn’t move. “Though you might want to speak quieter when you’re discussing sensitive information.”
Fuck. How much did she hear?
“We were discussing a movie,” I say quickly.
“Were you?” She tilts her head, and the gesture reminds me of a predator sizing up prey. “Must be quite a thriller.”
“Action film. Nothing that would interest you.”
“You’d be surprised what interests me these days.”
She looks at Alexei again, and I watch my brother’s face change as he takes in whatever he sees there. When she finally heads toward the kitchen, he waits until she’s out of earshot before turning to me.
“I’ve seen plenty of people with head injuries, Dmitri, and so have you. It’s a hazard of the trade. And none of them move like that.”
I sputter my lips and ask, “Like what?”
“Like they’re mapping the room for threats. Like they know how many steps it would take to reach either of us, and what our weak points are.”
He’s right, but I won’t admit it. “You’re reading too much into?—”
“The way she looked at me wasn’t confusion, Dmitri. It was assessment. Professional assessment.”
My phone rings, and Sasha’s name flashes on the screen, making me smile despite everything else going wrong.
“I have to take this.”
“Dmitri!” My sister’s voice fills the office, bright and cheerful in a way that reminds me of why Alexei and I work so hard to keep her away from this life. “How’s your patient doing?”
“Better every day. How are your studies?”
“Boring as usual. But I called because I had the strangest dream about you last night. You were dancing at a wedding, and you looked so happy. It made me think maybe you’ve finally found someone worth keeping around.”
Alexei rolls his eyes, but I catch him smiling, too. Sasha has that effect on people.
“You’re being absurd, little sister.”
“You’ve been alone too long. Alexei, too, for that matter.”
“I’m right here,” Alexei calls out.
“I know. When are you going to find a nice girl and settle down?”
“When I find one who can tolerate living with a criminal,” he replies dryly.
“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re entrepreneurs with flexible ethics.”
Katya laughs from the kitchen, and I realize she’s close enough to hear Sasha’s side of the conversation. When I glance over, she’s leaning against the doorframe with a coffee mug, watching me with amusement.
“Is that her?” Sasha asks. “Let me talk to her.”
“Sasha—”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me.”
Before I can stop her, Katya walks over and extends her hand for the phone. “I’d like to talk to her, too.”
I have no choice but to hand it over, though every instinct screams that this is a mistake.
“Hello, Sasha,” Katya coos as she plops into the chair across from me and takes the phone off speaker.
Whatever Sasha says makes Katya smile, and the expression transforms her face. For a moment, she looks like the woman from those fake photographs, happy, relaxed, and normal.
“He’s been taking very good care of me,” Katya continues. “Though he has a tendency to hover.”
Alexei snorts, and Katya glances at him with genuine amusement.
“London sounds wonderful. I’d love to visit sometime… No, I can’t remember much about traveling. The accident affected my memory pretty severely.”
They chat for a few minutes, and Katya handles the conversation with easy grace, answering Sasha’s questions without discomfort and asking plenty of her own. But something about the way she does it bothers me. She’s too good at this. Too smooth.
“I think your brothers are very lucky to have someone who cares about them as much as you do.” Katya’s eyes meet mine across the desk. “Family is everything, isn’t it? I’d better let you get back to your business meeting, but I hope we can talk again soon.”
She hands the phone back to me, and I watch her face carefully as she does.
“She’s lovely,” I tell Sasha. “But we need to finish up here.”
“Fine. But I want to see my sister-in-law when I come home next month.”
“Looking forward to it.”
I end the call and set the phone aside, hyperaware that Katya is still watching me.
“Your sister seems sweet,” she notes.
“She is. Too sweet for this family.”
“And what kind of family is this?”
The question hangs in the room like smoke. Alexei tenses, and I realize we’re at a crossroads. I can deflect again and keep spinning stories, or I can give her a piece of truth.
“The kind that takes care of our own,” I say finally.
“At any cost?”
“At any cost.”
She nods like this makes perfect sense, which is either very good or very bad.
“I’ll let you finish your meeting.” And then, she walks out before either of us can respond, leaving Alexei and me staring after her.
“That woman knows what she heard,” Alexei whispers loudly.
“Maybe.”
“Not maybe. Definitely. And the way she talked to Sasha…” He shakes his head. “She was gathering intelligence, Dmitri. Finding out about family structure, relationships, and weak points.”
“Or she was being polite to the woman she believes to be her sister-in-law.”
“When was the last time you saw someone with amnesia conduct an interview that smooth? She got more information out of Sasha in five minutes than most people get in months.”
I want to argue, but he’s right. Katya handled that conversation like a professional.
“So, what are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that your pet FSB agent remembers more than she’s letting on. And when she remembers everything…”
“What?”
“She’s going to kill you, Dmitri. And probably me, too, just for good measure.”
The words settle into my bones like ice. He’s right. She’s a weapon.
But that doesn’t change a thing.
I don’t care if she kills me in the end. She’s mine now. And I’ll burn down everything else before I let her go.