16. Dmitri
Dmitri
The way Katya described her captors with such calm while I cleaned blood from her forehead convinced me she was ready for the next test.
“You’re bringing me to a business meeting?” she asks as we drive through Moscow’s financial district toward the Hotel Kempinski.
“You handled yourself well yesterday. Better than well.” I watch her from the corner of my eye as she watches the city pass by. “I think it’s time you understood more about my world.”
“Is that wise? I thought you wanted to keep me separated from the dangerous parts of your business.”
“Recent events have made it clear that separation isn’t possible. You’re a target whether or not you understand my operations.”
She turns to look at me, and I catch something new in her eyes. Something colder than anything I’ve seen from the woman who woke up in the hospital a month ago, and for a moment, I almost think I’m looking at Alexandra Volkova.
“Who are we meeting?”
“Representatives from three families who control different sectors of the city.” I straighten my tie as we pull up to the hotel’s main entrance. “Maksim Angeloff, Sergei Antonov, and Adrian Morozov.”
“And what do they want from you?”
“Territory agreements. Protection contracts. The usual negotiations that keep this city from turning into a war zone.”
The hotel’s penthouse suite has been reserved for this gathering, a neutral territory where everyone can speak freely without concern for hidden devices. My men have swept the space for recording devices and positioned themselves at strategic points throughout the building.
Katya walks beside me with her head held high, every inch the part of a powerful man’s wife. The midnight blue dress I picked out for her skims her curves perfectly, and I resist the urge to slide my hand lower on her back to claim what's mine.
“Remember what we discussed in the car,” I tell her as we approach the suite.
“Say nothing unless directly addressed, observe everything, and never turn my back on anyone. Got it.”
She takes my arm, but not in the clingy way most women would. More like she’s ready to move with me if violence erupts instead of cowering behind me.
The penthouse suite overlooks the Moscow River and boasts dark wood and crystal chandeliers that speak of old money and older power. Three men stand near the windows with drinks in their hands, and their conversation dies as we enter.
Maksim Angeloff approaches first, his bulk straining the seams of his custom suit. Former Spetsnaz, built like a tank, with the kind of handshake that crushes smaller men’s bones. When he takes Katya’s hand, I’m ready to intervene if he tries to intimidate her.
He doesn’t get the chance.
“Careful,” she says as his grip tightens. “Head injury. Pain makes me… react.”
Angeloff immediately loosens his hold and replies, “My apologies, Mrs. Kozlov.”
“No harm done. This time.”
Sergei Antonov, the youngest of the three at barely thirty, raises his vodka in greeting without approaching. Smart man. Adrian Morozov, silver-haired and wearing a suit that costs a small fortune, nods but keeps his distance.
“Gentlemen,” I begin as I accept a drink from the hotel staff and guide Katya to the leather sofa with sightlines of the whole room. “I appreciate you making time for this discussion.”
“After yesterday’s drama, we felt it was necessary,” Angeloff says as he takes his seat. “Attacks on family members affect all of us.”
“Indeed, they do. Which is why I want to discuss expanded cooperation between our organizations.”
“Cooperation?” Antonov finally speaks up. “Or are you asking for backup because you can’t protect your own wife?”
At the insult, Katya inches her fingers toward her purse, where she’s insisted on carrying the small pistol I gave her this morning.
“Yesterday’s attack wasn’t random,” I reply. “Someone coordinated six armed men and professional extraction equipment to target my family.”
“Your family,” Morozov repeats with emphasis. “Tell me, Dmitri, how well do you really know your wife’s background?”
“Well enough to marry her.”
“But perhaps not well enough to understand why someone would risk open warfare to take her.”
The room goes silent. Even the traffic noise from twenty stories below seems to disappear as everyone waits for my response.
“Choose your next words like your life depends on them, Adrian.”
“Just making an observation. We’re all friends here.”
Katya sets down her untouched drink and folds her hands in her lap. “Mr. Morozov, if you have something to say about me, please say it. I’m not fond of games.”
“No games, Mrs. Kozlov. Just curiosity about what makes you worth such extreme measures.”
“Maybe they thought I knew something about my husband’s business that could damage their own operations,” she offers.
“Maybe,” Angeloff agrees. “Or maybe there’s something about your past that your husband doesn’t know.”
All three men turn their attention to Katya, who meets their scrutiny without blinking. A normal woman would be intimidated by this much focused attention from Moscow’s most dangerous criminals.
Katya looks bored.
“My past is unfortunately unavailable for discussion.” Her smile does not touch her eyes. “Memory problems; you understand. But I should mention that threatening me is probably not the smartest decision you’ll make today.”
“Oh? And why is that?” Morozov asks.
“Because he’s already put eight men in the ground for me. And because I’m remembering skills that don’t leave witnesses.”
“What kind of skills?”
“The kind you never find on a report.”
Katya delivers the threat with the same tone she might use to discuss the weather, but she’s coiled now, ready to move, and I realize she’s not bluffing.
Antonov clears his throat. “Perhaps we should focus on business rather than hypothetical threats.”
“Absolutely,” I agree before this gets out of hand. “About the territory disputes in the Zamoskvorechye district...”
The conversation moves to safer ground, but I catch the men watching Katya with newfound wariness.
“The docks remain neutral territory,” I continue, pulling their attention back to the negotiations. “No family moves product through those channels without agreements from all parties.”
“Agreed.” Angeloff nods. “But what about enforcement? If someone violates the accords?”
“United response, shared consequences.”
Morozov swirls his vodka and asks, “What guarantee do we have that your recent... domestic troubles... won’t interfere with business operations?”
“My domestic situation is handled. My focus is where it needs to be.”
“Really? Word on the street is that Dmitri Kozlov is so obsessed with his mysterious wife that he’s forgotten how to run his organization.”
I start to stand, but Katya’s hand on my arm stops me. When I look at her, she gives me the slightest shake of her head.
“Gentlemen,” she begins, rising from the couch. “I can see that my presence is creating unnecessary tension in what should be a productive business discussion.”
“Mrs. Kozlov—” Angeloff begins.
“Please, let me finish. You seem to think my husband is weakened by his devotion to me. That protecting his family makes him less effective as a leader.”
She walks to the center of the room, where she can see all three men clearly.
“That’s a massive misunderstanding of power dynamics.
If a man can’t protect what’s his, he can’t protect anything.
The fact that my husband eliminated an extraction team within hours should demonstrate his capabilities, not his weaknesses. ”
“Furthermore,” she continues, “the idea that marriage makes a man soft suggests you’ve never been married to the right kind of woman. I assure you, I am very much the right kind.”
Morozov leans back in his chair. “And what kind is that?”
“The kind who understands that sometimes the most effective negotiations happen when everyone knows how far each party is willing to go to protect their interests.”
She reaches into her purse and pulls out the pistol I gave her, holding it casually at her side. She’s not threatening anyone, just making sure everyone can see it.
That gets my cock’s attention. This is the woman I've been waiting to see—dangerous, deadly, and completely mine. The combination of her beauty and capacity for violence is intoxicating.
“For instance, if someone were to suggest that my presence makes my husband vulnerable, I might take that as a challenge to prove otherwise. And I’ve discovered recently that I’m quite good at proving points.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Three of Moscow’s most dangerous crime bosses are staring at a woman who just threatened them with the confidence of someone who’s killed before.
Based on their faces, they believe her.
“I think,” Angeloff says carefully, “that we might have underestimated Mrs. Kozlov.”
“Most people do,” she replies as she returns the weapon to her purse. “It’s a useful miscalculation.”
She walks back to the couch and settles beside me as if nothing happened. “Now, where were we with the territorial agreements?”
The rest of the meeting proceeds without incident. The three men are subdued, respectful, and notably careful about how they phrase their concerns. Whatever they thought they knew about Katya, she’s just redefined their understanding.
An hour later, after agreements have been reached and subtle threats exchanged, we’re finally alone in the elevator and heading back to the parking garage.
“You handled that well,” I tell her.
She blows out a breath and says, “I’m not sure threatening three crime bosses counts as good behavior.”
“In this business, threatening people who disrespect you is excellent behavior. It establishes boundaries and earns respect.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “I scared them, didn’t I?”
“Terrified them. Which is quite an achievement.”
“Good.” She leans against the elevator wall, looking satisfied. “They were testing both of us to see if we’d break under pressure.”
“What makes you think that?”