Chapter 23
Roman
The study door clicked shut behind me, cutting off the last trace of light from the hallway—and the suffocating cloud of that woman's perfume.
I leaned back against the heavy wooden door and didn't bother with the lights. Outside, dim moonlight sliced through the curtain gaps, carving pale scars across the darkness. Only after Vera's footsteps faded did I finally let the mask drop.
I raised my hand, pressed hard against the bridge of my nose. A pulse throbbed there, sharp and insistent. The violence I'd choked down while Vera stood close—it finally found its outlet now, like a caged beast too long confined, thrashing wild inside my chest.
I shrugged off my coat, still cold from outside, tossed it on the armchair. Didn't change into house clothes. Went straight for the study.
Pushed open the hidden door. Cigar smoke and leather hit me first. No cameras here.
No ears. I walked behind the massive mahogany desk and pressed a concealed button at the corner.
The wall slid open without a sound, revealing an entire bank of surveillance monitors—one feed showed the guest room at the end of the east wing, where a slender figure lay curled on the bed, a dark green shadow folded in on itself.
Her arms wrapped around her knees, face buried in the crook of her elbow. Her shoulders shook violently. The emerald dress was soaking through with darker stains.
My palm slammed down on the desk. The wood gave a dull thud.
Goddamn it.
Five days ago, when I got word that Vera had bolted from the safe house, I knew things would get messy. I didn't expect this level of fucked.
I flew back from the Bahamas overnight. Got the worst news in the car—Vera had collapsed at the manor gates, covered in blood, already unconscious.
Hemophilia. That goddamn blood disorder.
Even a minor bump could make her bleed out.
I had her rushed to the hospital, spent the whole ride lining up doctors I could trust.
The surgery lasted a full day. I stood outside that operating room, staring at the cold metal door, my mind looping back to six years ago—same hospital, same OR, same wait. Except that time, I got Lena's death certificate.
So when the doctor came out and told me Vera would make it, I almost lit a candle for God.
Then came the worse news.
My intel network dug into Vera's movements during those missing days—turned up a lead that made my spine ice over. She'd made contact with people from a rival family. Not just that. A senior FBI agent kept popping up in the same thread.
That wasn't a coincidence.
But I couldn't handle her like I would a traitor.
When I tried bringing it up, she just lay there, pale as paper, looking at me with fear and dependence flooding her eyes.
She said she didn't know anything. Said she just wanted to get out, clear her head.
Said those people only found her after she ran.
I didn't believe her.
But I had no proof.
Worse—I couldn't push too hard. Vera's mental state was already unstable. Six years since Lena died, she'd been living on the edge of self-destruction. If I showed suspicion now, if I let her know she was exposed—
What she'd do next, I couldn't predict.
So I had to play along. Let her think I still carried that endless guilt and responsibility from six years ago. Let her think she could waltz in and out of my life, take up my time, even move into my room.
Dangerous game.
But I had no choice.
The plan was simple—handle things here fast, figure out who was pulling Vera's strings, then fly straight back to the Bahamas, bring Nadia home, and explain everything.
I didn't think she'd come back on her own.
The low rap on the door cut through my thoughts.
"Come in." I didn't turn around, eyes still locked on that monitor.
Door opened. Danny walked in.
He shut it behind him, came up beside me, and followed my gaze to the screen.
"Jesus, Pakhan." His voice carried a hint of dark humor. "You're a real pervert."
I glanced at him.
Danny threw up his hands. "Okay, okay, shutting up."
He dropped the act, face going serious.
"Vera spent those three missing days in an abandoned warehouse in Chicago's South Side." Danny pulled up his tablet, called up a grainy surveillance still. "Warehouse belongs to the Morozov family. And this—"
He swiped to another photo. A man in a black trench coat standing outside the warehouse.
"FBI Senior Special Agent, David Reynolds. The rabid dog who's been trying to nail us for years."
I stared at the photo, eyes cold. "They wanted to use Vera as bait."
"Bingo." Danny snapped his fingers. "Morozov's been hemorrhaging lately, desperate for a comeback opportunity. And Miller's been hunting for a pressure point to crack our defenses. Vera's their chip."
"So they sent her back to play spy." I gave a cold laugh. "Watch my movements, gather evidence, maybe drive a wedge between me and the family."
"Exactly." Danny paused, expression darkening. "But we still don't know if Vera's a passive pawn or an active player."
I closed my eyes, drew a long breath.
If the former, I might still save her.
If the latter—
I rapped the desk. Murderous intent surged through me. For that promise I made, I'd spare her life.
"Keep digging," I said. "Twenty-four-hour surveillance. Everyone she meets, every call she makes—if she talks to herself in that room, I want to know about it."
"Copy that." Danny acknowledged but didn't leave right away.
He glanced back at the monitor. The woman on screen still lay curled up, shoulders shaking harder now.
"Seriously though, Pakhan," Danny spoke up again, tone unusually earnest. "Why not send Nadia away?
I mean, this situation's too fucking complicated.
Vera's a ticking bomb right under your nose, and Morozov and the FBI are circling outside.
Keeping her here—you're basically throwing her into the fire. "
He paused, raised an eyebrow.
"Send her to Europe. Or back to that little island in the Bahamas. You've got money to burn—rent a whole damn island, let her sunbathe and drink coconut water till you clean this mess up. Win-win, right?"
I turned my head. "No."
"Why not?" Danny frowned. "Don't tell me you're playing the hero-saves-damsel card. You think you can protect her 24/7 if she stays? What if Vera—"
"Because of Vera." I cut him off, voice low and cold. "She's already noticed Nadia."
Danny froze.
"This afternoon, Vera asked Sofia three times about Nadia." I rubbed my temples, half-leaning on the desk. "When she got back, where she's staying, what kind of relationship we have. If I suddenly ship Nadia out now, Vera will get suspicious."
I paused.
"Worse—if Vera really is feeding intel out, she'll pass that information along. Then our enemies will know Nadia matters to me. She'll go from 'irrelevant contract wife' to 'most valuable target.'"
Danny's expression went grim.
"Fuck." He swore under his breath. "So you're planning to... keep her here? Right under your watch?"
"Yes." I turned away from the screen. "It's the only way I can guarantee her safety."
"But that also means..." Danny's voice dropped lower. "You have to make Vera believe Nadia means nothing to you."
I didn't answer.
The answer was obvious.
"You'll have to distance yourself from her," Danny said it like each word was a knife twisting in my gut. "Be cold. Let Vera see that you only care about her, and Nadia's just... furniture in the way."
"I know." My voice came out rough.
"This'll destroy what you have, Pakhan." Danny's tone went serious—rare for him. "Don't lie to yourself. You care about her. About what you two have. But if you push her away while playing devoted to another woman—you know what that'll do?"
My jaw clenched tight.
Of course I knew. Every cold look I gave her, every time I doused the hope in her eyes—I was taking a blade to the fragile trust we'd just started building. I knew exactly how much pain she was in right now, how desperate.
On screen, Nadia finally seemed to cry herself out. She slowly loosened her grip on her knees, collapsed limply on the bed, staring at the ceiling with hollow eyes. That moment of utter emptiness nearly stopped my breath.
I wanted to storm over there right now, pull her into my arms, crush all the truth and danger and bitter reasons into words and tell her everything. I wanted to say I loved her, that she'd been different to me since that elevator two years ago.
But reason—that cold, cruel wire—kept me pinned in place.
Couldn't go.
Step through that door now, and the abyss waited ahead. Any crack in my armor, any hint of weakness, would become the blade my enemies drove straight into Nadia's heart.
I yanked at my tie, trying to ease the churning in my chest.
"Danny. If it were you, what would you choose?"
Danny stayed quiet for a long time.
Finally, he sighed.
"You're a lunatic, Pakhan." He said it without mockery, just a kind of helpless observation. "A lunatic who'll do anything to reach his goal."
I didn't respond. Just gave the order. "Tell the men—starting tonight, security on the east wing guest room goes to maximum level. No one gets close. Especially Vera."
Danny looked at me, opened his mouth, then let out a heavy sigh and left without another word.
The hidden door sealed shut again.
The study sank back into deathly silence. I turned back to face that wall of cold monitors. On screen, night was deepening. And my girl was crying silently in the dark.
I killed the feed, walked to the window, lit a cigar.
Nicotine exploded in my lungs, searing and sharp.
Every decision I'd made was the best option available. So just wait a little longer for me, Kitten.