Chapter 6 - Fyodor
I should have walked away the moment Kliment had asked me to do this.
At least, that was the rational thing to do.
I should have closed the file and reassigned the operation.
I should have told Kliment she was unsuitable as leverage because she was too visible, too embedded, or too complicated, or any other lie to make him give up on the idea of her as bait.
But I did none of those things because a part of me knew doing this was the only way I could keep her safe.
Hence, I sat in my car a block from the Chernykh estate and watched her leave.
Her vehicle slid through the gates with quiet confidence, sunlight flashing across the windshield.
She drove herself. There was no driver and no escort tailing too closely.
It was almost intriguing to see how independent she was.
Of course she was.
I waited five seconds before starting my engine, knowing fully well this wasn’t a strategy anymore.
It wasn’t an order either, but simply instinct.
The collision of identities hadn’t just complicated Kliment’s plan; it had detonated it.
The woman he wanted me to dismantle had already been in my bed and already trusted me with her anonymity.
She already looked at me like I was more than a Romanov.
Using her as leverage wasn’t just tactical. It was impossible. But I couldn’t admit that. Not yet. Not without consequences. So I followed her smartly, making sure I wasn’t close enough for it to be obvious but not far enough to lose her either. That was the best way to go about it.
Miami traffic swallowed us both in waves of red lights and slow-moving intersections.
She drove steadily, no sudden turns, no evasive maneuvers.
Either she didn’t notice, or she wasn’t worried about someone being behind her.
When she finally turned off the main road toward an industrial district, my brows pulled together slightly.
Where was she going?
I grew even more confused as the road began to signal warehouse fronts with minimal signage, yet security gates that were heavily guarded. I stayed behind her as her car finally slowed down before a guarded entrance. The guard leaned down, spoke briefly, and then the gates opened without question.
Interesting.
I rolled forward a minute later, not wanting to waste any time. If she was going inside, I had to go right after her.
The same guard stepped out, posture rigid. “Invitation?”
“Romanov,” I said evenly. “Fyodor Romanov.”
The man who seemed Russian by his accent suddenly seemed more alert.
His eyes sharpened as recognition dawned in them.
It wasn’t fear but calculation as he measured whether I was important enough to be led inside without an invitation.
After a few long seconds, he stepped aside without another word.
The gates opened, making me realize how power wasn’t always loud.
As I drove in, I realized the warehouse was nothing like the exterior suggested.
I could see glass partitions and a stark white runway cutting through the center.
I stopped my car in the small parking lot and got out, noticing the spotlights that were rigged overhead at the long runway.
Guests were already filtering inside, and I immediately recognized a few faces.
There were designers and investors, and critics dressed in curated minimalism.
This was the heart of fashion. Clearly, a private show which was hidden behind discretion and steel. I didn’t doubt that it had bratva money involved behind it because this area belonged completely to different families, and every warehouse was either a storage cell for goods or enemies.
I walked away from my car and entered the whirlwind without ceremony. Even in my custom-made suit, I felt underdressed, but none of it mattered. I was only here for her, and I knew she was somewhere inside. I looked around for a few seconds and spotted her immediately.
Not because she demanded attention. Because she commanded it without trying.
Her ivory blazer was rather chic, and her beautiful hair was pulled back in a way that made her look sleek and controlled.
She moved through the space like it belonged to her, leaning in to inspect a hemline, gesturing toward a sleeve, speaking animatedly to a designer about structure and silhouette.
This was truly her element. The masquerade hadn’t been an act. It had been a fragment. A part of who she really was.
This was her world. Her reality. I stayed near the back, taking a seat in shadow so she would neither see nor recognize me. I wasn’t here to announce my presence, but I was simply here to get her.
My focus narrowed as lights dimmed all around us, signaling the beginning of the show.
The first model stepped onto the runway. She had sharp shoulders and a metallic thread wrapped all around her, giving her dress an asymmetrical cut. The dress exuded power disguised as elegance. I watched as Elisse leaned forward slightly in her seat, eyes bright with concentration.
I remembered her voice in the ballroom.
Beauty without meaning is decoration. Beauty with intention is power.
She hadn’t just said it. She lived it. And for the first time since Kliment had handed me that dossier, the weight in my chest shifted from obligation to something sharper that felt almost like protectiveness.
It hadn’t taken root because I thought she was weak, but because I felt she was unaware.
Unaware that she had become a piece in a war she hadn’t chosen for herself.
The show built toward its crescendo as models walked out in black gowns with architectural bones. Applause erupted all around us, echoing loudly through the room. She stood, clapping and exchanging words with a woman beside her.
And then she turned, as if, just like the masquerade, she felt my presence here as well.
Our eyes locked in that moment without the pretense of any mask. There was no illusion to it, and recognition hit her first. Shock flickered across her face, quick but unmistakable, and the question formed instantly.
You?
I didn’t look away then, and I didn’t even smile.
I simply held her gaze as the crowd began dispersing.
I tried to keep my watch, but she disappeared into it, taking her away from where I could see her.
I stood up immediately, realizing how her absence made the room feel smaller.
The voices grew louder around us, and I moved through the dispersing guests with controlled urgency, scanning faces, exits, and shadows between partitions.
Just then, a hand tapped my shoulder.
It was sharp and direct, making me turn around at once. She stood there, her blue eyes blazing.
“Am I imagining things, or are you following me?” she asked, anger coursing through her voice.
She was neither confused nor frightened, but the question felt as if it mattered to her. She needed to know the answer.
“I am not following you.”
Her jaw tightened at my response, but she stayed silent.
“Don’t insult me.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Anyway, we need to leave.”
Her brows pulled together. “Excuse me?”
“Now.”
“What is that even supposed to mean? Why will I go anywhere with you?”
“Because you’re being watched.”
That landed, and her expression shifted slightly. But she still didn’t move.
“By who?” she demanded.
“I’ll explain.”
“Start explaining now, or I am not going anywhere.”
There wasn’t time for that here. Not with too many variables. I reached for her hand instead, and she jerked slightly in surprise.
“Nikolai—”
She froze as the name hung between us, her eyes widened with something akin to anger.
“Is that even your real name?” she breathed.
“Yes.”
“Another lie.”
“Walk,” I said quietly.
“I am not walking anywhere until you—”
I tightened my grip, but not enough to hurt, just enough to make her move.
“Elle.” I continued using the name she had given me, not wanting to alert her. Her pulse jumped beneath my fingers as I said it.
“You do not get to drag me around,” she snapped, voice rising.
It was too loud, and we were already too visible. I didn’t argue and simply pulled her with me, gasps following behind us as we cut through the remaining crowd.
“Elisse,” someone called faintly behind her.
She twisted slightly. “Let go of me!”
Not yet. As we reached outside, the cold air hit us, and she seemed to cool down just a little. The parking lot was partially lit, cars pulling out in staggered intervals, and I moved quickly towards mine.
She dug her heels in, growing a little more frantic with every passing minute. If it were not for my hold on her arm, she would have escaped me by now. “What are you doing?”
“Getting you out of here.”
“You cannot take me anywhere without my permission. What exactly do you think you are saving me from?”
“From becoming leverage.”
She stilled for half a second, confusion ripe on her face, and that was enough time for me. I opened the passenger door and guided her inside before she could regain momentum.
“Are you insane?” she shouted as I shut the door and rounded the front, quickly sliding into the driver’s seat and locking the doors. She grabbed the handle immediately, but it didn’t budge.
“Unlock it right now.”
“No.”
Her head snapped toward me. “You cannot just kidnap me.”
“I’m not kidnapping you.”
“Oh, really?” Her voice climbed. “What exactly would you call this?”
“Preventative action.”
She stared at me like I’d lost my mind.
“I am not going anywhere with you unless you are taking me home,” she demanded.
“I am.”
“Back to the estate?”
“No.”
Her breath quickened, and anger radiated off her in waves.
“You have thirty seconds to explain yourself before I start screaming loud enough to bring security down on us. My guards are waiting just outside.”
“You should,” I said calmly, stunning her into silence.