5. Zoya
ZOYA
T he phone buzzes on my nightstand at four in the morning, dragging me from sleep. I reach for it with eyes still closed, muscle memory guiding my fingers across the screen. The message glows back at me in the dark.
My chest tightens. I delete the message before I'm fully awake, before I can second-guess the decision. The words burn in my mind anyway.
I lie back down, staring at the ceiling while my pulse settles.
The plaster above my bed has a crack that runs from corner to corner—thin, but deep enough to catch shadows.
I've been staring at that crack for two years, watching it grow millimeter by millimeter.
Now it feels symbolic of everything falling apart.
Damir's message confirms what I already know. He's aware I met with Maksim. He knows I'm walking a dangerous line, and he's terrified enough to reach out despite the risk. The fact that he's still giving me orders from wherever he's hiding tells me he's not as powerless as I thought.
But it also tells me he expects me to keep playing this game.
I shower and dress for work, choosing a navy blouse and dark jeans—nothing that draws attention. The mirror reflects back a woman who looks calm, composed. Good. I need that mask today more than ever.
The walk to the track takes twenty-five minutes.
I know every crack in the sidewalk, every storefront, every face I might encounter, because I used to walk this route six days a week.
Routine keeps me grounded when everything else feels unstable.
But today, the familiar path feels different, mostly because I've been driving myself for nine months now, but having left my car in the parking lot last night, I have to huff it on foot today.
Maksim leans against the brick wall just outside the main entrance, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world as if he belongs there.
He's traded yesterday's formal shirt for a dark sweater that fits close to his shoulders.
The morning light catches the angles of his face, making his hazel eyes appear almost golden.
When he sees me, he smiles. It's warm, genuine—or at least, it would fool anyone who doesn't know better. But I see the calculation behind it, the way he watches my reaction.
"Good morning, Zoya." His voice carries that same easy confidence from yesterday. "I hope I'm not overstepping."
I stop a few feet away, adjusting the strap of my bag. "Why are you here?"
"I wanted to walk with you." He pushes off from the wall, moving closer. "If that's all right."
There's a question in his tone, but his eyes tell a different story. This isn't a request. This is part of whatever plan he's working. Still, I nod. "I suppose."
We fall into step together, heading toward the employee entrance. He doesn't try to take my arm or guide me—another calculated move. He's letting me set the pace, the boundaries. It's smart. It makes me feel in control when we both know I'm not.
"You look tired," he says after a moment.
"I didn't sleep well."
"Bad dreams?"
I glance at him sideways. "You could say that."
He nods as if he understands but doesn't push. We walk in comfortable quiet for several steps before he speaks again.
"Tell me about your family."
The question comes out casual, conversational. But my spine straightens anyway. "What about them?" He's not asking because he cares or has interest. He wants dirt on my brother, which he may as well go sweep up from whatever shithole Damir is hiding in. I won't give him up.
"You mentioned your brother yesterday. Are you close?"
I consider my answer carefully. Maksim already knows about Damir, given the circumstances. The question is how much he knows and what he wants me to reveal.
"We used to be," I say finally. "Things are complicated now."
"Complicated how?"
"Family always is." I stop walking and turn to face him. "What about you? Do you have family?"
He doesn't miss a beat. "I have four brothers." He smirks at me. "We work together sometimes."
"At the track?" I'm not dumb enough to fall into his game. I know who he is and what he does, and I know who his brothers are, too. This game of cat and mouse is agonizing.
"Among other things." His smile returns, but it's more sardonic now. "Nothing too exciting."
I start walking again, filing away the information. He's giving me pieces, but not the whole picture.
"I know you think my brother had something to do with what happened at the track..." My approach is about as direct as I can make it, which earns me a grunt.
Maksim's expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight pause in his step. "The police think it was a bad batch of drugs. Contaminated or cut with the wrong chemicals." He's so calm and collected. I wonder how many other women have fallen prey to him, to this game he's playing.
I watch his face as I speak. "Makes you wonder where it came from."
"Does it?" He looks at me directly now, hazel eyes searching mine. "I would think whoever was to blame would hide... maybe cover their tracks, don't you?"
"Of course." I shudder internally as we skate along the truth. Damir all but confessed that it was by his hand, but I believe him when he said it wasn’t him, that he's being set up. "I was just thinking out loud. It's scary how these things spread, you know? One bad decision, and people get hurt."
"One bad decision," he repeats slowly. "Yes, that's usually how it starts."
We've reached the employee entrance. Other clerks filter past us, heading inside to start their shifts.
I should go in, get to work, maintain the routine.
But Maksim is still looking at me with that unreadable expression, and I know this conversation isn't finished.
I need more information from him, and he will certainly be back to grill me.
"I should get inside," I say, flicking a glance at the door. I'm not sure what to do next. I've never done anything like this before and I feel like I'm in over my head.
"Of course." He steps back, giving me space. "What time do you finish today?"
"Seven."
"Would you have dinner with me? There's a place I know—quiet, good food."
I pretend to consider it, though I've already decided. I need more time with him, more opportunities to probe for information. And despite everything—despite knowing he's dangerous, despite my brother's warning—I find myself curious about him.
"All right," I say. "But I choose the restaurant."
He nods. "Whatever you prefer."
"There's a café on Sokolnicheskaya Street. Café Luna. Eight o'clock."
"I'll be there."
I turn to go, then pause. "Maksim?"
"Yes?"
"That overdose victim—he was someone's son. Someone's brother." I meet his eyes. "I hope whoever sold those drugs knows that."
For a moment, his mask slips. I see something flicker across his face—not guilt, exactly, but acknowledgment. Then it's gone, and he's smiling again.
"I'm sure they do," he says quietly.
Inside the track, I go through the motions of my job. I count money, update ledgers, process bets. My hands move automatically while my mind replays every word of our conversation.
Maksim knows about Damir's involvement in the overdose. There's no doubt about that now. The question is whether he knows I know or if he thinks I'm genuinely ignorant of my brother's business.
During my lunch break, I find a quiet corner and pull out my phone. No new messages from Damir, which somehow makes me more nervous than hearing from him would. I consider texting him, asking if he's safe, but I can't risk it. Not when I'm sure Maksim or his people are watching.
Instead, I eat my sandwich and watch the horses practice on the track.
They move with purpose, following patterns drilled into them through repetition.
Trainer's commands, jockey's guidance, instinct refined into performance.
I wonder if that's what I'm becoming—a trained animal, responding to cues I don't fully understand.
By the end of my shift, the routine has worn thin.
Every glance from a supervisor feels loaded.
Every question from a coworker carries the weight of scrutiny I can’t afford.
I keep my head down, finish my counts, and walk out of there like nothing’s changed—but everything has.
Maksim will be waiting tonight, and I don’t know if I’m going to that dinner as myself or as the woman I need to become to survive this.
Maksim is watching me. Damir is counting on me.
And I’m stuck in the middle, playing both sides without knowing which one will break me first. The worst part?
Some twisted part of me wants to see Maksim again.
Wants to know what else he’s hiding behind that perfectly practiced charm.
If I’m not careful, I won’t just lose this game. I’ll forget I’m playing it at all.