Chapter 4 – Kirill
I woke to sunlight cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warm and insistent against my closed eyelids. It seemed perfect. I’d forgotten about Douglas, about Vladimir’s conditions, about the weight of vengeance that had become my shadow.
Because Barbara was still in my bed.
She lay curled against me, her chestnut hair spread across my pillow like silk, one hand resting on my chest. Her breathing was soft and even, her face so peaceful that it made something in my chest constrict.
I’d spent the night learning every curve of her body, every sound she made, the way she said my name when she—
Her phone shattered the silence.
The harsh ring cut through the room like a blade, and I felt her stiffen against me. Not the slow awareness of someone waking naturally, but the sudden tension of someone bracing for impact.
I hadn’t meant to look. Should’ve given her privacy, should’ve closed my eyes and pretended I was still asleep. But years of survival instincts don’t just disappear because you want them to, and my gaze flicked to her phone screen on the nightstand.
Bass.
The name burned into my retinas. But it was the sound that made my blood run cold, a man’s voice, loud enough to hear even though the phone wasn’t on speaker. He was barking. Actually barking orders and accusations like she was a subordinate who’d failed a mission instead of….
Instead of what? My mind supplied unhelpfully. His girlfriend? The woman he had waiting for him while she spent the night in my bed?
Barbara scrambled up, her movements frantic, all traces of that peaceful sleep vanishing. Her hand shook as she grabbed the phone, and I tried my best to keep still while pretending to be asleep.
The sight made rage simmer in my gut.
“Hello?” Her voice came out thin, frightened. Nothing like the woman who’d grabbed the back of my neck last night and kissed me like she was claiming territory.
I couldn’t catch the exact words; the bastard on the other end was speaking too fast, too angrily, but the tone was unmistakable. A voice that made threats sound like casual conversation.
Barbara flinched with each barked sentence, and my hands clenched in the sheets.
“I…I’ll explain later,” she stammered, swinging her legs out of bed.
The morning light caught the curve of her spine, the marks I’d left on her skin, small bruises on her hips where I’d gripped too hard, the faint red lines on her shoulders from my teeth.
Evidence of what we’d done. What she’d wanted.
What we’d both wanted so desperately that we’d barely made it through the door.
And now she was taking a call from her boyfriend.
I’d spent the night with another man’s woman. Made her forget her own name. Made her scream mine instead. And somewhere in the back of my mind, beneath the rage and confusion, was a sick sense of victory.
I’d made her forget about him. At least for a few hours.
“Everything okay?” I asked, my voice coming out rougher than intended. Husky with sleep and something darker.
She spun to face me, and the expression on her face was pure panic. Eyes too wide, breathing too fast, color draining from her cheeks. For a split second, I saw real fear there, and it wasn’t fear of me.
It was fear of whoever was on that phone.
“There was a break-in,” she blurted out, the lie tumbling from her lips so fast I almost believed it. Almost. “At my mansion. Security just called. I need to go.”
I sat up slowly, watching her scramble for her clothes. Her blouse from last night. The skirt I’d unzipped with my teeth. She was lying. The words came too quick, too rehearsed, like she’d had this excuse ready before she’d even answered the phone.
“A break-in,” I repeated flatly. “Are you—”
“I’m fine. It’s just…they need me there. My father’s going to freak out, and I need to—” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. Just grabbed her boots from where they’d been kicked off in the hallway, her movements jerky and desperate.
I should’ve called her on it. Should’ve demanded the truth. Should’ve told her I saw the name on her screen, heard the way that bastard spoke to her like he owned her.
But something in her eyes stopped me. Something broken and ashamed and so tired it made my chest ache.
“Let me drive you,” I offered, already swinging my legs out of bed.
“No!” The word came out too sharp, too panicked. She softened her tone, tried again. “No, it’s fine. I’ll call a car. You should go back to sleep.”
“Okay.”
She was at the bedroom door now, fully dressed except for her hair, still tangled from my hands, from the pillow, from the way I’d fisted it while she’d—
Stop. Focus.
“Barbara….”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then she was gone.
I walked back to the bed and sat there in the sudden silence, my penthouse feeling emptier than it ever had before.
The sheets still smelled like her, jasmine and something sweeter, something that was just her.
My lips still tasted like her skin. My body still hummed with the memory of her wrapped around me, moving with me, falling apart beneath my hands.
And she’d lied straight to my face.
“Fuck.” I raked both hands through my hair, gripping hard enough to hurt. “Fuck.”
She’d cheated on her boyfriend. With me. Had him waiting for her last night while she was here, in my bed, doing things that probably would’ve made that bastard lose his mind if he knew.
And instead of feeling guilty, instead of feeling like the piece of shit I probably was, I felt something else entirely.
I felt like a creep.
Not because of what we’d done, that had been mutual, desperate, two people who’d wanted each other past the point of sanity.
But because I’d known. The moment I saw that name flash on her screen, heard the way he spoke to her, watched her transform into someone small and scared, I’d known something was wrong.
And I’d let her leave anyway.
Let her walk out my door and back to whatever hell she was living in, because I was too much of a coward to demand answers. Too afraid of what those answers might reveal. Too fucking selfish to want to know the truth if it meant I couldn’t have her again.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, jolting me from thoughts that were spiraling into territory I couldn’t afford to explore.
Reminder: Kamarov property inspection - 10:00 a.m.
Right. Work. The thing I was actually good at. The thing that made sense in a world that had suddenly tilted sideways.
I forced myself out of bed, away from sheets that still smelled like her, and into the shower. Let scalding water pound against my shoulders while I tried to wash away the confusion, the rage, the sick feeling in my gut that told me Barbara Davis was in more trouble than just a cheating boyfriend.
***
The Kamarov mansion buzzed with wealth, plenty of it. The security system was top-notch, at least by Chicago standards. Which meant it was probably five years outdated compared to what I could build in my sleep.
Timur met me at the door, all six-foot-two of him radiating the kind of danger that made smart people cross the street.
Dark eyes, scarred knuckles, the build of someone who’d spent more time breaking bones than sitting behind desks.
He was an enforcer through and through, recently transferred from New York, and his reputation had preceded him.
“Petrov.” He clasped my hand in a grip that would’ve broken fingers if I’d been anyone else. “Heard good things about your work.”
“Heard you left a pile of bodies in New York,” I replied, matching his grip. “Guess Chicago needed the cleanup crew.”
His grin was all teeth. “Something like that. Come on. I’ll show you the setup.”
He led me through the mansion, marble floors, vaulted ceilings, the kind of space that echoed with emptiness despite the expensive furniture. But it was the control room that made me stop and actually appreciate the effort someone had put in.
Six monitors, decent encryption, motion sensors on every entry point. Not bad. Not great, but not bad.
“Illyana’s around here somewhere,” Timur said, already moving toward the door. “She’ll fill you in on what we need. I’ve got business to handle.”
Before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me alone in a room full of blinking screens and the low hum of electronics. The kind of environment where I actually felt comfortable.
“You must be the tech guy.”
I turned to find a woman leaning against the doorframe, all lean muscle and sharp edges. Ash-blonde hair pulled back, ice-blue eyes that assessed me the way a sniper assessed a target. She was young, maybe nineteen, but there was nothing soft about her.
Illyana Kamarov. Timur’s sister. The princess of the Bratva world who’d probably killed more people than I’d had hot meals.
“Kirill,” I said, offering my hand.
She took it with a grip that surprised me. Strong. Confident. “Illyana. Welcome to Chicago, I guess.” Her tone suggested she found the welcome anything but pleasant.
I gestured to the monitors. “Your brother said you needed something?”
“The mansion next door.” She moved into the room, arms crossed. “Had a break-in last night. Their cameras caught nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
My attention sharpened. “Nothing?”
“Not a shadow. Not a flicker. Like whoever did it was a fucking ghost.” She shrugged, but there was tension in her shoulders. “Should piss them off, right? All that money spent on security, and someone just waltzes in.”
I studied the monitors, my mind already working through possibilities. “How does someone get in without triggering a single motion sensor? Either they knew exactly where the blind spots were, or—”
“Or there’s something wrong with their system,” Illyana finished, one eyebrow raised. “That’s what I figured.”
“Your system ever malfunction?” I asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear her say it.
She laughed, sharp and humorless. “Timur would lose his shit if we had a malfunction. But I’m asking about yours. Your systems ever fail?”
Pride flared in my chest, the same pride that came from knowing I was the best at what I did. “My tech could catch an intruder even if he drank a potion of invisibility. I don’t do malfunctions.”
Her lips curved into something that might’ve been a smile if it had reached her eyes. “Confident. I like that.”
I turned back to the monitors, already cataloging what needed to be upgraded, what could be exploited, what I’d do differently if this were my setup. “You don’t seem thrilled to be here. Chicago not treating you well?”
The smile vanished. “Chicago’s fine. It’s the reason we’re here that’s shit.”
“And that reason is?”
“Los Zetas.” She said the name like a curse. “Getting bolder. Pushing into Bratva territory. Timur got sent here to remind them why that’s a bad idea.”
Los Zetas. The cartel splinter group that had been causing problems up and down the East Coast. Violent, unpredictable, willing to cross lines that even other cartels wouldn’t touch. If they were making moves in Chicago, things were about to get bloody.
“You scared?” I asked, watching her reaction.
Illyana’s eyes went cold. She reached behind her back and pulled out a butterfly knife, flipping it open with casual grace. Then another from her boot. A third from somewhere I couldn’t see. Each one appeared like magic, spinning in her hands before she laid them on the console between us.
“I’ve got a list of bodies with my name on them,” she said quietly. “Los Zetas should be scared of me, not the other way around.”
I believed her. Everything about Illyana Kamarov screamed danger wrapped in expensive clothes and pretty features. The kind of woman who’d smile while she slit your throat.
“Fair enough,” I said.
The door opened, and Timur filled the frame. “Can you sweep the neighboring mansion’s surveillance grid?” He wasn’t asking. “See if you can figure out how someone bypassed their system?”
The neighboring mansion. Where Barbara said there’d been a break-in. Where she’d lied about needing to rush home to.
Coincidence? In my world, coincidences didn’t exist.
I stood, already reaching for my laptop bag. “I’ll check.”
“Good man.” Timur clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Whatever you find, I want to know.”
As I followed him toward the door, my mind was already racing. Barbara’s panicked call. Her stammered excuse about a break-in. The way she’d fled my penthouse like demons were chasing her.
And now this, an actual break-in at a mansion next door to Bratva property. A break-in where nothing was caught on camera. Where someone with serious skills had bypassed multiple security layers without leaving a trace.
My fingers itched to get into that system, to pull apart the code and see what secrets it was hiding. Because I had a feeling, the kind of feeling that came from years of hunting shadows, that this break-in had something to do with the woman who’d spent the night in my bed.
The woman with honey-brown eyes and a boyfriend whose name made her shake with fear.
The woman I was quickly realizing might be in more danger than just a bad relationship.
And despite every instinct screaming at me to stay focused on Douglas, on the vengeance I’d promised myself, on the deal I’d made with Vladimir, I knew I wasn’t going to walk away from this.
I wasn’t going to walk away from her.