Chapter 11 – Barbara
I sat wedged between Hailey and Cassandra in our usual booth, the one tucked in the corner where we could see everything but remain relatively hidden.
The leather seat was sticky with spilled drinks from previous nights, and the air smelled like sweat and expensive perfume and desperation.
Normally, I loved this place—the noise, the anonymity, the ability to disappear into the crowd.
Tonight, it felt suffocating.
“Okay, that’s it.” Hailey leaned forward, her dark eyes sharp with concern. “What’s wrong? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because you’ve been staring at that same drink for twenty minutes without touching it.”
I looked down at the whiskey in front of me—amber liquid catching the strobing lights, ice melting slowly into dilution. When had I ordered this? I couldn’t remember.
“Barbara.” Cassandra’s voice was softer but no less insistent. “Talk to us. You look lost. Upset. Like you’re barely holding it together.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
“Bullshit.” Hailey crossed her arms. “You’ve been ‘fine’ for five years. How about you try being honest instead?”
The words hit harder than they should have. Because she was right. I’d been lying to everyone for so long that I’d forgotten what honest felt like. Forgotten what it meant to just say the truth and let the consequences fall where they may.
“It’s Sebastian,” I finally admitted, my voice barely audible over the music. “He’s—he’s escalating. Getting more aggressive. Demanding more money.”
“Then don’t give it to him,” Hailey said immediately. “Tell him to fuck off. Better yet, let us handle it. Cass and I can—”
“You can’t.” I cut her off, panic rising in my throat. “You don’t understand. He has—there are things you don’t know. Things I can’t—”
“Then tell us.” Cassandra reached over, squeezing my hand. “Whatever it is, we can help. But you have to let us in.”
I wanted to. God, I wanted to so badly it ached. Wanted to open my mouth and let everything spill out—the video, the blackmail, the five years of terror. Wanted to explain why I couldn’t just walk away, couldn’t just tell my father, couldn’t just be free.
But the words stuck in my throat, heavy as stones.
“If you need money,” Hailey said, her voice going gentle in a way that made my eyes burn, “you can take it from both of us. Whatever you need. And then you can shove it up your brother’s ass along with our collective middle fingers.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled. Almost. “It’s not about the money.”
“Then what is it about?”
I didn’t have an answer. Or rather, I had too many answers, and none of them were ones I could say out loud without everything crumbling.
Hailey exchanged a look with Cassandra, some silent communication passing between them. Then she turned back to me, her expression serious. “You need to ask for help, Barbara. Real help. From someone who has the resources and skills to actually do something about Sebastian.”
“Like who?” I asked, even though I already knew where this was going.
“Like Kirill.”
His name sent a jolt through me. Part anticipation, part fear, part something I didn’t want to examine too closely.
“Kirill Petrov is the right person to look into the situation you’re facing,” Hailey continued. “He’s Bratva tech. He can find things, track things, protect you in ways we can’t. And from what I’ve seen”—she paused, studying my face—“he already cares about you. Which means he’d actually help.”
I grabbed my whiskey and downed it in one go, the burn doing nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. “It’s complicated.”
“Everything with you is complicated,” Cassandra said, not unkindly. “That doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”
Before I could respond, movement caught my eye. Damir and a blonde woman I didn’t recognize were making their way through the crowd toward the bar. The woman moved gracefully in her designer clothes; even from across the room, I could see the way people instinctively moved out of her path.
“That’s Illyana,” Cassandra said, following my gaze. “Timur’s sister. Just moved to Chicago from New York.”
Great. More Bratva. Just what I needed.
They reached the bar, and I watched as Damir ordered drinks while Illyana scanned the crowd with ice-blue eyes that missed nothing. Her gaze landed on our booth, and for a moment, we just stared at each other.
Then she was walking toward us, Damir trailing behind with an armful of glasses.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.
“Be nice,” Hailey warned. “Illyana’s actually cool once you get past the whole ‘I could kill you seventeen different ways’ thing.”
They reached our booth, and Damir set down the glasses with a grin. “Ladies. Thought you could use some reinforcements.”
“You thought correctly,” Hailey said, grabbing one of the shots immediately.
Illyana slid into the booth across from me, her movements economical and precise. Up close, she was younger than I’d thought, maybe nineteen, but there was nothing young about the way she looked at me. Like she was cataloging every weakness, every vulnerability, filing them away for potential use.
“You’re Barbara,” she said. Not a question.
“Yeah.” I tried to sound confident, but I failed miserably. “And you’re Illyana.”
“Timur’s sister,” she confirmed. Then, without preamble: “You look like shit.”
“Illyana,” Damir said with a note of warning.
“What? I’m being honest.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “She looks stressed. Exhausted. Like she’s carrying weight she shouldn’t have to carry.”
I couldn’t argue with that assessment.
Hailey jumped in before the silence could get too awkward. “We were just telling Barbara she should ask Kirill for help with—”
“With Sebastian,” I finished, the name tasting like ash. My throat felt tight, words struggling to get past the knot of anxiety. “The situation with Sebastian.”
I took a breath and tried again, forcing the words out. “Kirill thinks I sent Sebastian to attack him and….”
Illyana’s head whipped from Hailey to me so fast I almost flinched. Her eyes went cold, flat in a way that made every survival instinct I had start screaming. “Did you send that lazy-ass to attack Kirill?” Her voice was soft, deadly. “Is he your boyfriend?”
The accusation hit like a slap. Everyone at the table tensed, and I felt Cassandra’s hand tighten on mine in warning or support; I couldn’t tell which.
“For fuck’s sake,” I said, louder than intended. “Sebastian is not my boyfriend. He’s my evil half-brother.”
The words hung in the air for a beat. Then Illyana’s expression shifted—not softening exactly, but recalibrating. Like she’d been prepared for one kind of threat and had just realized it was something else entirely.
“Half-brother,” she repeated. “Who attacked Kirill in a parking lot and told him to stay away from your mansion’s security cameras.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “I didn’t send him. I didn’t even know he was going to….” My voice cracked. “I would never want anyone to get hurt because of me.”
Illyana studied me for a long moment, those ice-blue eyes seeing too much. Then she leaned forward, elbows on the table, and said something I wasn’t expecting.
“You should ask Cassandra what the Bratva really means.” Her voice had lost some of its edge. “If you think your lazy-ass brother is dangerous, you have no idea what kind of protection you could have if you just asked for it.”
Damir set down the glasses he’d been holding and nodded. “She’s right. All you gotta do is ask, Barbara.” He looked at me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. “Kirill will move fucking heaven and earth for you.”
The statement landed like a bomb in the middle of our booth. Move heaven and earth. For me. The girl who’d lied to him, who’d let him think the worst, who’d pushed him away every time he got too close to the truth.
Why would he do that? Why would anyone?
“I don’t—” I started, but my throat closed up. “I can’t ask him for help. He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Hailey said gently. “Trust me. I saw the way he talked about you. That’s not hate.”
“Then what is it?”
Nobody answered, which was answer enough.
Illyana was still watching me, her expression thoughtful. “Why are you so afraid of your brother?” she asked. “What does he have on you that’s worth all this?”
I gave a faint smile, bitter and tired. “Not everyone is as lucky as you are in terms of protective brothers.”
She tilted her head, considering. “True. Timur would burn down half of Chicago if someone threatened me. So would Drew and Damir, if I’m being honest.” A pause. “But that’s not luck, Barbara. That’s what family is supposed to do. Protect each other. Not terrorize.”
“Yeah, well.” I reached for another drink, my hands shaking slightly. “Sebastian didn’t get that memo.”
The conversation shifted after that, Illyana’s attention moving to scan the rest of the club. Her eyes landed on a booth across the way where several men sat—all of them radiating the same dangerous energy she did.
She squinted, leaning forward slightly. “Who’s that?” She pointed at one of them—dark hair, sharp features, the kind of looks that probably got him whatever he wanted. “The one sitting with my brother and cousins. He’s smoking hot.”
Cassandra followed her gaze and smiled. “That’s Andrei. Vladimir’s son.”
“Vladimir.” Illyana’s expression went flat. “As in Vladimir Orlov? The Sovetnik?”
“The one and only.”
Illyana grabbed Damir’s untouched shot and downed it like a pro, not even wincing at the burn. “Fucking fantastic,” she muttered. “I thought Chicago was full of my brothers and cousins. Now I’ve got to add the Sovetnik’s son to the list of men I can’t flirt with because of Bratva politics.”
Everyone laughed—Hailey’s sharp bark, Cassandra’s soft chuckle, Damir’s rumbling amusement. Even Illyana cracked a smile, though it was edged with genuine frustration.
Everyone except me.
Because while they were laughing, while the music pounded and drinks flowed and normal people had normal conversations about normal things, I was sitting there feeling like I was going to throw up.
The whiskey churned in my empty stomach. The lights felt too bright. The bass too loud. Everything was closing in, suffocating, and I couldn’t breathe past the panic rising in my throat.
Kirill would move heaven and earth for me.
Sebastian was getting more dangerous.
Vladimir’s son was sitting across the club, which meant more Bratva connections, more complications, more ways for this entire situation to explode.
And I was trapped in the middle of it all, carrying a secret that grew heavier with every passing day.
“Barbara?” Cassandra’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “You okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, standing on shaky legs. “Just need some air.”
I didn’t wait for permission or company. Just pushed my way out of the booth and headed for the back exit, past bodies pressed too close together, past music that felt like it was trying to split my skull open.
I burst through the door into the alley behind the club, the cold Chicago air hitting my face like a slap. My stomach rolled, and I braced myself against the brick wall, breathing deeply through my nose, trying not to actually vomit on my boots.
This was my life. This pathetic existence, where I couldn’t even enjoy a night out with friends without feeling like I was drowning. Where every conversation eventually circled back to Sebastian, to the video, to the chains I couldn’t break.
Behind me, the club door opened. I didn’t turn around, didn’t want to see whichever friend had followed me out to make sure I wasn’t completely falling apart.
Spoiler alert: I was.
“You can’t keep running,” Hailey’s voice said from behind me.
I laughed, the sound harsh and broken. “Watch me.”
“Barbara….”
“I can’t, Hailey.” I turned to face her, and I felt the tears burning in my eyes.
“I can’t ask Kirill for help. I can’t tell you what Sebastian has on me.
I can’t do any of the things you all keep saying I should do because the moment I do—” My voice cracked.
“The moment I do, everything falls apart. And I’m not strong enough to survive that. ”
She stepped closer, her expression soft with understanding. “You’re stronger than you think.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m really not.”
We stood there in that alley, the club’s muffled bass providing a soundtrack to my breakdown. And I realized with crushing certainty that this was it. This was as good as my life was going to get.
Trapped between secrets and lies, between the devil I knew and the help I couldn’t accept.
Between Sebastian’s chains and Kirill’s piercing blue eyes that saw too much and made me want things I couldn’t have.
“Come back inside,” Hailey finally said. “At least finish your drink before you spiral completely.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to just go home, crawl into bed, and pretend none of this was happening. But going home meant facing an empty mansion and the knowledge that Sebastian could show up at any moment.
So I followed her back inside, back to the booth where Cassandra was holding our seats and Illyana was arguing with Damir about something I couldn’t hear over the music.
And as I slid into the booth and grabbed another drink, as I pasted a smile on my face and tried to participate in normal conversation, I couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out.
Fast.