Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
DINARA
The driver opens my door before I can reach for the handle, and I step out onto the sidewalk in front of my building, the late-night ride courtesy of Kirill Baronov.
I hadn’t anticipated it, but hey, I’m not complaining. Tonight was my second shift, and I’m exhausted from hours trailing Klara around the main floor. I didn’t have my own tables, but I was still run ragged.
“Thanks again for the lift,” I say to the very tall, very tatted-up driver. Before I can take another step, his voice stops me.
“Ms. Panova.” When I turn back, he’s holding out a small manila envelope. “Your new keys.”
“My what now?” I take the envelope, the weight of metal inside shifting.
“Your new keys,” he repeats, like the meaning is obvious. “I’ll wait here until you’re inside.”
I turn the envelope over in my hands, then look up at my building. What the hell did Kirill do?
I race inside, not stopping until I’m standing in front of the door to my apartment.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, digging out the new keys.
His men replaced my dummy lock. The cheap hardware-store special I installed over the electromagnetic locking system hidden in the doorframe.
From the outside, it looked like a shitty normal lock, but passing my phone over the hidden sensor in the frame engaged the rare-earth magnets.
It creates a seal that could withstand a police battering ram.
I’d say Kirill’s team are idiots, but honestly, most people are. And hell, I do good work.
I push open the door. The apartment looks exactly as I left it this morning. Laptop on the desk, textbooks stacked beside it, coffee mug I forgot to wash by the sink.
Next to the door frame, a security keypad glows green, its little screen displaying the word DISARMED.
When I close the door behind me, I spot a new security chain mounted on the inside. A small white card is taped to the wood, the handwriting unmistakably masculine:
You’re in a city that doesn’t forgive carelessness.
The alarm code is 1018.
Below that is a phone number.
Okay, insisting on chauffeuring me home is one thing, but having his men break into my place without permission and install a security system. No fucking way.
I take my phone from my purse and dial the number on the card.
“Evelina.” Kirill’s voice is raspy and pleased, like he was expecting my call.
“We need to set some boundaries,” I snap. "You can't break into someone's apartment, change their locks, and install an alarm without asking.”
His low chuckle is unaffected. “I can, and I did. Let’s call it a security upgrade, and you’re welcome. Your original lock wouldn’t stop a teenager with a credit card. I fixed the problem.”
I stomp further into the apartment, throwing down my bag and kicking off my heels.
“That’s not the point,” I grumble. “This is an invasion of privacy.”
“I don’t take chances with what’s mine.” A deliberate pause. “With my employees, I mean.”
The correction comes three seconds too late to be convincing. His words settle beneath my ribs, warm and unwanted, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
“And I didn’t rifle through your panty drawer,” he continues. “I just ensured your safety. What’s the issue? You don’t like when a man looks out for you?”
“Not especially.”
I’ve always prided myself on being self-sufficient, never needing anyone, especially a man. But there is something darkly seductive about a man like Kirill Baronov taking care of me.
Dating while connected to the Syndicate means most guys know what I’m capable of. They’ve seen me fight, hack into government databases, and dismantle complicated security systems. They treat me like one of the guys, a buddy they sleep with.
Last year I hooked up with Dimitri, one of Pavel’s guys. We’d meet up after work, fuck, order takeout, talk about encryption protocols. Then I’d go home. He never offered to walk me out or drive me anywhere. Never checked in to make sure I got home safe because why would he?
It’s what I wanted. Someone who didn’t make demands of my time, my energy, my life.
Someone who was DTF but didn’t care if I called them the next day.
Or ever again. Someone who’d never get close enough to leave me first or reject me.
When the person who was supposed to love you most disappears without a trace, you learn not to let anyone get that close again.
Dimitri fit that perfectly. So did the guy before him. And the one before that.
But Kirill isn’t playing by those rules.
He’s blatant about what he wants. And though it’s a huge pain in the ass and a gross invasion of my privacy, there’s a warmth spreading through my chest that I don’t know what to do with.
Being taken care of feels foreign and terrifying and kind of nice, which is exactly why I need to shut this down.
“Next time you want to play bodyguard, how about you ask first?” I say, letting the edge bleed out of my voice.
I pull the elastic from my ponytail and shake out my hair, running my fingers through the strands as I walk to the bedroom.
“If I asked first, would you have allowed me to?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
His laugh is throaty and sexy and makes my insides clench. “This doesn’t have to be complicated, Evelina. In fact, I’ll make it very simple. When it comes to your safety, I’m going to be an overbearing asshole, and you’ll have to deal with it.”
“Thanks for the warning. You’re a real knight in shining armor.”
“Sweet dreams, Evelina. Put the alarm on.”
The phone line goes dead, and I heave out a deep sigh. There’s nothing here that connects to my real identity, but his men could have planted surveillance equipment.
I retrieve an RF detector from a small cavity I found behind the bathroom mirror. The device fits in my palm, sensitive enough to pick up wireless transmissions from bugs, cameras, or tracking devices.
I work through the apartment systematically. Door frame. Windows. Light fixtures. Electrical outlets. Smoke detectors. Behind every piece of furniture. Inside every cabinet. I find nothing.
I’ve given Kirill no reason to be suspicious of me, but I’m not taking chances. Tomorrow I’ll need to install a bypass on the alarm system so no one can track when I arm and disarm it.
I glance at the clock on the wall. Nearly three in the morning here, which means it’s ten o’clock in Moscow. Right on time for my weekly call.
I change into an oversized sweater and leggings, scrub off my makeup, and settle into bed with my laptop propped against my knees. I hit “call”, and the connection opens with a soft chime. My screen fills with Pavel’s kitchen in Moscow, the morning light streaming through windows.
“I get to talk first! I’ve been waiting the longest!”
Kin, Pavel’s five-year-old son, crowds the screen, his face too close to the camera. Hope appears behind him, smiling as she pulls her son onto her lap. “Okay, okay, settle down. Dinara can see both of you now.”
“Hi, Kin.” God, I’ve missed this kid. He’s wearing his signature dinosaur pajamas, his hair sticking up in different directions.
He came into my life a year ago, after Pavel and Hope reconnected. Hope is the daughter of a triad leader and the Syndicate’s sworn enemy, but Pavel didn’t give a shit about all that. He was obsessed with her and put a ring on it. Kin was a lucky addition.
“Dinara! Guess what?” He doesn’t wait for me to guess. “Papa said I can get a real turtle for my birthday if I take care of a fish for a whole month without forgetting.”
“A turtle? That’s a big responsibility.”
“I know. But I’m five now, so I’m ‘sponsible.” He says it with a seriousness that makes me bite back a smile.
Hope leans forward, her hand resting on his shoulder. Despite the early hour, she looks flawless, hair pulled back in a bun, not a stitch of makeup. “Good morning. Or should I say good night?”
“Technically it’s early morning here. Like two a.m. early.”
Hope’s eyebrows lift. “Let me guess. You haven’t been to bed yet.”
“Guilty. I was working on a project and lost track of time.”
Hope rolls her eyes, but her smile is affectionate. “Girl, you’re in New York freakin’ city. Go out and have some fun. Maybe meet a tall, dark and handsome stranger.”
If she only knew.
“Did you know turtles can live to be really, really old? Like a hundred years old! And they have shells that protect them from predators, which are animals that want to eat them, and…”
“Kin, love, take a breath.” Hope laughs, squeezing his shoulder.
“But I have to tell Dinara about turtles!”
“I’m listening,” I assure him. “Tell me everything.”
He launches into an enthusiastic explanation of turtle biology, surprisingly detailed for a five-year-old. Hope catches my eye over his head and mouths sorry, but I wave her off. This is exactly what I needed. Something normal. Something that reminds me why I’m doing this.
“And Papa said that some turtles are as big as cars!” Kin spreads his arms wide to demonstrate. “Can you believe that?”
“That’s incredible.”
“Do you have turtles in New York?”
“Hmmm, let me think.” I press a finger to my pursed lips. “What about the Ninja Turtles living in the sewers.”
His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What!”
“They have their own TV show. Maybe your mom’ll allow you to watch an episode.”
“What’s this about the Ninja Turtles?”
Pavel joins his family, sliding an arm around Hope’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to Kin’s temple.
The gesture is so natural, so full of easy affection, I almost forget what he was like before they came into his life.
He spent so many years closed off, carrying the weight of his past like armor.
Watching him now, relaxed and smiling with his family surrounding him, it’s like seeing a different person.
Kin turns to his father. “Papa, they’re turtles that live in the sewers! We have to go to New York to meet them.”
Pavel’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Deal. But first, can you let Yarik know Dinara’s waiting to speak with him?”
“Okay!” He scrambles off the chair, then turns back. “Bye, Dinara! I miss you!”
“Miss you too, kiddo.”
He scampers out of view, as Pavel settles into the chair he vacated and pulls Hope onto his lap.
“If you two are going to be gross, I’m hanging up.”
“Calm yourself down. I promise to keep it PG-13.”
“We might have a different definition of family friendly,” I grumble, but I’m giving them a hard time because that’s what I do. Pavel might be the head of one of the most powerful bratvas in the country, but he’s like a brother to me.
“Kin talks about you constantly,” Hope says, her expression softening. “Asks when you’re coming home.”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “I know. I miss him too. Miss all of you.”
A pang of longing hits me square in the chest. I miss my world, my people, the life where I knew exactly who I was and what I was doing.
“How are you doing? Really.” Hope studies me through the screen, her gaze too perceptive. “And don’t give us the polite version.”
“I’m good. Adjusting. New York is...” I search for the right word. “A lot. But in a good way.”
“Just don’t get too comfortable there,” Pavel grumbles.
Hope elbows him. “Leave her alone. She’s an adult.”
Pavel didn’t love the idea of me moving away without a bodyguard.
Hope helped argue my case, reminding him I was twenty-four and needed independence.
He only agreed after making me train in combat techniques for two months straight, until I could disarm a man twice my size.
By the end, I’d earned his grudging approval.
“How’s your fancy school?” Pavel asks. “Worth abandoning us to move halfway across the world?”
“I’m not abandoning you. It’s only a year. And yeah, so far it’s been interesting. We cover advanced cryptography, network security architecture, and what I’m most excited about … machine learning applications for cybersecurity.”
Pavel and Hope glaze over. Sometimes I forget that not everyone nerds out as hard as I do.
Hope nods. “Well, that sounds…”
“Boring as fuck,” Pavel finishes.
I snort. “Just you wait and see what I can do by the end of the year. You’ll be begging me to come back and put these new skills to work.”
Yarik, my father, enters the kitchen holding Kin’s hand. When Pavel and Hope see him, they exchange a look.
“We’ll let you talk to your dad,” Hope says, standing. She blows me a kiss. “Miss you. Talk soon.”
“You know I love you, kid,” Pavel adds, then scoops Kin into his arms. “Come on, malchik . Let’s go find that fish food.”
They drift out of view, their voices fading as my father comes into view.
“Dinochka.” His voice is warm, affectionate. “Look at you. Beautiful as always, but you look tired. Are you sleeping enough?”
“Never.” I laugh. “But I’m doing fine. Eating my vegetables. You don’t have to worry.”
“That’s my job; I worry.” His tone turns gruff. “Especially with you being so far away.”
“I know, and it’s not always easy, but it’s good for me. I’m figuring out parts of myself.”
Emotion flickers in his expression. “It’s good to hear that, malyshka . I know you need independence. Your own life. I’m proud of you.”
I nod, a lump forming in my throat. He’s survived enough hell for ten lifetimes, yet he remains the softest place for me to land. I don’t know how I got so lucky.
“Thank you, Papa. Now tell me about Kin. Have you planted that garden yet?”
He lights up. “Ah, yes. We planted vegetables last weekend. Carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers. Kin wanted to plant candy, can you believe it? I had to explain that candy doesn’t grow in gardens.
” He chuckles, shaking his head. “He insisted we try anyway, so we buried a piece of chocolate and he’s checking every day to see if it’s sprouted.
I don’t have the heart to tell him it won’t work… ”
His words fade into the background as my mind churns.
Guilt wraps around my ribs. I’m in New York under false pretenses, infiltrating a bratva and putting myself in danger, all while lying to the people who love me.
Telling my father the truth means reopening a wound that nearly destroyed him. And while Pavel would help me in a heartbeat, involving the Syndicate only makes things more dangerous.
How can I involve the people I love when all I have to go on are the hazy fragments of a dream?