Chapter 28
Liev
The rumors are even in the Keys that another Pakhan is setting foot in Miami. I’ve been back for two days. Viktor, at least, doesn’t bring me rumors.
That’s how I know this matters.
We’re in the office when he tells me, the door closed, the house quiet beyond it. Ryder sits across from me, one leg crossed over the other, in sweats and a tight shirt that keeps drawing my attention. Vivienne lingers near the window, half in shadow, half watching everything.
“There’s talk,” Viktor says. “Not just noise. Movement.”
I lean back slightly, studying him. “From who?”
“Multiple groups,” he replies. “Local government mostly. Money switching hands. It’s Konstantin Martynov.”
I’ve heard the name. Ryder’s gaze flicks to me, sharp and assessing, while Vivienne’s expression doesn’t change at all.
“New York,” I say.
“Real estate mostly,” Viktor confirms. “Legitimate on paper. Not so much underneath. He operates pretty independently, and as far as I know, never got involved with the rest of the Bratva. He seems content to rule his city.”
I nod once, slow. “So then why step foot in Miami?”
“That’s the question,” Viktor murmurs. I see him glance at Ryder and wonder what my wife has been up to.
Has she actually been briefed on this situation before I was?
Viktor is comfortable reporting to her, and maybe a part of me should feel worried or threatened, but a warmth spreads through my chest at the thought of some light competition between us.
Ryder shifts slightly in her seat. “Where is he staying?”
Viktor glances at his phone, then back up. “Same hotel you two used when you first arrived.”
Of course. I glance at my wife again, remembering that night. I remember the look on her face when she found out that I’d booked us two rooms, knowing I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from touching her if there weren’t walls between us.
How far I’ve fallen.
I tap my fingers once against the desk, thinking it through. Options, outcomes, risks. If Martynov is here, ignoring him isn’t an option. Neither is waiting for him to make the first move.
“I’ll go to him,” I say.
Ryder’s brow lifts slightly. “You’re going to walk into his space?”
“I’m going to introduce myself,” I reply. “Before he decides to introduce himself to me. This city is our space, Ryder, and we should welcome a guest.” The emphasis on the word is intentional. I’m not looking for competition.
Vivienne’s lips curve faintly, like she approves of that answer.
Ryder watches me for a second longer, then nods. “Then I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
Her expression tightens. “This involves me whether you like it or not.”
“It involves risk,” I counter. “You don’t need to be there.”
“I’m already here,” she says evenly. “In case you’ve forgotten.”
I haven’t. That’s the problem. She wiggled in deeper and deeper, but in the best way. She’s competent, my men respect her, and Vivienne keeps telling me I should just accept that she’s my natural second in command.
But everything in me screams to keep her safe.
I’m not sure why. Based on past experience, it’s the rest of the world I should be keeping safe from my capable, efficiently violent wife. Konstantin Martynov doesn’t know what he’s up against if he came here thinking an arranged marriage made us weak.
I open my mouth to respond, but the doorbell chimes, loud and elegant. All of us freeze; I snatch my phone, looking for a notification from security, but there’s nothing.
Who the hell made it to the front door without me knowing?
Viktor’s hand moves immediately to the Glock at his waist, and Vivienne straightens. She doesn’t need a weapon, though I’m sure she has one on her. She could use anything in this room to kill a man.
I shoot her a look, and wordlessly, she moves toward Ryder, who is also standing. I’m already on my feet, my focus narrowing to a single point.
The doorbell sounds again.
Viktor meets my gaze, a silent question.
I nod once.
He moves first, crossing the room with controlled steps. I follow behind, close enough to act, but far enough to let him do his job. We move in sync down the hallway, scanning our surroundings, checking windows. “Clear,” Viktor whispers after surveying the living room. “I’ll go first.”
He moves to the front door. The frosted glass on either side shows only shadows of two unidentifiable people out on the front step.
With one hand carefully aiming his weapon, Viktor uses the other to unlock and swing open the front door.
The man standing on the other side is tall and immaculately dressed in high-end trousers, a dress shirt, and suspenders.
The entire outfit should look outdated, but it doesn’t.
His presence is calm, composed, and completely at ease.
Which means he either knows exactly what he’s walking into and is sure he could take me and my men on, or he’s some kind of ungodly solicitor who happened to make it past security.
But I know exactly who this is. I just can’t figure out how or why he’s here already.
Konstantin Martynov.
Martynov’s gaze lands on me immediately, sharp and assessing. “My apologies,” he says smoothly, his voice even and controlled. “I prefer to announce myself under better circumstances.”
Behind them is another man; taller and thinner, with a buzz cut. Completely silent. He and Viktor size one another up. I raise a hand at hip-height, palm down, and Viktor slowly holsters his Glock.
Martynov continues like this is a normal conversation. “I encountered a problem on my way here. I took the liberty of handling it.”
My eyes flick to the man behind him.
To the shape at his feet.
Viktor shifts slightly, tension spiking, but Martynov doesn’t do anything threatening. Instead, his companion steps forward.
And drops the body.
It hits the foyer floor with a dull, heavy sound. Blood seeps slowly across the polished surface, dark and spreading; the man’s face turned just enough for me to recognize him.
It’s one of the missing men who attacked Ryder and I.
Martynov raises his brows, and I nod stiffly. He steps inside, then smiles widely, looking somewhere over my shoulder.
“You must be Mrs. Demsky.”
Hot fear sears through me as I half-turn to find Ryder just inside the living room, her lids lowered suspiciously. Vivienne can’t be far, though she’s likely tucked where no one will notice her.
Ryder glances at me and steps further into the room. “I am. And you are…?”
“I apologize,” Martynov says, nodding elegantly and reaching for her hand, which Ryder automatically raises to let him brush his lips over her knuckles. “My name is Konstantin Martynov. I believe we’re family, in a way.”
Every single muscle in me has never been more tense. If he so much as looks at her wrong—
My wife smiles, a hint of mischief in her eyes, along with that sharp calculation. She takes Martynov in, then the body, and her smile disappears.
Konstantin and I face one another. He holds a hand out and I shake it, both of us gripping tightly, but not attempting to cause pain.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he says calmly.
Ignoring the body, I point out, “You broke into my security perimeter.”
Martynov’s lips curve faintly. “I walked through it.”
Viktor stiffens. I don’t look at him; we both know something is seriously wrong now. Two guards are at the front.
“They’re only disengaged, not dead,” Martynov reassures me. “It’s hard to find good men these days. I wouldn’t put you through the hassle of finding replacements.”
“Why?” I ask.
His expression doesn’t change. “Because,” he says, glancing down briefly at the body before meeting my gaze again, “we have a shared problem.”
The man is one of the two who disappeared after the attack. The other one should have surfaced by now. Instead, he’s here—bleeding out across my floor like a message.
Ryder exhales beside me, quiet but unsteady, and I feel it more than hear it. When I glance at her, her composure is intact, but there’s a flicker beneath it.
Shock.
I set my jaw and look back at Martynov. “Start talking.”
He inclines his head slightly, as if he expected nothing less. “I recently secured contracts,” he says, stepping further inside without waiting for permission, his tone even and measured. “Waterfront developments, high-end and discreet.”
“Legitimate?”
“On paper. In practice, they serve a different purpose. Private spaces. Controlled access. Useful for meetings that benefit from privacy.”
Safe harbor for players on the black market. I’ve heard he dabbles in that area. He provides places individuals can hide or meet without unwanted eyes on them.
I nod once. It tracks. “And that brings you here,” I say. “But it doesn’t explain him.”
“First,” he says carefully, his features suddenly transforming from polite distance to a craggy, serious terrain, “I want to make one thing clear: I have no interest in expanding territory in Florida. It doesn’t appeal to me.”
“My work requires a presence,” he continues, “not control. I build. Others manage.”
His gaze holds mine. Interesting.
“And the body?” I ask.
Martynov gestures slightly toward the man behind him. “Lev was doing what he always does,” he says. “Observing. Understanding the environment before I involve myself in it.”
My attention shifts to the silent man. He hasn’t spoken once. Hasn’t needed to. There’s something about the way he stands. He’s balanced and alert. It’s like violence is his default state rather than a tool he picks up when necessary.
“He found one of your problems,” Martynov continues. “Earlier today. When you were in town. Lev spotted this man near your vehicle planting something.”
A cold, familiar tension settles into my chest.
“A bomb,” Martynov clarifies.
Ryder goes completely still beside me. Viktor swears under his breath.
“They engaged,” Martynov says. “Unfortunately, your would-be saboteur didn’t survive the conversation. I apologize; I’m sure you had some questions for him.”
Shaking my head slowly, I murmur, “There would have been no answers from him.” One thing we’ve learned in these past months is that the men hired by whoever has been hunting us are given no way to point us toward the brains of the operations.
I study him for a moment longer, weighing the angle, the intent, the risk. Then I step forward and extend my hand.
“You have my thanks,” I say.
His grip is firm. Controlled, not dominant.
“I appreciate efficiency,” he replies. “I’m sure you do as well.”
I release his hand and step back slightly, gesturing toward the rest of the house. “Come in.”
Lev moves with him, silent as ever, dragging the body just far enough inside that it’s no longer framed in the doorway.
The casualness of it doesn’t go unnoticed.
I nod to Viktor, who slips out into the early afternoon, heading for the guardhouse to release our men.
I can’t decide if I want to berate them for getting overtaken or ask Martynov if he’d like to rent Lev out for a few training scenarios.
Once the door is shut, Lev pauses and goes still. His head turns slightly, eyes narrowing as something catches his attention.
Vivienne steps out of the shadows.
A flicker of recognition. Lev’s posture shifts just enough to register interest, his gaze locking onto her with something sharper than before.
Vivienne meets it without blinking, her expression unreadable.
Then, just as quickly, Lev looks away. Smart move. There’s a good chance he’s heard of Vivienne Baranov, and ignoring her is better than acknowledging that she exists.
Martynov doesn’t comment on it. I turn my attention back to him. “You said you’re not here to expand.”
“I’m not,” he confirms. “Florida isn’t appealing to me long-term. Too unpredictable. Too exposed.”
That’s one way to put it.
“You’re content to build and leave the rest to others,” I say.
“Yes.”
“I’m assuming you’ll want to keep things within Bratva control.”
“If you’re capable.”
There it is.
“I control the ports,” I say. “Inbound and outbound. Materials, equipment, anything you need for your projects. I can move it faster and quieter than anyone else in this city. Your condos will be built quickly and with good materials.”
“I can also control who comes through them,” I add. “Your clients. Your associates. Anyone who requires discretion.”
A beat.
“International or otherwise.”
Ryder’s presence sharpens slightly beside me, but she doesn’t interrupt. This isn’t something we’ve discussed doing before. Our business is in moving weapons north, up the seaboard, to another associate.
But this is an opportunity to expand and prove myself.
Martynov studies me for a long moment; his gaze is steady, and it’s like he’s measuring something internal, not just operational.
Finally, he nods.
“Efficient,” he says.
“Profitable,” I correct.
A faint smile touches his mouth. “Yes,” he agrees. “That too.”
Martynov glances briefly at Ryder again, then back to me. “Kazimir spoke of you,” he says. I try not to let the surprise show on my face; Kaz hasn’t mentioned Konstantin at all, and I’m not sure if I should let the feeling of betrayal linger.
Is this a test?
“And?” I ask.
He considers me for a second longer, then nods once, decisively.
“He chose correctly.”
For a second, something in my chest loosens just slightly. A tension I didn’t fully acknowledge until now. Ryder’s hand grazes mine, and there’s an overwhelming sense that everything is lining up, falling into place—fate.
Kazimir’s approval is earned, not given. And for Martynov to confirm it—it matters. More than I want to admit.
“Good,” I say.
“I’ll have the contracts drawn up. And perhaps we could meet for dinner soon; I’m in town for two more days.”
The conversation shifts, becoming more casual despite the body still crumpled just inside the door.
Ryder settles on the edge of the couch, laughing as Konstantin describes a run-in with an ignorant group who tried to sell him low-grade heroin.
Vivienne disappears once more, out of sight, but close.
Lev is a sentinel, a silent statue, and as we make plans to go out on the town Konstantin’s last night, Miami truly feels like mine.