Chapter 20 #2
What was the old adage about revenge was best when served cold? My father would never expect anything after three years.
If Kazimir was alive, then he was well aware I’d been a catalyst in at least a portion of what he’d endured. What if he thought I’d had a larger part in the trauma endured? I could be making something out of nothing, but I had to see this through. My instincts were never wrong.
Well, almost never wrong.
My desire to see Kazimir again had outweighed everything else, including what my father might do.
I took a deep breath, realizing this could change everything once again. But I couldn’t help myself.
So after grabbing a bottle of water, I sat down at my computer to search to see what I could find.
Just by reliving the past, a series of triggering sensations brought another wave of agony, including seeing snippets of images that I’d tried very hard to shove aside. I started searching Google, frustrated after only ten minutes.
All the while Golden was pacing.
“It’s okay, honey. Everything is fine.” But was it really?
She peered at me with a little look on her face indicating she was remembering the past just like I was.
When she moved toward the couch, grabbing the throw blanket I kept strewn across the back, I was surprised.
She had a huge fluffy bed of her own, but she dragged it to the floor, making a nest out of it.
For whatever reason, I was compelled to drop by her side, stroking her fur until her eyes grew heavy. Leaning over, I took a deep whiff before kissing her on top of her head.
Another startling moment. The soft blanket smelled like him. I wasn’t daydreaming. He’d been inside my apartment.
Or at least someone had.
The man who’d been killed?
I certainly couldn’t jump to happy conclusions. If they were happy. Honestly? I felt a little numb inside and had since learning of the news.
Now I was even more determined to find something to confirm my suspicions or crush them once and for all.
Within an hour reality had set in. Finding anything about a Russian with a popular name and little else was pointless. I’d even searched for crime syndicates within Russia. Good luck.
The controlled media meant almost nothing had been forwarded to mainstream society.
If I had someone with a huge database, maybe they could use the picture I’d drawn, but was it drawn to some fantasy or reality?
I’d thought I’d remembered every detail about his face.
Every line. Every sharp angle. What if I’d been a young girl far too fascinated with the hunky man to obtain and keep an adequate mental picture?
After another hour had passed, I’d almost given up.
Then I’d remembered the name Jules had told me about. When I’d popped that into the mix there’d been nothing as I’d scrolled through thirty Google pages.
Until a single article had caught my attention.
While Kirill’s name hadn’t been in the two paragraphs, he’d been linked. Why I didn’t know. The article itself was on how a powerful Pakhan had died, his son taking his place then disappearing.
Only to be labeled dead months later.
With the picture in hand and knowing his first name, I’d finally found out who he was. And the single picture of him that had been taken at his father’s funeral did little to assuage both the unwanted yet embraced emotions.
The photograph had been taken at an angle and his head was down in prayer, but there was no doubt in my mind the man standing outside at a cemetery on a cold winter day was the same man who’d been imprisoned in my father’s concrete shed.
And who was he?
Kazimir Chertov, firstborn son of Viktor Chertov, considered one of the most powerful Pakhans ever to rule the streets and countryside of Moscow. The man’s reputation had been not only brutal but lethal, a monster supposedly murdering dozens of people.
I’d been so excited by my findings that I’d continued surfing, finding another article that had been written by a reporter in Italy.
During the same time he’d been incarcerated at my father’s estate.
What was worse? He’d been visiting the country to meet with Giovanni Pollizi.
My father’s best friend.
My godfather.
What little I’d learned from there brought more curiosity than anything else. Soon, I’d put the pieces together from what little he’d told me.
Kazimir was said to have been just like his father, a carbon copy, the only difference being the son had been educated abroad.
Cambridge no less. He could speak several languages and was considered highly intelligent.
He’d known every word I’d said to him in Italian and English.
Hell, I could have spoken German and he would have known.
He lied to me, at least in terms of how intelligent and important he was to the Russians.
How many other things had he lied about?
Had he tried to kill my godfather? If he had, Kazimir would have been killed outright.
Unless the reason he’d been kept alive had been to provide both him and my father with a significant boost in power and wealth.
Kazimir hadn’t lied about the fact he was a dangerous man. Or that he’d murdered several men. I’d been so caught up in the fantasy about him as a stupid eighteen-year-old that I hadn’t taken the time to discover who he was. Maybe if I had, things would be different.
If Kazimir had come here, why now? Why not make an appearance earlier?
It took me a little while until I found out the identity of the two men with him at the funeral. His brothers.
I’d typed in Mikhail Chertov and was rewarded with more information than about Kazimir. He’d taken over control of the empire.
Something didn’t add up to me and I couldn’t put my finger on why.
Either the man I’d thought I’d loved was dead and whoever was tracking me was doing so for another purpose, or…
He’d been imprisoned somewhere else. But where in the world could that be that news hadn’t leaked out about how he’d been arrested for anything before being sent to prison? With a man like him, the news would have circulated across the world given the power his father had wielded.
And to be labeled dead meant there wasn’t a body.
Hmmm…
With Golden at my feet, I realized that there was no way she would have reacted so strongly to both the man at the fashion show as well as to the scent inside my house if she hadn’t known the person who’d invaded my space and my life.
My heart fluttered.
Kazimir had been right that his very presence meant harm could come my way.
One reason I’d believed he’d escaped was that nothing I’d given him had been found.
I’d seen the shed months later when my father had been on a trip.
The cinderblocks had been removed. While someone had taken the time to put new ones in their place, the difference in the mortar had been easy to see.
Maybe that meant someone else had captured him.
One thing was clear. I wasn’t going to find any additional answers sitting here or my asking my father a single question. Besides, I had a shift at the coffee shop.
A nagging feeling had settled into my system.
My father had left me a message ensuring I was coming home. My mother had taken a turn for the worse.
Sitting back in the chair, I continued stroking Golden’s fur. “What do you think, baby girl? Should I risk everything to find out if we’re right?”
The way her tail thumped against the leg of the chair meant she was totally on board. Good. Because I wasn’t entirely certain I could back away now.
Seconds later, I moved toward the window, staring out as the afternoon light began to fall. There was someone standing across the street. I was certain it was a male and Kazimir’s height.
Plus, I’d felt as if I was being watched earlier. As if the man had placed cameras in my apartment. Maybe I was making something out of nothing, but…
What if I wasn’t?
I pressed my hand on the glass, the ache I thought I’d never experience again furrowing in my pussy. My skin was hot to the touch, my pulse racing.
I knew exactly who would follow me.
At least in the capacity of ensuring I was safe.
The connection we’d shared was much stronger than before.
Kazimir had killed for me and he would do so again.
In truth? I was thrilled the lengths he would go to.
What would happen when he learned the truth about all those years ago? What then?
Would I become the object of his rage?
I closed my eyes, envisioning his face, still able to feel his sensuous touch and knowing in my heart the horrible consequences I would face.