Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Ivan
She left.
She actually left with that man again.
What the hell did he have that I didn't? Did she think Chris was better than me, more capable of protecting them?
I didn't get it.
I wanted to chase after them and demand answers. Maybe punch that pretty-boy face of his while I was at it.
My jaw locked tight, knuckles white on the steering wheel. The leather burned against my palm, hot as the way that bastard looked at me—smug, with his arm around Anna's shoulder. Heat surged through every vein in my body.
Jealousy.
I was jealous of this guy.
The three of them standing there—they looked like a real family.
The feeling slithered through me like a snake, coiling around my ribs, squeezing until I could barely breathe. I stared at their backs disappearing into the building entrance, jaw clenched so hard my muscles ached.
Chris.
What right did he have to stand beside my Anna? What gave him the privilege of making my kitten smile like that—so safe, so at ease?
I should be the one comforting her, standing by her side.
I pulled out my phone, finger hovering over the dial button. One call and Dmitri would make arrangements. Within a week, this guy could be transferred to the coldest port in Alaska, stuck digging for oil in the frozen wasteland, never to appear in front of Anna again.
Or maybe...
My thumb pressed down an inch. A darker thought surfaced, rising like silt stirred from the bottom of murky water.
Kill him.
One word from me, and by tomorrow his body would be floating in the Hudson. No one would trace it back to me.
Then no one could take my kitten away.
The thought kept circling, tightening like poison ivy around my brain. My finger was almost on Dmitri's number.
But...
Anna's face appeared without warning.
Those eyes—clear, bright, soft as warm water.
She looked at me with hurt and sadness in her gaze.
My thumb froze.
In that instant, everything went numb. I knew with absolute clarity that if I did this, it would destroy her.
Anna didn't love Chris, but that didn't mean she could accept someone vanishing from her life without a trace.
And if she ever found out I was behind it, she'd only fear me more, hate me more, weld shut the tiny crack that had finally started to open between us.
I dropped the phone onto the passenger seat.
I buried my face in my hands, the heat of my palms pressing against my eyelids. A sliver of overhead light leaked through my fingers.
In all my years, I'd never been this pathetic, this out of control.
I'd survived gunfights and bloodbaths for decades. I'd seen betrayal, walked through hell, kept everything under my thumb. Even my closest associates wouldn't dare cross me.
But with Anna, I was like a kid learning to walk, afraid to even breathe wrong.
I slowly lowered my hands, staring at the silent phone on the passenger seat for a long time.
The screen was dark, reflecting the dim yellow interior light.
Finally, I grabbed the keys and fired up the engine. The tires screeched against the pavement as I tore out of the parking spot.
I couldn't hurt her. Five years ago I'd already broken her. I couldn't push her further away.
Like a coward, I fled the street.
The car drove aimlessly until it stopped outside a bar in the old district.
I knew the owner. Strong liquor, no questions asked.
I needed a drink. Needed alcohol to drown this goddamn feeling.
Outside the bar, two young guys in black jackets straightened up when I stepped out of the car.
I ignored them and pushed through the heavy door curtain.
Inside, dim yellow light filled the space. The air smelled of tobacco and old wood. A few regulars sat scattered at the bar. No one looked up.
The bartender recognized me and set down the glass he was polishing. "Sir, what'll it be?"
"Whiskey."
He poured it neat. Deep amber liquid shimmered in the glass.
Condensation beaded on the sides. I grabbed it and drained it in one go. The burn carved down my throat and into my stomach, cutting through the pressure in my chest. The pounding in my temples eased slightly. I exhaled and set the empty glass back on the bar.
"Not bad." I tapped the rim. "Another."
I threw them back one after another. The whiskey burned, but not as hot as the jealous rage in my chest.
All I could see was Anna standing next to Chris.
Her eyes crinkled at the corners, a soft smile on her lips—a relaxed, gentle expression I'd never seen before. Around me, she was always tense, like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap or run at any moment.
After about half a bottle, my head felt heavy, eyelids drooping. But I was still alert. In my line of work, staying sharp kept you alive. No matter how much you drank, that wire at the back of your neck never loosened completely.
I knew I should leave.
The bartender slid over one last glass. "Sir, need to talk about it?"
I glanced at him and let out a low laugh. "You offer therapy now?"
The bartender kept polishing glasses. "Not therapy. Just noticed you're sitting here alone, drinking hard. Looked like something's eating at you. Boss says if a customer's hurting, we can lend an ear."
Ridiculous.
I held the glass without drinking, tapping the rim with one finger.
Outside, footsteps echoed down the empty street, then faded.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was tonight's scenes grinding through my brain on repeat. Suddenly I wanted to talk. The guy was a stranger anyway. After tonight we'd never cross paths again. Whatever I said would leave no trace in my life.
I opened my mouth, voice rough from the whiskey. "I have a friend..."
The bartender smirked. "Classic opening."
I ignored him and continued. "I have a friend who had a misunderstanding with the girl he loves. They were apart for five years. He spent all that time looking for her. When he finally found her, there was already some pretty boy in her life. They're close."
"He wants to get rid of the guy. He even..."
I looked down at the thin reflection of light in my glass. "He wants to make him disappear. Permanently. So he'd never show up in front of her again."
I paused. The alcohol's warmth mixed with the suffocating tightness in my chest, like a layer of ash that wouldn't burn through.
"Oh damn," the bartender said. "That's a dark thought."
I stared at the liquid swirling in my glass and laughed quietly. "Yeah, it's dark. So he stopped himself. Because he's afraid if she found out, it would break her heart. She'd hate him even more."
The bartender slowed his polishing. "Your friend sounds pretty devoted."
Devoted?
I chewed on the word, turning it over in my mind. It felt absurd.
Ever since I met Anna, I'd lost my mind. All that judgment, that control, that cold precision I'd honed over decades walking a knife's edge—useless.
I wasn't myself anymore. I'd become a stranger even I didn't recognize.
Outside, the rain picked up, hammering against the window. Water streaked down the glass, blurring the warm glow of streetlights.
Most of the customers had left. Just me and a couple murmuring in the corner. The bartender stacked the polished glasses on the rack, metal clinking softly in the quiet.
I reached for my drink when the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
An instinct I'd developed over decades in the underworld—danger.
I set down the glass and pulled some cash from my coat pocket, movements casual, like any regular customer settling his tab.
"Thanks for listening," I said, even managing a slight smile at the bartender. "Take care."
No need to drag innocent people into a war.
I stood and headed for the exit.
The door swung open. Cold, rain-soaked air hit my face. My hand was already reaching for the gun tucked at my back.
The "couple" by the door suddenly stood. One of them reached inside his jacket.
In the same second, I flipped the table. Wood and bottles crashed toward them.
Gunshots erupted.
I rolled behind the bar as bullets whizzed past my ear and chipped the wall, sending plaster raining down.
The bartender had already ducked under the counter, not daring to breathe.
I chambered a round behind the cover of a liquor barrel, listening to footsteps approach. Shoes crunched over broken glass.
One of them fired. The bullet grazed my arm, a searing line of pain.
I bit back a sound. The footsteps paused at the corner of the bar. He was testing.
Now—I lunged out, left hand locking onto his gun wrist and twisting hard. My right elbow slammed into the most vulnerable part of his jaw.
He went limp.
Another set of footsteps rushed from the side—fast, vicious, deadly intent. I used the unconscious body as a shield.
A muffled thud. Warm blood splattered across my cheek. I shoved the body away. In the split second he reloaded, I raised my gun and pulled the trigger.
One shot. Right between the eyes.
He fell backward, skull hitting the bar edge with a dull thud, then his body collapsed to the floor.
Silence filled the bar except for rain battering the windows.
The bartender stayed curled under the counter, shoulders trembling.
I glanced at him. My arm burned where the bullet grazed it.
"Someone will come clean this up," I said.
Then I turned and walked out.
Rain poured down in sheets.
Ice-cold drops hammered my face, running down my jaw and mixing with the cold sweat that finally broke through. Blood from my arm diluted in the rain, dripping off my fingers and blooming in small dark red flowers on the wet pavement before fresh rain scattered them.
I couldn't stop.
The alley lights glowed yellow through the downpour, blurring into soft halos. I splashed through puddles. The car door handle was ice against my palm. I struggled into the driver's seat, and the moment I leaned back, my entire right arm started shaking.
I started the engine. Tires sprayed muddy water as they hit the wet road.
The alcohol was completely gone now.
Rain hammered the windshield. Wipers swept it clear, then it flooded back again. My whole arm trembled—not from pain, not from fear. I'd seen worse hits than this. I was numb to it.
But right now I was terrified.
If they could find me at the bar, they'd been watching me for a while. They knew my weakness.
What if...
I couldn't finish the thought.
I dialed Dmitri.
He picked up after two rings.
"Man, at this hour you should be in someone's bed."
I forced the words through the pain. "I got hit. Get a doctor to the house. And clean up the scene."
Silence on the other end. Dmitri dropped the playful tone. "On it," he said, then hung up.
I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and gripped the slippery steering wheel through clenched teeth.
The wipers worked frantically, but visibility was still shit. Streetlights stretched into long blurred trails through the rain. I drove by feel back to the estate.
When the car burst through the gate, it sealed shut behind me with a low metallic clang.
The doctor was waiting in the living room.
He worked on my arm without much talk, cutting away the blood-soaked sleeve. When the antiseptic hit the wound, I ground my back teeth.
The bullet had only grazed me, missing bone. Five stitches, wrapped in thick white gauze.
"Ivan, whoever did this means business," the doctor said, packing up his tools. "Watch yourself."
I nodded and lit a cigarette. The nicotine sank into my lungs but couldn't suppress the fire in my chest.
Didn't need to guess. Sergei's people.
They'd finally made their move.
After the last purge, we'd cut their forces in half. The survivors crawled into corners to lick their wounds. Now the wounds were healed, and their teeth were sharp again.
I wasn't afraid of dying. The moment I entered this life, I'd strapped my life to my belt.
But losing Anna and the kids—that would destroy me.
I crushed out the cigarette, grinding the butt into the ashtray.
One thought kept circling—bring her here. My security was top-tier. Round-the-clock patrols, infrared surveillance covering every inch of the grounds. Sergei's people would have an easier time flying to the moon than breaking in here.
If Anna stayed here, she'd be a hell of a lot safer than in that cramped little apartment.
That apartment had an old spring lock on the door. Anyone with half a brain could pick it.
And Alex was with her—a four-year-old kid. If something happened, how would they escape?
Thinking about it made my blood boil. I wanted to drive over there right now and bring them back, lock them somewhere I could see them.
But...
Anna still pushed me away. She wouldn't come with me.
I sighed, feeling helpless.
Finally, I called Dmitri and told him to send the best men he had. Twenty-four-hour surveillance on Anna, not a second of slack.
Cameras in the apartment. Eyes on the street. Real-time tracking of her phone and location. Wherever she went, whatever she did, I needed eyes on her. No mistakes.
Long silence on the line.
Then Dmitri's voice came through.
"Boss, you sound like a goddamn stalker."
That bastard was actually calling me out.
I took a deep breath. Didn't argue.
A stalker? Fine. As long as Anna and Alex were safe, I'd be a stalker for the rest of my life.