Chapter 14 Konstantin
KONSTANTIN
She’s good. Too good.
She walks away with a sway in her hips like she’s unaffected, like the heat between us hasn’t settled into every breath we take—but I saw the way her fingers tightened around the grip. I saw how steady her hands were.
She missed that shot on purpose.
I watch her disappear around the edge of the house, sunlight catching in her hair, and for a moment I’m still holding the scent of her perfume in my lungs.
I unload the chamber, reset the target, but I don’t shoot. Not yet.
The next shot slices clean through the center of the target, but it doesn’t bring the satisfaction I want. My blood’s still hot from Nadya’s body pressed against mine. Her voice. Her scent. Her lies.
“She’s not what she seems,” I mutter to myself.
“You talking to the gun now?” Lev’s voice cuts across the clearing.
I turn. He’s walking toward me, sleeves rolled, sunglasses on, a bottle of water in one hand. I don’t answer.
“You missed,” he says dryly, nodding toward the bullseye I haven’t touched since Nadya left.
“I was thinking,” I reply, ejecting the magazine and handing him the gun.
“That’s always dangerous,” he mutters, taking it from me.
I don’t smile. “She handled that pistol too well.”
Lev lifts an eyebrow. “The bride? I thought she was just nervous. You’ve got that effect on people.”
“She wasn’t nervous,” I say flatly. “She was pretending to be.”
He stares at me for a beat. “You sure?”
“She missed deliberately. Someone taught her to use a gun, Lev. Someone trained her.”
Lev exhales, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s Pyotr’s daughter. Maybe one of his goons—”
“She didn’t grow up with Pyotr,” I cut in. “He only brought her back when he needed a bargaining chip. Before that, she was gone for years. Abroad.”
“Where?”
“That’s what I need you to find out.”
Lev narrows his eyes. “You want me to dig through years of her life? Quietly?”
I nod once. “No chatter. No records flagged. I want to know where she went, who she lived with, who taught her to shoot like that.”
“She might just be street tough,” Lev mutters. “You’re looking for ghosts.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I say, my voice colder now.
“You think she’s working for someone?”
“I think she’s been hiding a lot more than she lets on.”
Lev doesn’t respond right away. He walks up to the target and pulls it down, inspecting the bullet holes. “So you think Pyotr sent you a trojan horse?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think Pyotr knows what she is. He thinks he sent me a lamb. But she’s got teeth.”
Lev tilts his head. “You’re not rattled, are you? I thought you liked difficult women.”
When I don’t reply, Lev studies me, the silence stretching between us.
“Look,” he finally says, “if you think she’s dangerous—”
“I don’t think she’s a threat,” I interrupt. “But I don’t like being lied to.”
He exhales through his nose. “Alright. I’ll poke around.”
“And Lev?” I add as he turns to leave.
“Yeah?”
“She doesn’t know I’m watching. Let’s keep it that way.”
As Lev disappears into the trees, I unload the rest of the magazine into the last target until the metal frame sways, torn through the chest.
Then I walk away.
The estate’s private drive curves down toward the west wing—a separate building behind reinforced iron gates. Not many know what it houses. Those who do never talk about it.
The moment I step inside, silence falls.
Two of my lieutenants rise from their chairs. Anton nods once. He’s the muscle, brutal and efficient. Maksim follows a second later—he’s leaner, meaner, the brains behind half of our international logistics.
They’re both waiting.
“Is it done?” I ask.
Maksim pushes a folder toward me. “The shipment from Odessa docked two hours ago. We routed it through Jakarta like you asked.”
I skim the manifest. Weapons. Modified tech. A coded note that confirms the deal with the Turks has held—for now.
“And the drop to the Mexican side?”
“Delayed,” Anton says. “Cartel wants more cash for safe passage.”
I look up. “They were already paid.”
“They think you’re distracted. Marriage and all.”
A cold laugh escapes my throat. “Then they’ve forgotten who they’re dealing with.”
They exchange a glance. “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Two of the containers were flagged in Tijuana,” Maksim says.
“Flagged by whom?”
“That’s the thing,” Anton says, arms crossed. “Mexican military didn’t touch them. They were tipped off—by someone else. Higher.”
I stare down at the map of the western corridor. A red blinking marker flashes at a point near Mexicali.
“They’re testing us,” I mutter.
“Who?” Maksim asks, confused.
I lean against the edge of the table, folding my arms. “My father,” I say simply.
A beat of silence passes between us.
“You think he’s pushing the cartel to apply pressure?” Anton asks.
“I know he is. He’s not coming at me directly. Not yet. But he wants to disrupt the supply routes, scare the buyers, ruin my credibility in the network.”
Maksim clicks his tongue. “Smart move. That way if anything burns, it doesn’t trace back to him.”
I smile coldly. “He taught me well.”
I grab my phone, dial a number I haven’t used in months.
A deep voice answers in Spanish. “Who’s this?”
“Tell Ramos he gets one warning,” I say in perfect, emotionless Spanish. “If my goods don’t cross by midnight, I burn his northern routes to the ground. Then I send his men back to him in crates.”
Silence. Then: “Entendido.”
I hang up.
Anton grunts. “Subtle as always.”
“I don’t do subtle,” I say.
The real power isn’t in who you claim—it’s what you do with them.
I close the folder, push it back. “Keep the Turks happy for another week. Then cut them loose. Quietly.”
“You sure?” Maksim asks. “They’ve been loyal.”
“For now. But loyalty is leverage. And I don’t give second chances.”
They nod and begin to clear the table. I walk to the window, staring out past the private runway at the back of the estate.
The Bratva thinks I’m a bastard playing king. They have no idea I built this empire while they slept. And now I’ve got a wife who doesn’t flinch at blood and a father who wants me dead.
Perfect.
Let them all come for me. I’m ready.
Anton frowns. “He wouldn’t use Ramos. The old man’s more of a brute-force type.”
“Exactly.” I drag a hand over my mouth. “He’s trying to provoke a reaction. Delay a shipment, threaten an alliance. See what I’ll sacrifice when the pressure mounts.”
Maksim steps closer. “He wants to make you look unstable.”
“He wants to remind everyone I don’t belong.” That I’m a bastard. That I clawed my way into a throne that was never mine to take. I tap the red blinking dot again. “How long until the Ukrainian drop?”
“Eighteen hours.”
I nod. “Double the guards. Set up blind comms to intercept any chatter near Ramos’s checkpoints. I want to know if Dmitry’s voice shows up in their ears.”
“Understood.”
Anton and Maksim are more than capable of dealing with this. But still, a coil of unease twists in my gut. Dmitry’s reach is deeper than anyone realizes. Every move I make is a ripple in water he thinks he owns.
He used to say blood defines power. That without it, you’re just shadow.
What he doesn’t understand is—shadows don’t bleed. They bury you quietly, then vanish. I am one.
Still his brutal tactics are an indication that something else is coming.
I stare out the window again, at the private airstrip that gleams under the sun like a blade. Then at the black SUV parked under the far tree line. Nadya’s window is still cracked open upstairs.
Let him try.
He’s not the only one who knows how to carve up an empire.
I’m halfway through reviewing another list of dock clearances when I hear the gravel shift outside.
Lev’s boots.
He walks in like he owns the place—tired, slightly rumpled, but eyes raking in everything. He doesn’t waste time.
“So I’ve been looking into her past. She spent a considerable amount of her late teens and early twenties at various locations in Europe with her extended family. In fact, she was in Barcelona the same time you were six years ago.”
“Well, we never crossed paths so that’s not important,” I say. “Tell me something worthwhile.”
“I did find something that happened more recently,” he says, dropping a file on the table with a soft thud.
I stare at it. “Go on.”
“She received a sizable transfer three days ago. From a personal account—guy named Vadim Polzin. Low profile, but tied to a gambling ring in Brighton Beach.”
“She didn’t keep the money,” Lev continues. “It was wired out within the hour to someone else. Name on the transfer was Irina Valenkova.”
That name is foreign to me.
“Who’s Irina?” I ask.
Lev lifts a shoulder. “Best we could find, she’s not tied to Bratva. No priors, no paper trail. Civilian address. And get this—she works as a private caretaker.”
“Caretaker?”
“Yeah. Lives in a modest apartment across town. No red flags, no affiliations. But this Irina’s number shows up in Nadya’s call logs almost daily.”
“Is that all?”
Lev hesitates. “No.” I look up at him. “There’s more.” He crosses his arms, jaw flexing. “The night she ran from the rooftop party, we tracked her GPS briefly before it went dark. She stopped near a children’s hospital. Didn’t stay long. Less than a few hours. But that’s where she went.”
A beat of silence.
I rise from my chair slowly. “Tell me the name of the hospital.”
Lev doesn’t flinch. “Crescent Memorial Hospital. It’s pediatric care.”
“I want everything you can find on Irina Valenkova,” I say, voice like glass. “Where she lives. Who she works with. And I want to know why Nadya went to that hospital.”
Lev nods. “You think…she’s hiding something? A lover perhaps?”
His question grates at my skin. I don’t answer.
I’m already moving. “We’re going to find out soon enough.”