Chapter 20
KONSTANTIN
I lean my shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded, watching through the cracked doorway while the twins explore the makeshift bedroom we hastily arranged upstairs.
Mila twirls on the rug like the princess she swears she is, her stuffed fox tucked beneath one arm.
Nikolai sits cross-legged on the bed, tracing the pattern on the quilt, IV port hidden beneath a tiny sleeve.
It isn’t the sun-splashed nursery they deserve, but it will have to do for now.
I can already see the walls painted a softer color, bookshelves filled, windows reinforced. Grand plans. They’ll have a room worthy of them, and nothing will ever touch them again.
A throat clears behind me.
Lev stops at my side, hands in his pockets, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Fatherhood suits you, boss.”
I huff. “Spare me.”
“Can’t. Contractual obligation to tease you whenever you act sentimental.” His grin fades, professionalism sliding into place. “We have work.”
I push off the frame, closing the door gently so the latch doesn’t click. “The photos Nadya took—did you get anything?”
He nods once, leading the way down the corridor toward my study. “You’re not going to like it.”
“I never do.”
Inside the study, the scent of leather and old paper calms me in a way nothing else does. Lev spreads half-lit laptop screens and glossy printouts across the desk—the men from the SUV, frozen mid-stride in Nadya’s sharp images.
“Left one—Boris ‘Butcher’ Sotnik. Runs muscle for half the east-side crews,” Lev says, tapping the first photo. “The one with the scar? That’s Anatoly Melnic. He’s Roman’s.”
That makes me pause.
“Roman’s?” I echo.
“Yeah,” Lev says, watching my expression. “Still active. I saw Anatoly with him at that warehouse meetup six weeks ago—before the Westfield deal.”
I clench my jaw. Roman. My father’s golden boy. Official heir. The mirror of everything I was never meant to be. If his men are tailing me that means Roman has stepped out of Dmitry’s shadow and into mine.
“Roman’s sniffing around,” I say.
Lev nods grimly. “Anatoly doesn’t leave Roman’s orbit without orders. And if he’s circling your car, he’s gathering patterns, looking for soft targets.”
He taps the image. “He’s been close to Roman for years, mostly kept to the background, but not muscle. Strategic guy. He handles movement, communication, protection logistics. Seeing him trailing you—not good.”
I nod once. “If he’s sniffing around now, Roman didn’t send him by accident.”
Lev lowers his voice. “You think Roman’s starting something?”
I don’t answer right away. My mind’s already circling the possibilities, too many of them ending in blood. Roman was at the wedding. Smiling. Toasting. Playing the perfect brother. But I’ve seen him slit a man’s throat without raising his voice.
He’s not stupid enough to move without permission.
But someone might be using him.
My father’s face flickers through memory—calculating, cruel. If he’s letting Roman orchestrate surveillance, this is more than a flex. It’s a first chess move.
“He’s planning something,” I mutter.
“Your old man or Roman?”
“Roman’s the blade,” I say. “Dmitry’s the hand that guides it.”
Lev’s jaw sets. “Orders?”
“Track Anatoly, quietly. Anyone he meets, any phone calls, I want logs. And pull every scrap on Roman’s recent cash flow—who’s funding his play.”
Lev gathers the prints, tucks them under one arm. “On it. Anything else?”
My gaze flicks to the hallway that leads back to the twins’ room, to two small heartbeats that now matter more than every empire I’ve ever built. “Yes. Double the perimeter at the estate. If Roman thinks he can test my walls, I want him to meet teeth, not bricks.”
Lev’s smirk returns, wider this time. “Understood, boss. Fatherhood may suit you, but war’s still your best color.”
Lev and I are still going over the second set of surveillance photos when I hear the faint sound of heels in the hallway. The door creaks open, and Nadya steps inside.
I straighten instinctively.
Lev shuts up mid-sentence, glancing at me with a raised brow, reading my body language. I don’t say anything, but he clearly hears the message: We’re done talking about certain things.
Nadya’s eyes dart between us, then down to the papers spread across the desk. She walks in like she’s not expecting permission.
“You’re planning something,” she says. “And since it might involve my children’s safety, maybe don’t keep me on the outside.”
I don’t respond. Neither does Lev.
She plants her hands on the edge of the desk. “If we’re going to work together, you’ve got to trust me.”
Lev shoots me a sidelong glance, like he’s saying, You’re seriously letting her in on this? His mouth doesn’t move, but his expression is louder than most men shouting.
I say nothing for a moment, jaw ticking. Then: “She’s right.”
Lev huffs under his breath but shifts aside, making room for her to step between us.
“Anatoly Melnic,” I say, tapping the photo. “Scarred face. Tied to Roman.”
“Your brother,” she says.
“Half brother and not by choice,” I say ominously.
She taps Anatoly’s picture. “I saw him watching the street. He wasn’t just backup. He was leading.”
“She’s not wrong,” Lev mutters.
She’s calm in the way people are after they’ve been through fire and know they can survive it.
Her finger pauses on a second man. “This one. He looked familiar.”
“Ex-Buryakov enforcer,” Lev supplies. “Got dropped from payroll two years ago—quietly. No one knows why.”
“My father probably knows,” I mutter.
“You think Dmitry’s testing Roman?” Nadya asks, glancing sideways at me. “Or pushing him?”
I nod once. “That’s how he’s always played us. Dangles power. Sits back to see who tears the other apart for it.”
“And Alexei?”
“My father keeps him out of his business for now. But he’s young, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already taken him under his wing. He’s the spare after all,” I say.
“Somehow I can’t imagine Alexei doing what you guys do,” Nadya says. “He’s just a kid.”
“He’s my dad’s kid,” I correct her. “There’s a difference.”
“He was kind. Actually seemed polite, which was…unexpected.”
I go still. Why the fuck is she defending him?
Lev’s head snaps up, sensing it.
“You’ve met him once,” I say flatly.
She tilts her head. “And?”
“You don’t know him.”
“I know he didn’t leer at me like half the guests at our wedding.”
“I’m saying you don’t know what’s real and what’s curated.”
Her lips part slightly, and for a second, I expect another sharp remark. Instead, she just rolls her eyes and walks to the far side of the desk, flipping through another sheet like she’s bored.
But I know she caught it.
The bite in my voice. The jealousy I didn’t bother hiding.
“Jealousy’s not a good look on you, Konstantin,” she says lightly.
“I’m not jealous,” I say too quickly.
She shoots me a look that says please, then leans over the photo again. “Focus on the brother trying to kill you, not the one who smiled at your wife.”
Lev lets out a short laugh. And I think—for a moment—I might actually murder someone just to end this conversation.
Lev gets a call. “Boss, gotta take it.”
“We’re done here anyway,” I say, rubbing my jaw.
As if my father wasn’t a threat enough, now Roman?
Lev shuts the door behind him, the quiet click resonating in the sudden silence. The air thickens immediately, leaving Nadya and me alone, tension swirling between us like an impending storm.
She shifts closer, leaning her hip casually against my desk, her fingers lightly tracing over the photographs scattered there. I watch the slow movement of her hand, each gentle stroke tightening my gut. Her presence fills the room, suffocating me in the best possible way.
“So,” she says, her voice low, teasing. “Jealousy, Konstantin? Really?”
I glare, irritation rising at how easily she gets under my skin. “I’m not jealous.”
She raises a brow, her lips curving softly, the barest hint of a smile playing on them. “Your scowl says otherwise.”
I take a slow step toward her, my voice dropping to a warning growl. “Careful, Nadya.”
But her smile only grows, eyes dancing with challenge. “Why? Afraid you’ll lose control?”
I step even closer, so close now that my body almost brushes hers. I hold her gaze fiercely, my voice dipping to a rough whisper. “Around you? Always.”
The air between us ignites instantly, crackling with desire. Her breath quickens, lips parting, gaze dropping briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes. I know that look—hunger masked by defiance.
Suddenly aware of how close we’ve gotten, I start to step back, to retreat before we both burn ourselves alive again. But her hand catches my wrist—gentle yet unyielding.
“Don’t,” she whispers softly. “Don’t walk away.”
I still, pulse hammering through my veins. My voice is a tight, controlled murmur. “What do you want from me, Nadya?”
Her gaze holds mine, eyes burning, vulnerable beneath their fire. “You,” she breathes. “Right now. I need you.”
She takes my hand, guiding it boldly beneath the hem of her blouse, letting my fingers brush against the smooth, warm skin of her stomach. Her breath hitches, eyes locked onto mine.
“You need me?” I rasp, pulse racing harder, heat igniting my blood. “Or just someone to scratch an itch?”
Her fingers curl tighter around mine, guiding me higher until my palm grazes the underside of her breast. Her breath shudders, eyes darkening with need. “I need you,” she insists. “Only you.”
That breaks my restraint completely.
I push forward, gripping her hips and lifting her roughly onto the desk, scattering the papers as she gasps softly. My mouth finds hers instantly—hot, hard, possessive. Her hands knot into my hair, nails scraping along my scalp, sending electric shocks down my spine.
She kisses me back desperately, hungrily, matching every stroke of my tongue, every bite of my teeth. Her legs part instinctively, pulling me between them, her skirt bunching high around her thighs.