Chapter 12 Konstantin
KONSTANTIN
Rose’s Bistro sits at the edge of the pier, all white beams, wide windows, and quiet piano music that never seems to reach anyone’s ears.
Sunlight spills through the glass and scatters across our table as if it has nowhere better to land.
Viktor occupies the chair opposite mine, polished as ever in a tailored jacket, a glass of Bordeaux held lightly between two fingers.
Anya sits to his left, linen dress brushing her knees, blond bob neat and perfect, the same poise I noticed at the mall.
A waiter leaves fresh olives and steps away.
Viktor begins without pleasantries.
“Your warehouse was not the only one hit,” he says. “Another crew on Terminal Island lost its control room four nights earlier. Same light explosives, same surgical damage, nothing significant taken.”
I keep my hands flat on the table. “And you tie this to Grigori Vasin.”
Viktor nods once. “Vasin is testing boundaries. Alexei is merely his instrument. But there’s more.” He rests his fingertips on the glossy paper. “Do you recognize this woman?”
I turn the photo over.
My jaw tightens. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “That’s Roman’s mistress.”
Ivana.
Long legs, pale hair always pulled tight in a chignon, the kind of face that gives nothing away even when you have your hand around her throat.
The same face I saw laughing with Roman in a dozen staged photos.
The same woman who called Sergei—one of my best men—forty minutes before the warehouse was hit.
My blood heats at the memory. I take the photo now, fingers brushing the edge. The background is unfamiliar. A bar, upscale. Her body is angled toward someone just outside the frame. I don’t see his face, but I don’t need to.
“Where is this from?” I ask, voice low.
“Three weeks ago,” Viktor says. “Downtown. She was with Alexei’s men.”
I look up, slow. “She’s still alive?”
He nods. “Very much. My people have been tracking her movements for a while now. I held off saying anything until I was sure.”
I clench the photo tighter. “I thought she was Roman’s.”
Viktor frowns. “Not sure where you got that info, but she is definitely Alexei’s. He was with her the last couple of years. Roman was a smoke screen. Your brother let you believe she was his. Let you misplace your suspicion.”
The knot in my chest twists. That manipulative bastard. Alexei set me up to waste time and fury chasing shadows.
“He baited me,” I say quietly. “Fed me lies knowing I’d buy them. Knew I’d think Roman was the traitor.”
“Exactly,” Viktor says. “You were grieving. You were angry. You were easy to lead.”
“How long has she been in the city?”
Viktor spreads his hands. “Hard to say. She travels quietly. Uses cash. Stays under the radar. But she’s still here. I’m working on an exact location.”
I lean back, folding the photo once before slipping it into my inner pocket. Anya glances at me, but says nothing.
Viktor continues, “Alexei has abandoned her, from what we’ve seen. She’s vulnerable.”
“I’ll kill her myself,” I say, the words coming out flat and cold before I can soften them. “That will send a message to Alexei.”
For a second there’s silence at the table. Anya is the one who breaks it. “Easy, tiger.” Her tone is almost teasing, but she puts a hand on mine, fingers light and sure. I’m too stunned to move. When I glance down, she pulls her hand away quickly, her cheeks coloring faintly.
Viktor’s eyes flick between us, but he lets her speak.
“Alexei would want you to react first and think later,” Anya says, her voice low but steady. “He’ll expect you to go after her. He’s counting on it. But if you do, you’ll lose your only way inside. Ivana might be more valuable alive than dead.”
I stare at her, jaw still tight, but her logic cuts through my anger. I know she’s right—rage is a luxury I can’t afford, not now.
“Find her first,” Anya says softly, eyes locking with mine. “Then decide what she’s worth.”
I force a breath, and drag my hand back into my lap. It’s not about vengeance, not yet. It’s about answers.
“Alright,” I say, voice rough. “We find her. We do it smart.”
Viktor’s phone vibrates on the table, screen pulsing with a name I can’t see. He stands, murmurs something about needing to take this, and steps away, disappearing into the bright spill of sunlight near the entrance. The hush he leaves behind feels strange after the tension at the table.
For a moment, Anya and I sit in silence, the wine between us catching stray flecks of gold from the window. She glances at the view, then back at me.
“It’s beautiful here,” she says quietly, nodding toward the bay. “The way the light moves across the water. I always forget how much I miss the coast when I’m stuck in meetings.”
I follow her gaze. The water outside is bright, flecked with white boats and slow-moving gulls. “I never trust a place that looks peaceful from the outside,” I say. “There’s always something moving beneath the surface.”
She smiles faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not wrong. But sometimes it’s worth pretending, even for an hour.”
Viktor returns, slipping his phone into the pocket of his blazer. His face gives nothing away, but his tone is brisk. “I have to leave,” he says, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Something’s come up that needs my attention.”
I nod once, not asking questions I know he won’t answer.
“But don’t let that stop you,” he adds, looking between me and Anya. “Enjoy the lunch. The bill’s taken care of.” With a faint smile, he nods and walks off without another word.
I glance at Anya. She doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, she looks more relaxed now that her brother’s gone. She tips back the last of her wine, then signals to the waiter for another bottle.
“Looks like it’s just us,” she says.
“I’ve had worse company,” I admit.
She laughs, but doesn’t push the compliment.
The next few minutes pass more easily than I expect.
We talk about everything and nothing. She mentions a trip to Spain, I comment on the local contractors dragging their feet on a warehouse renovation.
It’s casual, low stakes. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe.
Anya doesn’t talk to fill the silence. She doesn’t pretend to understand the weight I carry. And that, more than anything, makes it easier to speak.
She tears off a piece of bread. “You look less tense now that Viktor is gone.”
“Viktor keeps everyone tense,” I say. “Including himself.”
She smiles, eyes soft. “So do you.”
I shrug. “Occupational hazard.”
She studies me, not pushing. The silence is comfortable, which surprises me. She’s the first person outside my own family who seems to read the space around my words instead of the words alone. It feels easy to speak.
“It was Nikolai’s birthday last week.”
A pause, but not a heavy one. “That’s your son. The one who was taken.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” she says simply, and somehow it doesn’t feel empty.
“Mila and Nikolai are twins, you see. I brought her out to the park the other day,” I say, “thinking it might do her good. She smiled for the first time in weeks.” I set my glass down, turning it slightly. “Nadya said we should let her have something normal. A party. For the sake of it.”
“And did it help?”
“A little.” I pause. “But the thing is…it doesn’t matter what we do. There’s always this…wall between us now. Me and Nadya.”
Anya tilts her head. “You don’t strike me as the type to let people get close in the first place.”
“I let her in,” I say. “And I still feel like I’m losing her.”
She doesn’t speak right away, and I’m grateful for it. I don’t want comfort. I want someone who sees it clearly.
I lean back. “She never says it, but I know she blames me.”
“For your son?”
“For everything,” I admit, eyes still fixed on the wine in my glass. “For not stopping it. For not seeing it coming. For being the one who made enemies in the first place.”
“Does she say that out loud?”
“No.” I breathe out. “But it’s in the silences. In the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.”
Anya doesn’t pity me. She just nods. “Then maybe you should be the one to say something first.”
I lift the glass to my lips, letting the wine sit there for a moment.
“Maybe,” I say.
Anya shifts slightly in her seat, pulling her legs beneath her as if we’re at a quiet café rather than one of the most exclusive restaurants on the bay. She rests her elbow on the back of the chair and studies me—not like she’s assessing or reading between lines, but like she’s just…present.
She picks up her glass again and takes a slow sip. “You and Viktor. You’re not exactly cut from the same cloth.”
I smirk. “That obvious?”
“Painfully,” she says. “He’s always five moves ahead. You, on the other hand…you seem like someone who wants the board flipped over altogether.”
That gets a short, quiet laugh from me. “Not wrong.”
“And yet,” she continues, “you’re playing the game. Coming to his club. Accepting lunch invitations. Sitting across from me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
I arch a brow. “Are you always this blunt?”
She smiles. “Only with people I like.”
I don’t respond right away. The truth is, I don’t know what to make of her.
“And your brother?”
“What about him?” she asks.
“Do you like working with him?” I realize that’s a bold question.
Anya watches me for a while, her head tilted. “He means well. But he’s the type who always assumes he knows what’s best.”
“That’s most men in power.”
“Exactly.” She lifts a brow. “And yet, here you are. Sitting quietly. Listening.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “Don’t mistake silence for sainthood.”
“No,” she says, eyes locked on mine. “But I do think you carry a heavier burden than most. You’re not as cold as you pretend to be.”
That catches me off guard more than it should. I sit back, running my finger along the rim of my glass. “You get all that from an hour of small talk and bread?”
“I watch people,” she says. “It’s a habit.”