Chapter 14 Konstantin #2
That burns more than if she’d just said yes. Or no. At least that would’ve given me something to work with.
I nod to myself. Not to her. “Okay.”
Another pause. I can feel her watching me, but I don’t move. I don’t ask anything else.
If she wants to talk, she will.
But she doesn’t.
Morning comes slow and gray. I barely sleep. The sun slants through the living room as Mila wanders in, still in her pajamas, her hair wild, a blue crayon clutched in one fist.
She pauses at the kitchen table, eyes settling on Pyotr as he sits sipping coffee, quiet as a ghost.
She studies him with the blunt curiosity only children have. “You look just like Mommy,” she says. “Have I seen you before?”
Pyotr’s mouth twitches into something almost like a smile. “Maybe. I have one of those faces.”
Mila tilts her head, not satisfied, but lets it go, hopping up onto her chair. Nadya puts toast in front of her, moving carefully, shoulders tense. She doesn’t look at me, and I don’t look at her, not for long.
After breakfast, I stand up and motion for Nadya to follow me. She hesitates, glancing at Mila, at her father, then finally gets up. I lead her down the hall, past Mila’s room, around the corner into the little alcove by the utility closet.
When she tries to sidestep me, I press her back against the wall, hands braced on either side of her head. Not rough—just enough to remind her she isn’t getting away that easy.
She draws in a breath, but I see the flicker of challenge in her eyes. I can smell her shampoo, something faint and floral
“He better be gone when I get back,” I say, my voice low.
She arches a brow, stubborn. “Get back from where?”
“You tell me your truth first, and I’ll give you mine.”
She lifts her chin, her mouth a stubborn line, her pulse fluttering at her throat. We’re so close I can feel the tension strumming between us, raw and electric.
I want to kiss her until she gives in. I want to shake her until she finally lets me in.
But all I do is stare, daring her to say something—anything—that will crack this wall between us.
She looks away, just for a second, then back at me. “It doesn’t work like that,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.
“Maybe it should,” I say, and for a long moment, neither of us moves.
The back room at Viktor’s club is quiet except for the muted rattle of chips and the shuffle of cards. Smoke curls from someone’s cigar, blending with the soft lamplight and the faint thump of music from the floor below.
I sit across from Viktor at the green-felt table, cards fanned in my hand, face unreadable. Three other men play along with us—Viktor’s people, he says, the kind who know when to look away and when to pay attention.
He deals, eyes fixed on his own hand. For a few hands, we talk about nothing—a shipment in Odessa, a crooked customs agent. I fold, toss a few chips in, and watch him.
After Viktor wins a small pot, he leans back in his chair, his voice dropping lower. “You can trust everyone at this table,” he says, glancing at the others. “No one leaks from here.”
I nod.
He pushes the deck across the felt. “You ever play for blood, Konstantin?”
I raise a brow, not bothering with a smile. “I’ve played for worse.”
He grins, flashing gold. The others keep their faces blank, chips clicking quietly as bets are placed. Viktor lets the silence stretch as he looks at his cards, then at me.
“I have news,” he says, voice pitched low enough for the table alone. “Verified. Grigori’s in town.”
I don’t react, not outwardly. Inside, my pulse snaps to attention.
“And?” I ask, eyes on my own hand.
He leans in, lowering his voice another notch. “That’s not all. Alexei is here as well.”
That pulls me up straighter. I set my cards down, ignoring the small pile of chips I’ve been building. “You’re sure?”
Viktor’s mouth hardens. “I am. I’ve got men at the airport, at the hotels, at every gate worth watching. Alexei’s using a new name, but it’s him. No doubt.”
The other men keep playing as if nothing matters beyond the next hand. But Viktor’s eyes are on me, watching for my reaction.
“Why?” I say quietly. “Why the fuck would he risk coming back here?”
Viktor’s lips press together, a rare sign of unease. “Because someone took his mother.”
The words hang between us, heavier than the smoke. I can see the calculations behind Viktor’s eyes. He’s deciding if I was behind it.
“Just so you know, I had nothing to do with it.”
He shrugs. “I believe you.”
“Who knows?” I ask.
“Just the people in this room,” Viktor says. “And whoever took Ludmila. Alexei is tearing the city apart trying to find her.”
“I’ll find her before he does,” I say.
Viktor’s lip curls. “Have you considered the idea—”
“Stop,” I roar. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
“Fine,” he says. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. That’s why I vowed I would never have kids of my own.”
I sit there frowning, thumb worrying the edge of a poker chip as Viktor collects the pot. I barely register the cards in my hand. Ludmila, vanished. Alexei back in town, storming through the city, leaving nothing but questions in his wake. The club’s easy noise fades behind the pounding in my head.
Who would take her, if not us? Who else in this world would risk provoking Alexei like that?
The list isn’t long, but every name on it has blood in their ledger.
Rivals from Moscow, old allies turned sour, the kind of men who would burn down half the city for a shot at leverage.
But none of them are reckless enough to make it this personal. Not unless they’re desperate.
I play the next hand on autopilot, folding before Viktor can even glance at my face. My mind circles the same questions: Who else has reason to hate Alexei enough to target his mother? Who could get that close? Who would know exactly what she means to him, after everything?
Viktor studies me, his eyes giving nothing away. I can tell he’s thinking the same thing, watching for any flicker of guilt or knowledge I might accidentally reveal. But I keep my face blank, jaw tight.
I can’t help it—my mind flicks, just for a second, to the fresh bruises I saw on Nadya last night, the tension in her shoulders, the bandage she wouldn’t let me touch.
No. It’s not possible. She’s tough, but she wouldn’t risk everything like that. Would she? I shove the thought away. If she was the one to take Ludmila, I’d know. I’d feel it.
Or maybe that’s just what I want to believe.
I push my cards aside and look up at Viktor. “Do you have any idea who could’ve done it?”
He gives a little shrug, lips tight. “I’m hearing rumors, nothing exact. Word is, an ex-military guy was spotted near the scene. Someone not from the usual circles. The kind of man who disappears when he wants.”
“Ex-military?” That narrows the list, but it doesn’t give me a name.
Viktor sips his drink, studying me over the rim.
“How did you hear anything?” I press.
He sets his glass down. “She was stowed away at Varna Quay Suites. My people picked up chatter, someone used an old maintenance entry, bypassed security. It’s a very exclusive place, so I’m both impressed and a little scared of the people who pulled it off.”
“If it’s so exclusive, how did you find out about it?”
He gives a half shrug. “Money still works, even in that fortress. People talk if you know which hands to grease. Whoever got her out did it fast, left almost nothing behind. Not a rookie. Not a local enforcer either.”
He leans forward, lowering his voice. “Whoever did this, they were careful. They knew what they were after. And they knew how to vanish.”
I nod, but my mind is racing. An ex-military guy. Pyotr? Or is that just a coincidence?
Viktor watches me closely. “Anything you want to share, Konstantin?”
I force a neutral expression, leaning back in my chair. “Nothing concrete. Yet.”
But my pulse won’t settle. The city feels like it’s closing in, old ghosts walking the streets and everyone looking for blood.