Chapter 15 Nadya #2
Arman sighs, almost bored, and rolls her sleeve back.
He presses the knife’s edge to the inside of her forearm, the flesh paling around the contact.
Then, without looking away, he pulls a short, shallow cut.
Blood wells up, thin and bright. Ludmila screams, high and sharp, the sound slicing through the warehouse.
Katya flinches, knuckles whitening around her medical bag, but she doesn’t move.
“I don’t know!” Ludmila wails. “Please, please—”
Arman dabs at the blood with a rag, presses the tip of the blade to another patch of skin. “You will,” he murmurs. “Or we keep going.”
She sobs, shaking uncontrollably. For a moment, the knife hangs in the air, and the only sound is her gasping, pleading.
I can’t take it anymore. I can’t stand the sound of Ludmila’s screaming, so I slip out of the warehouse and into the pale morning light.
The sky is a washed-out blue, the air cool on my arms. I hug myself tightly, trying to push the memory of the knife and her pleading from my mind.
I’m not sure which is worse—what’s happening to her, or what I’m becoming.
The lot is quiet. Somewhere in the distance, a gull shrieks, and the city moves on as if nothing brutal is happening behind these walls.
A few moments later, I hear Arman’s steps crunch across the gravel. He joins me, lighting a cigarette, his face as unreadable as ever.
He doesn’t look at me right away. “Did you manage to slip in the tracking device?”
I nod, still staring out at the empty street. “Yeah. I haven’t checked it yet.”
“You might want to find out,” he says quietly. “Things are moving fast.”
I fish my phone out of my jacket and bring up the app. I can see Konstantin’s location already drifting north. I almost laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “He’s not stopping,” I murmur.
Arman glances at me, eyes tired. “He’s like you that way.”
I tuck the phone away, unsure if that’s a compliment or a warning. “What are we going to do with Ludmila?” I ask. “Do you think bringing her here is going to hurt Nikolai?”
He takes his time answering, gaze turned toward the water beyond the chain-link fence. “If Alexei finds out she’s in our hands, things could get ugly. But I don’t see another way. She’s the only leverage we have left.”
I shiver, but not from the cold. “Do you think she’ll talk?”
“She’ll break eventually,” he says, voice flat. “Everyone does.”
I stare down at my boots, swallowing the guilt that rises every time I hear her scream from inside. “And if she doesn’t?”
Arman shrugs, flicks ash to the ground. “Then we keep her alive as long as she’s useful. After that, it’s your call.”
I nod, but doubt sits heavy in my stomach. “I hope you’re right.”
He studies me, then flicks his cigarette away. “Don’t hope, Nadya. Stay ready. It’s the only thing that’s ever saved us.”
I wrap my arms tighter around myself, watching the traffic move in the distance, trying to remember who I was before all of this began.
Arman watches me for a moment, squinting into the sun. “Are you really not curious where your husband disappears off to?” he asks. “I thought that was the entire point of you asking for the tracking device.”
I shake my head, hugging myself tighter. “I feel icky tracking him,” I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I know why I did it, but still. He’s my husband.”
Arman raises his brows but doesn’t push. He just waits. Curiosity gnaws at me anyway. I open the app and watch the blinking dot for a moment. It’s not in the city anymore—Konstantin’s location shows up on a stretch of empty highway, somewhere out in the desert, miles from anywhere.
“That’s odd,” I murmur, more to myself than him.
I slide the phone back into my pocket and turn toward the warehouse. Arman flicks away his cigarette and doesn’t follow.
Inside, the shadows are thick, and Ludmila’s sobs have gone quiet. Dima glances up from his laptop as I approach. “You need something?” he asks.
I nod. “I need you to help me figure out where Konstantin is. Something’s not right.”
Dima nods, and quickly helps me find the information I need. Konstantin’s AirTag is headed toward Viktor Sokolov’s casino.
I stare at the screen, jaw clenched. Konstantin warned me, more than once, to stay away from Viktor Sokolov and anything tied to that club.
The thought burns through me, twisting somewhere low in my gut.
For all his demands for honesty, Konstantin is the first to run off and keep his secrets.
My mind flashes, unbidden, to that day I saw him at the restaurant—Konstantin laughing with that girl, Anya, sunlight catching in her hair as she leaned in close.
I swallow down the bitterness. Maybe I shouldn’t care, but I do.
It’s easier to focus on the present. I push the tracker out of my mind, but the image lingers, a half-truth, a secret meeting, a version of my husband I’m starting to recognize less and less.
I don’t say a word to Dima or Rifat. I just slip out of the warehouse as soon as no one’s looking.
The morning sun is already climbing, painting everything in flat gold and long shadows.
I drive straight across the city, my mind spinning over every possibility—Konstantin’s secrets, Viktor’s club, the girl at the restaurant.
I stop at a little boutique off the main road, walk out with a dress in the kind of deep red that makes a statement, and a fresh tube of lipstick.
In the car, I change quickly, brushing my hair out in the rearview, hands shaking more than I’d like to admit as I dab concealer over the faint bruise on my cheek.
I stare at my own reflection for a moment, eyes hard. If he can play this game, so can I.
As I pull onto the main road, I grab my phone and call Pyotr. He answers on the third ring.
“Dad, I want you to keep an eye on Mila for a few hours,” I say, voice low, glancing at the mirror to look at the car that’s been behind me for too long.
He sighs. “I don’t think your husband’s bodyguard likes me very much.”
“Maksim won’t bite. Please, just do it for me.”
There’s a pause, then he relents. “Fine. I’ll watch her.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, relief loosening the tightness in my chest for just a moment.
I hit the freeway with the sun already sinking low over the desert. The city’s sharp lines fade in the rearview mirror, the landscape stretching out into endless gold and dusky purple. My phone is silent. I don’t tell anyone where I’m going.
The dress feels tight at my waist, my pulse even tighter.
I keep my eyes on the road, but every few minutes I check the mirror.
There it is—a dark sedan, far enough back not to seem suspicious, but never quite dropping away.
At first I try to tell myself it’s just another car, another nervous driver.
But as the miles tick by and the road empties, the sedan lingers.
It gets darker, the sky turning indigo, the casino’s neon glow barely visible on the horizon. I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ache. I consider turning around, calling Dima, even just pulling over, but I keep going, refusing to let fear win.
Just before I turn onto the winding drive that leads to Viktor’s casino, the sedan falls away. One blink, it’s in my mirror. The next, it’s gone. I slow, searching the shadows between sagebrush and moonlight, but the car has vanished.
A shiver crawls up my spine. Whoever they are, they’re not ready to follow me onto Viktor’s turf. They might be reckless, but they’re not stupid. Maybe even scared.
I park near the entrance, my heart pounding, the air thick with desert heat and adrenaline.
The moment I step out of my car, the desert air feels electric, buzzing with anticipation and something darker, older than luck.
The casino rises out of the sand like some mirage, glass and gold and neon, sprawling wide beneath the stars.
Towers gleam against the night, every window blazing with warm, expensive light.
The front entrance is ringed by a half-circle of palm trees and luxury cars, valets in black and gold uniforms ushering guests forward like it’s nothing to be stepping into another world.
I square my shoulders, walk up the steps, and the doors swing open to swallow me whole. The air inside is cool, heavy with perfume and the faint scent of expensive cigars. It’s loud, a rich, pulsing noise, music and voices layered over the constant hum and chime of slot machines.
Every surface glitters—gold trim on the high ceilings, marble floors veined with something like copper, crystal chandeliers casting soft, amber halos over the card tables. There’s no obvious security, but I feel it, eyes on me from somewhere up high, hidden in the details.
I stand for a moment, letting it all wash over me.
I’ve never seen anything like it. This is Viktor’s kingdom, and everyone here seems to know their place.
Women in diamonds and tailored dresses glide past on the arms of men in silk suits.
Dealers in tailored vests call out bets, raking chips across velvet with smooth, practiced hands.
At the center, a vast bar curves beneath a mezzanine, bottles lined up like jewels.
My heart pounds as I move deeper inside, trying to look like I belong.
I catch glimpses of private rooms, guarded doors, a back staircase that promises something less legal upstairs.
I fix a faint smile on my lips and keep walking, heels tapping over marble, eyes scanning for Konstantin or anyone who might help—or hurt—me.
For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to just get lost here, to be someone who came for the thrill and not the answers.
But I’m not here for luck or for play. I’m here for my husband, and whatever truth this palace of gold and secrets is hiding tonight.