Chapter 16
KONSTANTIN
We’re deep in the bowels of Viktor’s casino, behind two layers of locked doors and a velvet curtain that cuts out the music and laughter.
The secret room is nothing like the floor above—no gold, no shine—just soundproofed walls, a battered wooden table, two chairs, and a half-empty decanter sweating on the glass.
There’s a map of Los Angeles spread across the table, dotted with colored pins, photos of Grigori clipped to one corner, phone records stacked beside a burner cell.
Viktor slides a fresh glass toward me and points to three intersections on the map.
“We know Grigori’s last safe house was here, off Alameda,” he says, tapping the first pin.
“His driver was seen at this gas station two nights ago. And the casino? He’s been sniffing around, looking for a way to get close to our side of the business. ”
“You think he’s stupid enough to take the bait?”
“No, but he’s definitely curious about me,” Viktor says. “The fewer people who know about you and me, the better. It would allow Grigori to think that I’m a potential ally.”
I rub my chin thoughtfully. I tap one of the pictures—a grainy shot of Grigori’s car parked behind an abandoned warehouse two nights ago.
“What about Alexei’s mother? She’s another weak point.’
Viktor raps his knuckles on the table, frowning. “The streets have gone silent about Ludmila. No ransom notes, no threats. No one’s even bragging in the clubs.”
I lean forward, elbows on the wood. “That’s our advantage. If no one’s talking, we get to set the narrative.”
He studies me, swirling the ice in his glass. “How do you mean?”
“We make it look like we took her,” I say. “Not just rumors. I want eyes and ears in every club, every poker game, every message thread from here to Brighton Beach. We put it out that I grabbed her personally, that she’s under my protection. Let it spread the way things always do in this city.”
Viktor’s gaze sharpens. “You think Alexei will take the bait?”
I shake my head. “He’s not that stupid. But he’ll be curious. He’ll start sending people, sniffing around for confirmation. He’ll want to know if it’s true—if I really have her, and why I haven’t gone public.”
Viktor’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Curious is easier to predict than cautious.”
“Exactly,” I say. “We let the word get to Grigori too. He’ll think it’s leverage, maybe even an opportunity.”
Viktor sits back, considering. “And then?”
“We use the meet to triangulate Grigori’s position,” I say.
“He won’t risk showing up himself if it’s a trap, but he’ll send someone to check.
We track his messenger, follow the trail back to wherever he’s hiding Nikolai.
If we’re lucky, Alexei’s curiosity will put pressure on Grigori to act faster, or even flush him out. ”
Viktor grins, a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Dangerous as hell, but it just might work.”
I nod, my heart pounding a little harder now that there’s a path forward. “Set up the rumor. Make sure it sounds just real enough to be dangerous. I’ll take care of the rest.”
He pours another shot, slides it my way. “To dangerous games, then. May the best liar win.”
I clink my glass to his, the taste burning all the way down. There’s no going back after this. If the plan works, I’ll have Grigori in my sights. If it fails…I’m gambling with my son’s life. But right now, it’s the only move left on the table.
Viktor leads the way out of the back room, his jacket already back in place, the world of secrets locked up behind us.
The thump of music and rush of voices hit me all at once as we step onto the balcony overlooking the main floor.
Everything down there sparkles, slot machines, dresses, a sweep of dancers moving through colored lights.
The view, although artificial, never gets old no matter how many times I see it.
Anya is waiting, perched by the railing, her smile bright as headlights. The second she sees me, she’s at my side, slipping her arm through mine. “Come on, I want to show you something!” she says, tugging gently.
I glance down at her hand, gently but deliberately easing her fingers away. Her smile fades just slightly; she masks it quickly, but disappointment flickers in her eyes. I feel a pang of guilt, but boundaries are necessary—especially now.
“Lead the way,” I say politely, nodding toward the crowded room.
She walks ahead of me, guiding me to the center of the casino, where a small crowd gathers around a performance. Acrobats twist gracefully in the air, ribbons of silk spiraling down from the ceiling. Neon reflections glide over her face as she turns to me again, eyes glowing.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asks, voice softer now, more intimate.
I watch the performers, but my mind is elsewhere. “Beautiful things often hide a darker truth.”
Anya tilts her head slightly, considering me. “Is that how you see everything? Always looking for shadows?”
“It’s how I survive,” I say quietly. “When you’ve seen enough, you learn beauty is just a distraction.”
She glances away, the crowd around us murmuring appreciatively as the acrobats spin and twist. When she speaks again, her voice is gentle. “Then what brings you here, Konstantin? Distraction, or truth?”
“Maybe both,” I admit, eyes meeting hers for a moment longer than necessary. “Sometimes one can lead you to the other.”
She nods slowly, turning her gaze back to the performance.
The silence settles comfortably between us.
We’re not quite touching, but somehow close enough for me to feel the heat from her skin.
I’m careful not to cross that invisible line, but part of me feels the temptation, the pull of something simple and uncomplicated.
She hides her disappointment behind a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, but I can see it in the way her eyes dart away for a second. “You’re always so serious,” she teases, though her voice is a little quieter.
I don’t say anything as we walk between the acrobats. The hot air licks my back. I see a few people watching me, their gaze not openly hostile, but they know who I am.
“Don’t let them bother you,” she says. “They’re jealous.”
I look down at my cane. “I’m hardly a competition.”
“Looks can be deceptive,” she says lightly. She’s definitely flirting. “Besides you’re the Bratva prince, the Buryakov heir.”
“I’m hardly an heir,” I scoff. “I’m the bastard.”
“So is Viktor, but that doesn’t stop him,” she says.
“I’ve lost my hold on the city,” I say, looking away. “Nothing is as it once was.”
“I don’t believe that. Viktor trusts you,” she says. “That means something here.”
I nod, eyes always scanning. “Trust is a currency like any other. You spend it, or you save it. Sometimes you lose it all.”
She leans closer, her voice dropping so low only I can hear it. “I hope you find what you’re looking for tonight.”
I meet her gaze. Her eyes drop to my lips. She’s making her intentions known.
The crowd’s attention is still fixed on the acrobats above, the silks swirling as bodies tumble gracefully through the air. Lights flash, music swells, and for a moment I almost forget how easily danger finds its way into any celebration.
That’s when a drunken man stumbles out of the crowd, half spilling his drink, and edges too close to Anya. He grins, swaying, eyes glazed. “Beautiful show, but not as pretty as you,” he slurs, reaching for her waist with clumsy hands.
Anya recoils, her expression tense. I step in immediately, catching the man’s wrist before he can touch her. I squeeze just hard enough that he winces. “Watch yourself,” I say, my voice low and firm.
The man’s bravado cracks. He jerks his hand away, stammers something half-apologetic, and slinks back into the crowd, almost tripping over another guest.
Anya lets out a shaky breath, a flash of gratitude in her eyes.
The lights shift overhead as the acrobats begin their final, breathtaking descent, ribbons fluttering like comet tails.
In the shifting chaos, Anya staggers, the crowd pressing forward to catch a better view, and she loses her balance.
Without thinking, I catch her by the waist and steady her.
She looks up at me, breathless, her hands braced on my chest for just a second longer than necessary.
The applause swells, glittering confetti drifting down, and for a fleeting moment it feels like we’re in a world apart from everything else—just two people lost in the lights, the music, and each other.
The acrobats finish with a perfect landing, the crowd erupting in cheers.
I steady Anya on her feet, the warmth of her hands fading as the crowd’s cheers start to die down. She’s smiling, a little dazed, her hair falling loose around her face. Then, suddenly, her expression shifts. The smile falters, her gaze sliding over my shoulder, sharpening with recognition.
She leans in, voice pitched low, nudging me lightly. “Isn’t that your wife?”
The words land like a bucket of ice water.
I turn, pulse thudding, and spot Nadya just beyond the edge of the crowd.
She stands near the marble railing, dressed in a red dress that draws every eye in the room—except hers are fixed on me.
There’s a split second in which her pain is unmistakable, etched across her face, before she catches herself and masks it with a tilt of her chin, that practiced calm.
I let go of Anya’s arm, my pulse racing for a new reason.
Nadya doesn’t move, but I know her well enough to see the storm in her eyes. The crowd presses on around her, oblivious to the undercurrents around us.
For a moment, the whole casino blurs—the music, the laughter, the spinning lights—leaving only Nadya and the raw distance between us. I feel something twist hard in my chest.
Anya steps aside, suddenly quieter. “I didn’t know she’d be here,” she murmurs.
I swallow, trying to school my expression, but Nadya is already turning away, slipping back into the crowd, the shimmer of her dress vanishing between the shadows and gold.
I break away from the crowd without a word, ignoring Anya’s worried look as I move after Nadya.
She’s already disappeared into the tangle of rooms and glittering corridors.
I spot the flash of her red dress as she slips past the cocktail lounge, moving quickly, head high.
I push through groups of laughing strangers, pulse pounding in my ears, searching for my wife.
It isn’t long before my body is pressing Nadya against a wall, caging her in between my arms where she belongs. But I haven’t had enough time with her, enough time to explain. We need to talk, but not here. Not now.
Nadya leans in closer, her lips almost brushing mine, her breath warm against my mouth. Her eyes glitter, sharp with hurt and betrayal. When she speaks, her voice is a whisper only I can hear, words brushing against me like silk-edged blades.
“She’s waiting for you down the hallway.”
My brow furrows in confusion, but before I can reply, my senses sharpen, a prickle of awareness sliding down my spine. Nadya’s gaze shifts briefly past me, eyes narrowing just slightly. I follow her glance, turning my head just enough to see Anya standing there, half-hidden in shadow.
She’s watching us silently, a faint blush rising to her cheeks when our eyes meet. Her lips part, as if to speak, but she hesitates, clearly uncertain if she’s just interrupted something intimate.
I turn back to Nadya, the tension in her body now unmistakable. She stares at me coldly, accusation lingering in her eyes. “Go on,” she says, louder now, voice dripping with bitterness. “She’s clearly waiting for you.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Nadya pulls away sharply, stepping out from between my body and the wall. Her expression shutters, cool and distant again, leaving me feeling hollow and angry at how quickly our closeness shattered.
“Nadya,” I begin, my voice low, pleading.
She lifts a hand sharply, silencing me. “Don’t.”
Then she turns, walking away without another glance, heels echoing softly down the empty corridor. I’m left staring after her, fists clenched, heart hammering with frustration.
When I finally turn to Anya, she’s still frozen in place, eyes wide, looking as if she wants to apologize.
“I’m sorry, Konstantin,” she begins quietly, shifting nervously. “I didn’t mean to—”
I shake my head, holding up a hand. “Not now, Anya.”
By the time I make it outside, Nadya is already gone. The desert air feels colder, emptier, and the silence is deafening. I scan the parking lot, my pulse quickening as I search for any sign of her car, but it’s nowhere in sight.
“Dammit, Nadya,” I mutter, frustration simmering just beneath my skin as I climb into my car and head back toward the city, my mind spinning with anger and worry in equal measure.
When I finally get back to the apartment, everything feels off—the lights are too dim, the air too still. My footsteps echo on the tile as I walk through empty rooms, checking each doorway.
“Nadya?” I call out, but my voice bounces off walls, unanswered. “Mila?”
Mila’s backpack is missing from its usual spot by the door. Nadya’s jacket, the one she always grabs on her way out, isn’t hanging on the hook. My heart sinks, realization hitting me with brutal force.
They’re gone.
I slam my fist into the wall, pain blooming through my knuckles, but it’s nothing compared to the helpless ache spreading through my chest. My family—my whole world—vanished in a single night.
And this time, I don’t even know where to begin looking.