Chapter 18
KONSTANTIN
The apartment feels colder than ever, stripped bare of anything that made it home.
I move from room to room, picking up Mila’s hair tie from the floor, Nadya’s forgotten sweater still draped on the back of a chair.
The silence presses in, suffocating, broken only by the dull ache in my chest that refuses to fade.
I haven’t slept. Food turns to ash in my mouth.
I barely leave the window, hoping for headlights that never appear.
It’s the lowest point of my life. I’ve survived bullets, betrayals, exile.
But this—this is emptiness, humiliation, fear in its rawest form.
My family is gone. My son’s out there somewhere with men who want to break me.
My wife and daughter have vanished into the night. I failed them. I failed all of them.
My phone lies face down, battery dead. I’ve called every contact, bribed every street source, begged favors from men I swore I’d never owe. Nothing. No Nadya. No Mila. The silence grows heavier by the hour, pushing against my ribs until each breath feels like punishment.
Footsteps in the hallway. The lock turns and Maksim steps inside. His suit is rumpled, eyes red-shot from lack of sleep. He pauses when he sees the state of the room—and me.
“Boss,” he says softly. “I have some good news.”
I don’t bother standing. “If it’s not about Nadya and Mila, I don’t want to hear it.”
He closes the door behind him, hesitating. “We’re still running down leads, but—”
“I’ve run them,” I snap. My voice cracks on the last word. I drag a hand over my face, feel the stubble, the exhaustion etched into every line. “Unless you can put my wife and daughter right here in front of me, keep it to yourself.”
Maksim swallows, nodding once. He sets a folder on the corner of the desk anyway, but he doesn’t open it.
“I’m not giving up,” he says quietly. “Neither should you. We’ve been looking everywhere, Konstantin.
Everyone’s out—friends, crews, even Viktor’s men—no one’s seen them yet, but we’re not giving up. I swear it.”
Maksim stands his ground even as I turn away, jaw clenched, refusing to meet his eyes.
“I know you’re pissed, boss,” he says, voice steady but softer than usual. “But I’m going to say it anyway. We finally got a tail on Alexei’s alleged girlfriend—Ivana.”
My head snaps up at that. The name alone is enough to drag me out of my misery, if only for a second.
Ivana. The same woman I once thought was Roman’s, the same one Viktor’s sources tied to Alexei.
For weeks, she’s been nothing but a ghost on every camera, every record—vanishing before anyone could get close.
Maksim sees my reaction and presses on. “She’s moving around the city, not staying anywhere for long, but one of Viktor’s men got eyes on her this morning. Says she’s heading toward the port district. Looks like she’s meeting someone, but we don’t know who yet.”
My pulse quickens, just a flicker, but it’s the first hope I’ve felt in days.
“Take me to her,” I say, pushing off the window ledge, grabbing my jacket with a surge of purpose I haven’t felt in days.
Maksim hesitates, blocking the doorway just enough to make his point. “Boss, listen—this might be a trap. Especially after the rumors we’re spreading about Ludmila. Everyone’s talking. Alexei’s people, Grigori’s men, all of them assume we took her.”
“I don’t care,” I snap, moving past him. “If Ivana’s here, I need answers. If she’s involved, she knows where Alexei is—maybe even where Nikolai is.”
I stop, meeting his eyes with a look that brooks no argument. “I’m going, Maksim. With or without you.”
He swears under his breath, then gives in, already on his phone calling for the car and backup. “Alright. But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“Fine,” I mutter, pushing through the door and into the hall.
I dial Viktor as we head down the stairwell, my pulse pounding. He picks up before the second ring, his tone brisk, like he’s been expecting my call.
“Ivana,” I say. “We’ve got eyes on her near the port. I’m heading out.”
“I know,” Viktor replies, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “You want me to come with?” I open my mouth to answer, but he cuts me off. “Never mind. I’ll pick you up. Be ready.”
The line goes dead. Maksim glances at me, but says nothing as we hurry down to the curb.
Minutes later, Viktor’s black Mercedes glides to a stop in front of the building. He leans over and pushes the passenger door open. I slide in, slamming the door behind me.
Maksim raises a brow.
“Come with the others,” I say.
Viktor pulls away smoothly, merging into traffic, his eyes never leaving the road. “Maksim seems hurt.”
“He’ll live,” I say, pulling on my seat belt.
“Don’t you trust him?” Viktor asks.
I don’t reply right away.
“Okay, I get it,” Viktor says, smirking. “It’s good. We’ve much to discuss.”
“Like what?” I say, turning to him.
“Our plan is working,” he says quietly, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “The word on the street is exactly what we wanted. Alexei is paranoid, Grigori is jumpy, and everyone’s watching each other for the next move. Now Ivana surfaces, right where we can find her.”
I nod, gripping the door handle tight. “Let’s hope she leads us to what we need.”
Night crowds the windshield, docks and warehouses sliding past in streaks of sodium orange.
The port district never really sleeps, but at this hour it trades cargo cranes for liquor and neon.
Viktor threads the Mercedes through a maze of container stacks until a knot of parked cars and thumping bass tells us we’ve arrived.
A concrete club squats against the pier, lights pulsing blue through cracks in the boarded-over windows. A line of smokers huddles outside, shoulders hunched against the salt wind.
Inside, the club is packed—blue and violet lights slicing through the darkness, bodies packed tight on the dance floor, everything moving in a swirl of sound and shadows.
It takes me less than a minute to spot her.
Ivana, hair pulled back, eyes darting, leaning over the bar in a tight black dress, one hand shaking as she nurses a drink.
For a split second she doesn’t see me. Then our eyes lock—hers widen, startled, pupils blown wide with fear. She jerks upright, drops the glass, and bolts for the back of the club, elbowing through dancers, shoving past a pair of bouncers.
I’m after her in an instant, shouldering through the crowd.
People shout, stumbling aside as I push forward, every muscle focused on the fleeing shape ahead.
I see flashes of her hair, the glitter of her bracelet, the desperate look she shoots over her shoulder before she ducks down a hallway marked Private.
Someone grabs my arm, but I twist free, barely slowing. My pulse is a drum in my ears, adrenaline burning through the haze of grief and anger that’s been choking me for days. Ivana disappears around a corner and I follow, hearing her heels clatter down the narrow corridor.
You’re not getting away this time.
“Ivana, stop!” My voice echoes off metal walls. She glances back once, panic bright in her eyes, heels skidding on concrete.
She bolts left. I’m faster. I catch the edge of her jacket just before we hit an emergency door that spills us onto an open catwalk over the water. Cold air knifes through my shirt; below, black waves slap the pilings.
She twists, desperate, swinging a small knife that appears from nowhere. I grab her wrist, slam it against the railing. The blade clatters into the dark.
“Where’s my son?” My breath ghosts in the night, each word a growl.
Her pulse hammers beneath my grip. “Konstantin, I swear—I was forced—”
“Where is he?”
Footsteps pound behind me—Maksim, Viktor, maybe club security—but right now all I see is Ivana’s tear-bright eyes and the chance to end this nightmare.
“Talk,” I hiss, tightening my hold. “Or I throw you in and let the tide decide.”
I pin Ivana against the railing, the wind whipping her hair across her face. Below us the water churns, black and merciless. Her breath comes in quick, shallow bursts, eyes wide with terror.
“First you get my men killed,” I say, voice low and steady. “Good men who trusted the wrong person. You think I’m going to let you slip away because you plead?”
“I didn’t know Alexei would do that,” she cries, shaking. “I thought he loved me. He abandoned me, Konstantin. Hurting me won’t change anything.”
“Don’t tell me what will help,” I snap, tightening my grip. Her knees buckle and she collapses, clutching the hem of my jacket. The sight only fuels the anger thrumming in my chest.
Viktor steps onto the catwalk, staying just behind me. “If she has information, we should hear it before you toss her in,” he says, calm as ever. “Dead witnesses aren’t useful.”
Ivana looks up at him, then at me, tears streaking her cheeks.
Her eyes dart between me and Viktor, desperate. “I swear, Konstantin, I heard things, but I never—he doesn’t trust me anymore. He barely spoke to me after that night—after the massacre, he—he was different.”
Viktor steps in, his voice a low snarl. “She’s useless, Konstantin. Alexei left her out here to rot. Don’t waste your time.”
I glance back at him. He doesn’t flinch. “I thought you said—” I begin.
“I thought wrong. She’s obviously useless. Should have known better,” he says.
Ivana looks at Viktor, but finds no mercy. She tries anyway, clutching at my jacket. “Wait! I do know things, I heard him talking, he mentioned a ship—”
“A ship?” I echo, my voice flat. “Which ship, Ivana? Name, dock, crew, anything real.”
Her mouth works uselessly, nothing coming out but a shiver of fear. “I—I think it was in the west docks, or maybe the south, he changed plans all the time, I swear, you have to believe me. Please, Konstantin. If you let me go, I’ll find out more, I can—”
Viktor laughs, mean and cold. “She’s got nothing. He never trusted her. That’s why she’s alive.”