Chapter 27 Nadya
NADYA
I kneel beside the narrow bunk, my knees pressed into rust-flaked metal. Nikolai’s head rests in my lap, his skin hot and dry. I stroke the tangled hair from his forehead.
“You’re okay, baby,” I whisper, keeping my voice steady for him even though my hands shake. “Mama’s here now. You’re okay.”
His eyes flutter, unfocused. Each breath is shallow, but it’s there.
I run my palm down his arm, searching for track marks or bruises. Nothing fresh. Whoever dosed him wanted him quiet, not broken. I reach for the canteen in my pack, trickle a few drops onto his lips. He swallows, a weak reflex, but it gives me hope.
“It’s just us for a minute,” I murmur, brushing grime from his cheek. “I’m going to get you out. Just hold on.”
He shifts, a small sound escaping his throat. My heart cracks, but I force calm into every movement. I slide my coat under his head like a pillow, then rise and test the iron door.
I rest my head against the door and memories of the last few months flood my mind.
I’m back at Viktor’s club. The bass rattles the floor.
Strobing lights catch Konstantin just ahead.
His arm is around Anya, her hand curved against his chest, both of them framed in crimson and gold.
The sight punches the air from my lungs.
My pulse races; jealousy and doubt flood my thoughts.
I turn sharply, pushing through the crowd, desperate for the door and some breath that is not thick with perfume and music.
I press my palms to the brick, fighting tears. Footsteps follow. Konstantin’s voice cuts through the ringing in my ears.
“Nadya, wait.”
I keep my back to him, shoulders rigid. He catches my arm, turning me gently but firmly. His eyes search mine, earnest and intense.
“You have to trust me,” he says, voice low. “It’s not what it looked like.”
I shake my head, words stuck behind a surge of hurt. He steps closer, palms open in a gesture of surrender.
“She slipped. I caught her. That’s all.”
The anger drains, leaving only exhaustion. I swallow hard. “I trust you,” I whisper, the confession soft but certain.
“But we can’t talk here,” he murmurs, glancing over his shoulder toward the club. “There are eyes everywhere. Ears too.”
He’s right. I see Anya waiting for him already.
I do trust him. And if Konstantin wants to pretend to trust her, I’ll need to play a part.
On cue, I shove him back, hard enough that he stumbles. I pull on the hurt and anger I felt earlier, letting it color my voice. “She’s clearly waiting for you.”
Without waiting for his response, I turn down the dim corridor that leads to the side exit, heels clicking too fast on the sticky floor.
My phone vibrates ten minutes after I leave the club.
Unknown number: Giacomo’s, back room. We need to talk. No one will see us.
Giacomo’s sits on a quiet side street, the kind of place with handwritten menus and a single tired waiter. I slip through the front, nod at the host, and head to the rear booth he reserved. Red candles gutter on checkered cloth, throwing long shadows over cracked plaster walls.
Konstantin is already there, jacket draped beside him, two untouched espressos cooling between us. I slide into the booth, keeping one eye on the doorway.
“Talk,” I say, crossing my arms.
He leans forward, forearms on the table, voice low. “Viktor is feeding Alexei. I’m almost sure of it. He keeps pushing me toward someone called Grigori, claims the man supplies Alexei with guns and safe houses. I did my own digging.”
I watch the light shift across his features, the line of his jaw tight. “And?”
“Grigori is a ghost,” he answers. “No records, no phone trails, no sightings. There is no evidence this man exists. Alexei uses real monsters, not imaginary ones. Viktor is baiting me with shadows.”
“Baiting you why?” I ask, leaning closer.
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure yet. Viktor claims he wants the city to see strength, but the timing is wrong. Alexei profits every time we turn on each other. Viktor knows that.”
I reach for the water glass, buying a moment to think. Konstantin keeps talking, voice low and steady.
“I traced the bank accounts Viktor showed me. They lead nowhere. Shell companies closed last year, addresses that never existed. He’s setting traps. Either to stall me or to push me toward something worse.”
I study him in the dim backroom light. “You think Viktor is working alone?”
“No,” he says, fingers drumming once against the tabletop. “Someone stands behind him, but he keeps that name close. Whoever it is, they hold enough leverage that he would risk everything.”
Konstantin’s fingers tighten around the espresso cup, the silence stretching as he stares at the table like the words might rearrange themselves, like the truth might soften in the dark.
“There’s something else I suspect,” he says at last, voice low. “Have suspected for a long time.”
I lean in, heart thudding. “What is it?”
He lifts his gaze, and for a second I see the man behind the power—the one who’s been unraveling this knot thread by thread, even as the rope tightens around his throat.
“I think Alexei is dead.”
The breath leaves my lungs like a blow. “What?”
“There’s no news on him,” he says, his voice steady but edged with something close to disbelief. “No chatter. No sightings. My sources can’t find him, and I’ve used every name I trust. It’s like he vanished.”
“Vanished how?” I ask, though I already know.
“Like a ghost,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “But that’s starting to feel almost impossible. No one disappears like that without help. Without planning.”
My skin goes cold. “Nikolai?”
“He’s still alive. That I’m sure of.” He says it with the same conviction he used when swearing to protect us. “But something bigger is at play here, Nadya. Something none of us are seeing.”
The room tilts slightly, or maybe it’s just me, reeling under the weight of his revelations. Alexei…gone? But everything—the ambush, the chase, the messages—all pointed to him. I bite down the rising nausea and shake my head.
“I can’t go home now,” I say quietly.
He looks up, alarm flaring in his eyes. “What?”
“They’re trying to break us,” I whisper. “If Viktor is against you, then he’s putting his sister up to it too. What happened tonight…that should be proof enough.”
His jaw clenches. “You think Anya was part of it?”
“I know she was,” I say. “She wants to tear us apart. And she’s not alone. They all want us fractured—because together, we’re a threat. Apart, we’re easier to control.”
He exhales, the sound sharp, bitter. “So, what then? What are you suggesting?”
I meet his eyes across the table, the idea already taking root.
“A show,” I say. “We give them what they want. They want lies, betrayal, heartbreak? Fine. We make it public. We split. I walk out. You spiral. You and I fall apart on the outside. We make it look real, make them confident. Let them believe they’ve won.”
He searches my face, suspicion and hope warring in his eyes. “You want to beat them at their own game.”
I nod, feeling the plan click into place, the fear giving way to something sharper. “Exactly. Let them watch us break—let them think it’s over. And when they least expect it, we strike back, together.”
The door groans open, and I instinctively shield Nikolai behind me. My fingers tighten around the knife. The light overhead flickers once before sputtering into a dim, sickly yellow.
Anya steps through, her heels clicking softly against the rusted floor.
“Surprise, surprise,” she says, voice dripping with amusement.
She doesn’t make my stomach drop, but the man behind her does.
“Dimas,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t meet my eyes. His shoulders are rigid, hands clenched at his sides. His face is pale, mouth drawn, eyes fixed on the floor like it’s the only solid thing left in his world.
“I knew Kirov would be stupid enough to get himself caught,” Anya drawls. “He was always the stupid one. And I knew you’d take his phone to someone you trust. An old friend. You’re predictable, Nadya. Sweet, loyal, naive. I needed someone to lure you here, and you walked right in.”
“Why, Dimas?” I ask. “That’s all I want to know.”
His jaw twitches. He glances up at me, just briefly, and there’s a storm in his eyes. Guilt, rage, heartbreak.
“They killed Katya,” he says, his voice cracking. “We were supposed to run away. Leave the whole thing behind. I loved her. And after everything she did for the team—for all of us—no one mourned her.”
Anya laughs, the sound high and bright and cruel. “See, Nadya? You and I—we’re not that different. We both use people to get what we want.”
I shake my head slowly, disgust rolling in my gut. “You sank your poisoned claws into him.”
She tilts her head, smirking. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get what I want.”
My grip on the knife tightens.
Over her shoulder, Dimas still won’t look at me. His hands tremble now.
Anya’s smirk flickers for the first time.
“You know,” I say, voice low, even, “it’s ironic when you think about it. You’ve got Dimas wrapped around your finger, mourning Katya like some tragic saint, but he doesn’t even know the truth, does he?”
Her eyes narrow.
“The plan was never to get Ludmila out, was it?” I ask her.
Anya’s jaw tightens.
“You needed chaos. Distraction. And Katya? She was just the right kind of collateral damage. You knew what you were doing. You sent them in knowing they wouldn’t all come back.”
Anya laughs, but it’s forced now. “You give me too much credit.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, my voice cold. “I’ve finally learned not to underestimate people like you.”
Behind her, Dimas turns sharply. “What is she talking about?”
“Don’t,” Anya says. Her eyes burn as they lock on mine, and behind her, three men with rifles stand like shadows, boots thudding against the rusted floor.
But it’s too late. I see it in his eyes—the doubt. The seed I just planted sinking in, curling around whatever loyalty he thought he had left.