Chapter 25 Kazimir
KAZIMIR
Imake it three blocks before reality crashes down on me, and I pull into an alley, nearly spinning out as I do.
I don't know where they've taken her. Don't know who "they" even are, not for certain. Svetlana’s father is the obvious suspect, but it could be Iosef coming after her again.
I try to breathe through the panic clawing at my throat. My phone is still clutched in my other hand, the screen dark now, but I can still see that photo burned into my retinas. Svetlana's face, pale with fear. The ropes binding her wrists. The gag cutting into her mouth.
Our child inside her, helpless and unprotected.
I want to put my fist through the windshield, scream until my throat is raw. I want to tear this entire city apart brick by brick until I find her.
But rage won't save her, and neither will panic. I need help. Real help. The kind of resources and manpower I don't have on my own.
I need Ilya.
The thought makes my stomach turn to ice. Going to Ilya means confessing everything. Every lie, every secret, every moment I've spent with Svetlana while pretending to be his loyal soldier. It means facing his rage, his sense of betrayal. It means accepting whatever punishment he deems appropriate.
It might mean my death.
By every law we live by, I deserve it. I've betrayed his trust, compromised the organization's security, created exactly the kind of vulnerability that could bring everything crashing down. If our positions were reversed, I would have put a bullet in my own head without hesitation.
But if I die, who will save Svetlana?
The thought crystallizes in my head, and I make a decision. I'll go to Ilya. I'll confess everything. And if he decides to kill me for it, I'll only ask one thing: that he saves her first. That he gets her and our child to safety before he pulls the trigger.
I can live with dying. I can't live with failing her.
I shoot him a text, telling him I’m coming back and that we need to talk. His message comes back short and brief.
I’ve already taken care of the problem. Meet me there anyway.
By the time I get back, I see his men cleaning up whatever I was supposed to help him with. My hands are shaking on the steering wheel as I park, and I stare at the rusted front of the warehouse, realizing that this might be one of the last things I ever see.
I get out of the car and make myself move forward. One foot in front of the other. I find Ilya inside, in a large central room where men are balling up tarps and walking out. The room smells acrid, like blood and worse.
"Kazimir." His voice is neutral, but his eyes are sharp. "What the fuck is going on? I call you, you show up, turn around and leave, and then come back? What the fuck was that message?”
"We need to talk." My voice comes out rough, my throat feeling as if it’s scraped raw. "I fucked up. I fucked up so badly, and now she's—" The words catch in my throat. "They have her, Ilya. They have her and the baby, and I need your help."
His eyes narrow. “Who? That woman you made breakfast for? A baby… what the hell, Kazimir–”
“No.” I shake my head, swallowing hard. “Svetlana.”
Silence. Ilya's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his eyes, and his expression turns hard and dangerous.
"Sit down," he says.
"I can't—"
"Sit. Down."
I sit, perched on the edge of the nearby chair like I might need to bolt at any second. My leg bounces with nervous energy, my hands clenching and unclenching on my knees.
Ilya looks at me, studying me with a cold calculation that I’ve hoped would never be turned on me. “What the fuck are you talking about? Svetlana?”
“It was her in the cell in Russia. Her father sold her to Iosef and his men. I got her out. That was why it all went to hell. I freed her, and they chased us into a storm. I killed his men trying to protect her, and then I brought her back to Boston with me, gave her money, and cut her loose.”
The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Ilya's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek, but his voice remains eerily calm. "And where has she been since then?”
“She was at a motel at first. Then I brought her to my apartment. She had no money, no way to take care of herself, and her father was tracking her down. And when I found out she was pregnant—”
Ilya’s jaw clenches. “With a child from Iosef or one of his men?”
“Maybe.” I swallow hard, seeing his gaze turn glacial. “Or it could be—”
Understanding dawns in Ilya’s face. I see him remembering the breakfast dishes. The cardigan. My distraction over these past weeks, my nervousness when he was there. For a long moment, he doesn't speak, doesn't move. Just stares at me with an expression I can't read.
Then he speaks, very slowly, very deliberately.
"You've been fucking my ex-fiancée," he says, his voice soft and deadly.
I nod. "Yes."
"You got her pregnant."
"Possibly.”
"And you've been lying to me about it for months.
Creating a security risk. A vulnerability that anyone could exploit.
" He moves toward me, and every instinct I have screams at me to run.
"That someone has exploited. But beyond that, you lied to me.
About the mission, about what happened, about who was at your apartment…
about basically fucking everything. For weeks now.
All because of Svetlana. A woman who was mine, who I cut loose, who I told you to let be. "
I force myself to stay seated, to meet his eyes. "Yes."
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" He's standing over me now, radiating barely controlled fury. "Do you understand the consequences of this betrayal?"
"Yes." My voice is steady despite the fear coursing through me. "I know exactly what I've done. I know what it means. I know that by every law we live by, I deserve to die for this."
"Then why?" The question comes out like a whip crack. "Why would you risk everything? Your position, your life, the security of this entire organization? For what, Kazimir? For pussy?"
The crude dismissal of what Svetlana means to me sparks anger through my fear. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?" He leans down, getting in my face. "Explain it to me. Make me understand why one of my most trusted men would betray me like this."
"I love her." The words come out before I can stop them, but I started with honesty, and I’ll continue that way until the end.
"I love her, Ilya. I didn't mean to. I didn't plan it.
But I do. I love her more than I've ever loved anything in my life.
And she's carrying my child, and someone has taken her, and I will burn this entire fucking city to the ground to get her back." I stand slowly, looking down at him. “I’ll take my punishment. All I ask is that you find her, once I’m gone. That you make sure she and the baby are safe. We let her leave that warehouse unprotected, Ilya… and it led to this. It has to be made right. It has to.”
Ilya straightens, his expression unreadable. "Who took her?"
"I don't know for certain. Either her father or Iosef, I think." I pull out my phone with shaking hands, pull up the message, and show him the photo. "They sent this. They said Artem is dead. They know about the baby."
He studies the photo, his jaw tight. Then he hands the phone back to me and walks to the doorway, staring out at the city lights.
The silence stretches out, excruciating. I want to scream at him to say something, to make a decision, to help me or kill me, but just do something. But I force myself to wait. This is his call now.
"You came to me," he says finally, still not turning around, "knowing what this confession would mean."
I fight back the clawing fear in my chest—not even for myself, but for Svetlana. "Yes."
"Knowing that I might kill you for this betrayal."
"Yes." I shift on my feet, needing to move, needing to do something with the desperate energy coursing through me.
"I know what I've done, Ilya. I know the consequences.
I know that I deserve whatever punishment you decide.
And if you want me dead, I'll accept that.
I'll kneel right here and take the bullet myself if that's what you want. "
He turns, then, his eyes boring into mine. "But?"
"But I need you to help me save her." My voice cracks on the last word, and I don't care.
Pride means nothing now. Only Svetlana matters.
"Please. I'll do anything. I'll accept any punishment, any consequence.
You can take my life—I don't care. But please, help me get her back. Help me save our child."
The words hang in the air between us. I've laid myself completely bare, stripped away every defense, every bit of armor. I'm standing in front of him with my heart in my hands, begging for mercy I don't deserve.
Ilya studies me for what feels like an eternity. I can see him deciding my fate. My heart hammers against my ribs, but I keep my eyes on his, refusing to look away.
"You understand there must be consequences," he says finally.
Relief floods through me so intensely I almost stagger. He hasn't said no. He hasn't pulled his gun. "Yes. I understand."
"Do you?" He moves past me, across the room, and takes a knife from the table there.
He turns and holds it up, and the blade catches the light.
"Because I'm not talking about a slap on the wrist, Kazimir.
I'm talking about blood. About pain. About a reminder that will stay with you for the rest of your life. "
I look at the knife, then back at him. My mouth has gone dry, but I nod. "Whatever you think is fair."
"Fair? Nothing about this is fair. What you’ve done changes things between us.
It will change things going forward." He tilts the knife, ensuring that I’m looking at it.
"But you're right about one thing—we need to move fast if we're going to get Svetlana back alive. So here's what's going to happen."