Chapter 10 Ilya
ILYA
The news anchor's voice is professionally somber as she delivers the story, her expression carefully fixed to avoid any sign of emotion as she relays the gruesome story on the morning news.
"Prominent art collector Richard Maxwell was found early this morning in his Upper East Side apartment, the victim of what police are calling a brutal assault.
The fifty-three-year-old was discovered by his wife, barely alive and missing his left hand.
He remains in critical condition at Mount Sinai Hospital. "
Satisfaction wells in my chest as I watch, a smile twisting my mouth. Soon, Mara will find her gift. She’ll call the police, I’m sure of that, but that’s easily handled.
Kazimir is standing behind me. He was there last night, when I went to pay Maxwell a visit. I could tell he disapproved then, and I can feel that same disapproval wafting off of him now.
The screen cuts to footage of Hartley's building. Police tape cordons off the entrance. Uniformed officers stand guard while detectives come and go, their faces grim.
"Hartley, a well-known figure in Manhattan's art world, has been a major collector for over two decades," the anchor continues. "Police have not identified any suspects and are asking anyone with information to come forward. The motive for the attack remains unclear."
Kazimir shifts behind me. I know he wants to speak, but he’s holding back. Remaining loyal, even though he disagrees with my actions.
"Authorities say there were no signs of forced entry," the anchor says. "We'll continue to follow this developing story."
I pick up the remote and turn off the television.
The silence that follows is heavy. I take a sip of coffee and finally look at Kazimir. He's watching me with that expression I've seen before—the one that says he’s going to—or in this case wants to—tell me something I don't want to hear.
"Say it," I tell him finally.
He blows out a sharp breath, watching me warily. "Was that wise?"
I shrug. "Probably not."
"Ilya—"
"He touched her." My voice is flat, a hint of anger edging it. "He put his hands on her. He grabbed her and propositioned her like she was something he could buy."
Kazimir shifts on his feet. "I understand that, but—"
"Do you?" I set my cup down sharply. "Do you understand what it took not to cut off his head? Not to gut him in his own apartment and leave him to bleed out on his expensive Persian rug?"
Kazimir is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is careful. "The initials on the card. I.S. If she gives it to the police, they’ll find your identity.”’
“So? I can pay off the police.”
“They might reveal your identity to her.”
I frown. That wouldn’t be ideal. I want to control when and how she finds out my real name and any correlating details about me. “I’ll make sure they don’t.”
“Sergei is going to find out you killed someone in his territory.”
“Richard Maxwell has no connection to him.”
“Are you sure of that?” Kazimir blows out a sharp breath.
“We didn’t investigate him. We didn’t make sure we weren’t stepping on any toes.
” He leans forward. "Ilya, beyond that, the police will investigate.
They'll look at everyone connected to Maxwell.
They'll interview people from the auction.
They'll question Mara. They'll want to know if she has any connection to someone with those initials. "
"She doesn't. Not officially."
"Not yet," Kazimir says. "But you're making it obvious. You're leaving a trail that leads directly to her, and from her to you. And with relations with O’Malley unstable, and your marriage arrangement, and now interfering in Sergei’s territory—”
“I don’t care.”
"You should.” He’s gaining steam now. “I’ve been loyal to you all your life, Ilya.
But if Ronan thinks you're making moves that could expose our operations—" He shakes his head. “He’s not going to risk heat from Sergei Kima. Your allies will also pay if you make mistakes. You will lose those alliances.”
"Let him think whatever he wants." I stand and walk to the window, looking out over the city. "I showed restraint, Kazimir. I could have done so much worse."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is the point?" I look back and see that his jaw has tightened, his eyes cold. He’s upset… truly upset. Somewhere in the rational part of my mind that’s left, I know I’m pushing this too far, making mistakes that could cause a mutiny. That could get me killed.
"The point is that you're being reckless. You're exposing yourself, exposing us, for a woman who doesn't even know you exist beyond a chance meeting in Boston."
I turn to face him. "She knows I exist. She's known since the moment I left that first gift. She's been trying to figure out who I am, trying to solve the mystery. And now she knows what I'm capable of. What I'm willing to do for her."
"That's what concerns me." Kazimir stands as well, his expression serious.
"You're escalating too fast. This was supposed to be subtle, gradual.
You were going to seduce her slowly, build trust, reveal yourself when the time was right.
Instead, you've sent her a severed hand with your initials on it. How is that subtle?"
"I couldn't stop myself." My teeth grind together. “He touched what’s mine.”
The admission hangs in the air between us. I've always been in control—of my emotions, my actions, my empire. Control is what's kept me alive, what's made me powerful. But with Mara, control is impossible.
And I can see the unspoken words in Kazimir’s eyes, the ones he doesn’t dare say out loud. That she’s not truly mine yet.
My jaw works and I cross over to my laptop, opening it. “Look,” I demand, pulling up the surveillance footage from the cameras Kazimir hacked into at the auction house. “Look what he fucking did.”
The footage shows Mara in her black dress, paddle in hand, focused on the auctioneer. Even through the grainy security camera feed, she's stunning.
"Hartley was drunk," I continue, my voice hardening. "I could see it in the way he moved, the way he kept ordering more champagne. But I wasn't worried. Mara knows how to handle difficult clients. She's done it before."
I fast-forward to the bar area. The angle isn't perfect—the camera is positioned to cover the main auction room, and the bar is partially out of frame. But I can see enough.
"They went to the bar after the sale. I watched him order drinks, watched him move closer to her. Too close." My hands clench on the desk. "And then he touched her."
On the screen, Hartley's hand moves to Mara's lower back. Then lower. I see her body stiffen, see her try to step away. But his other hand grabs her arm, pulls her against him.
"He grabbed her ass," I say, my voice cold. "Hard enough to bruise."
Kazimir is silent, watching the footage.
"She slapped him," I continue. "Right across the face. Then she walked out."
On screen, Mara's hand connects with Hartley's cheek. The champagne glass falls, shattering. Then she's walking away, her whole body rigid with anger and humiliation.
"I've killed men for less—for looking at me wrong, for showing disrespect, for thinking they could take what was mine.
But this—" I pause, trying to find words for the rage that consumed me.
"This was different. He stayed at the auction for another hour.
Drinking more, laughing with his friends like nothing happened.
Like he hadn't just assaulted a woman. Like it was nothing. "
The footage shows Hartley leaving the auction house at ten-thirty, slightly unsteady on his feet. He climbs into a town car—probably his driver.
“And then you had us follow him home.” It’s a statement of fact; Kazimir was there with me. He knows how the rest of the night played out.
Hartley's apartment was exactly what I expected: expensive and tasteless, full of art he bought because someone else told him to.
He was in his bedroom by the time we got there, already in pajamas, probably thinking about what he'd tried to do to Mara.
Probably not feeling even a moment of remorse.
Probably getting ready to jerk off to the thought of her.
I would’ve taken his right hand, too, if I hadn’t seen that he was left-handed. Now he’ll never comfortably jerk off again.
He’d let us up, probably thinking she’d changed her mind, or that his wife had come back. A stupid, worthless piece of shit so rich he thought he was infallible, untouchable, that no one would hurt him.
I showed him how wrong he was.
"You're fortunate I showed restraint," I tell Kazimir sharply. "I could have made him suffer for hours. I could have fucking killed him.”
"How merciful of you."
I ignore the sarcasm. "I was sending a message."
Kazimir sighs, running a hand over his scalp. "A message to who? To Mara? To every man in Manhattan?"
"To anyone who thinks they can touch what's mine."
I pull up new footage—this time from the camera I have positioned across from Mara's apartment. I watch her open the door, nearly trip over the gift. I watch her bring it inside, and disappointment squeezes my gut. I wanted to see her open it. I wanted to see the look on her face.
“There’s the cops.” Kazimir grunts, and I look back at the footage several minutes later to see police officers arriving at her door.
“I’ll deal with it.”
“She looks terrified.” Kazimir gestures to the footage of Mara opening her door. He’s right—she does look too pale, her eyes too wide. It would be a shock, I knew that. But it would also show her who it is that wants her.
Someone who can protect her. Who can make sure that men like Maxwell never touch her again.
“She doesn’t understand yet. She will.”
“Ilya… maybe you should walk away. Let her go. This isn’t her world. You’re dragging her into something she has no business being a part of.”
I don't even dignify that with a response.
Kazimir shakes his head. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"I've always played dangerous games."
"Not like this." He moves toward the door, then pauses. "Be careful, Ilya. You're not just risking your empire anymore. You're risking her too."
He leaves, and I'm alone with my thoughts. I need to meet her soon. This isn’t sustainable for much longer—sneaking around, watching her, sending her gifts.
There’s nowhere to go from here except deciding how I’m going to insert myself into her life, finally introduce myself and pull her into my world for good.
She needs to be seduced. I’ve done all I can from a distance.
Now I have to figure out how to seduce her in person, before she finds out too much about who I really am. Before she has a chance to run.
When she sees me again, she’ll remember how I made her feel. She’ll see everything I’ve done for her, and she’ll know it was me.
And then she’ll be mine in every way.