Chapter 18 – Lev
I stride toward the car, each step heavy with the echo of Sasha’s words still slicing through my head.
She looked at me like I was the enemy. Like I’d stolen something from her instead of trying to keep her safe. And maybe I did—her passport, her freedom—but damn it, she doesn’t understand what’s out there. What I’ve seen.
I grip the keys tighter until the metal bites into my palm.
The image of her standing in the kitchen—angry, beautiful, trembling—won’t leave me.
The way her voice cracked when she said I didn’t trust her…
that one hit deep. Because I do trust her.
I just don’t trust the world that’s circling her name like vultures.
I exhale, sharp and ragged. This isn’t about control. It’s about survival.
Just as I’m reaching the car, Mikhail’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Lev!”
I stop and turn. He’s jogging toward me, laptop in one hand, his expression grim.
“What is it?” I ask, trying to shake off the frustration still simmering in my chest.
“I’ve uncovered something,” he says, breathing hard. “It’s best if you see it immediately.”
I glance at my watch. An hour until I’m supposed to meet Viktor at the docks. Timing couldn’t be worse. “Can it wait?”
Mikhail shakes his head once. “No. It’s about the Greeks. And Sasha.”
That name stops me cold. The dull ache in my chest sharpens. “Show me.”
But before he can move, the sharp screech of tires rips through the air.
We both turn toward the gates. A black jeep swerves to a stop, gravel spraying across the driveway. The driver’s door swings open, and Roman climbs out. He frowns when he sees us.
“Is everything okay?”
My mind takes me back to what Mikhail just told me. Whatever this is, it’s not the kind of conversation that happens in a driveway.
“Let’s go to my study,” I say, my voice brittle.
Both men follow without a word. Inside, I lock the door, pull the drapes, and motion for them to sit. Mikhail sets his laptop on the desk, and Roman stays standing, arms folded, the tension rolling off him in waves.
“Talk,” I say.
Mikhail exhales, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the keyboard. “You need to see this, Lev. I dug deeper into Sasha’s family background. Her mother’s name—Callista Marino—rang bells in the Petropoulos archives.”
I frown, moving closer. “Go on.”
He clicks something, and a file appears on the screen—old photos, reports, names I recognize from the Greek underworld.
“Both Callista and her husband, Vassilis, worked for the Petropoulos and Markovic families about two decades ago. They were couriers—handled document and cash transfers between branches in Athens, Santorini, and Mykonos. Trusted ones, too.”
I lean forward, my jaw tightening. “And?”
Mikhail’s voice drops. “Until Vassilis disappeared.”
The air in the room changes.
Roman straightens, his brow furrowing. “Disappeared how?”
“Stole something,” Mikhail says. “A shipment of ledgers belonging to the Petropoulos family. Documents worth millions in blackmail leverage—names, accounts, deals, everything. He vanished with it. And not long after, Callista fled Greece. She took their daughter and went to America, changed her identity, and cut ties with everyone she knew.”
I stare at the screen, but my mind is already miles ahead, piecing it together. Sasha told me they moved to America after her father died. Maybe her mother lied about her father’s death. But old debts must always be repaid.
My mind drifts back to the present. The Greeks wanting Sasha. Viktor’s eyes at the reception. The sudden interest after all these years.
It’s not about ransom.
It’s about revenge. Or retrieval.
“So they think Sasha has the ledgers,” Roman mutters, reading my expression.
“Or that her mother left them to her,” I say, my voice low. “Either way…she’s the last living Marino. Which makes her their only lead.”
Silence fills the room. The hum of the laptop fan, the faint tick of the clock, the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears.
Mikhail breaks it. “If they believe she knows something—anything—they won’t stop, Lev. Not until they get it.”
I close my eyes for half a second, fighting the storm building inside me.
They want her because of a debt she didn’t even know existed.
Because of the sins her parents committed before she was old enough to speak.
When I look up, my decision is already made. “Double the guards. I don’t care what it costs. No one gets near her.”
Roman nods, his face grim. “What about Viktor?”
I grab my phone, scrolling through his last message—the one asking to meet privately about a ‘collaboration.’
I let out a humorless laugh. “He’s about to get his meeting.”
Roman’s gaze follows me as I pocket my phone. “Lev,” he says quietly, his tone carrying that rare thread of concern, “be careful. This could be a setup. Viktor’s not the kind of man to invite you into a room unless he’s already decided how you’ll leave it.”
I pause at the door, my hand tightening around the handle. For a moment, I meet his eyes. Roman’s expression is grim, the kind that comes from too many years of seeing people walk into traps they never walked out of.
“I know,” I say, voice low and even. “But I’m not the kind of man who hides when someone comes for what’s mine.”
He shakes his head slightly, but there’s the faintest hint of a smirk. “Then I’ll keep a body bag on standby, just in case.”
I ignore the jab, open the door, and step into the hall.
Every part of me is taut—focused, alert. I can already smell the calm before the storm in the air. Viktor thinks he can come into my world, into my house, and lay claim to my wife?
He has no idea what kind of hell he’s about to walk into.
I walk out of the office, the door shutting behind me with a soft click, sealing the quiet promise that whatever comes next, I’m ready for it.
The drive to the docks is silent except for the hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of my thoughts.
Salt and diesel fill the air long before I see the cranes. The closer I get, the heavier the air feels—thick with the kind of tension that only ever means trouble.
As soon as I pull in, three black SUVs slide out of the shadows like they were waiting for me.
Figures step out—armed, uniformed, and unsmiling. One of them gestures for me to stop.
“Mr. Rusnak,” the man says in a heavy accent, eyes sharp, body rigid. “We’ve been instructed to escort you to Mr. Markovic.”
I kill the engine, step out, and shut the door behind me with measured calm. My gaze sweeps over them—counting heads, noting holsters, gauging distance. Twelve men. Highly trained.
“Lead the way,” I say, voice flat.
Their formation shifts automatically—two in front, two behind. The others fan out, creating a silent corridor as I follow them deeper into the docks.
My expression doesn’t change, but every instinct I have is awake.
I don’t trust Viktor, and I know he can change on me at any time, but I’m ready for him. Nothing can stop me from going back to Sasha alive.
Viktor Markovic waits inside a glass-walled office overlooking the dockyard. The room smells faintly of expensive cigars and sea air. He’s seated casually behind a mahogany desk, a tumbler of amber liquor in his hand, like this is a business brunch and not a potential bloodbath.
“Lev Rusnak,” he says with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “At last. I was beginning to think you’d send one of your brothers instead. Please sit.”
I sit, calm and easy, and take the glass Viktor offers. The liquor catches the light—amber, expensive, meant to impress. I don’t drink it. I set it down carefully on the desk between us.
Viktor watches me, eyes gleaming like a man who enjoys testing others. He smiles, and I match it with one of my own.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking I’m on edge.
“I’ve heard a lot about your operations,” Viktor says smoothly. “Efficient. Ruthless. Very…Rusnak.”
I tip my head slightly. “And I’ve heard the Markovic name still opens doors in Athens. Even the ones that should’ve stayed shut.”
He laughs, low and rich. “You flatter me.”
“Just stating facts.”
The smile stays on his face, but his eyes sharpen, assessing. We sit like that for a few seconds, the sound of distant waves breaking against steel hulls outside filling the silence.
“Tell me, Lev,” Viktor finally says, leaning forward, “what’s it like being married now? Must be…different.”
My pulse doesn’t change. I keep the smile right where it is. “Different can be good,” I say easily. “You should try it sometime.”
He chuckles again. “I haven’t met the woman yet.”
I nod. “Soon. But I’m sure you didn’t bring me here to discuss my marriage.”
“Ah, yes.” He flashes another smile. “I hear you’re expanding your logistics operations into southern Europe. My family has…routes, Lev. The kind of routes even your Bratva doesn’t touch. I think there’s room for collaboration.”
I hum. “Tell me more.”
He swirls his liquor nonchalantly. “A joint shipping venture. You move product faster than anyone in Eastern Europe. I have the ports, the customs cover, and the men. Together, we could turn the Mediterranean into our playground.”
It’s a neat pitch. Too neat.
I lean forward. “But I don’t trust you, Viktor. I don’t do large-scale businesses with men I don’t trust.”
Viktor’s grin doesn’t falter, but I see the shift in his eyes—just a flicker, quick and telling. He leans back, swirling his glass again like this is all a casual conversation between friends.
“That’s a shame,” he says softly. “Trust is such a fragile thing, isn’t it?”
“It’s earned,” I reply. “And you haven’t earned it yet.”
He tilts his head, amused. “Then tell me, Lev, how does a man earn your trust?”
“By not lying about why he invited me here.”
That wipes the smirk off his face for half a second. Just enough to confirm what I already suspected. There’s more to this meeting. There always is.
He recovers quickly, lips curving again. “You think too little of me.”