Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Ilya
Never in my life have I shied away from a job.
The harder, bloodier, and more impossible it is, the more likely they are to call me. Those are the assignments I live for. The ones I excell at.
But as I watched Milana sleeping across from me on the jet, I started to wonder if this might be the first job capable of breaking me. The flight was torture, and coming from me, that was saying something.
She was curled up in her seat, looking far too small and vulnerable. Soft, little sounds escaped her every now and then—a quiet sigh, the faintest snore. Her lips were slightly parted, giving her an innocence that didn't match the thoughts she'd been stirring in my head since the moment we met.
Every time her lashes fluttered or she shifted in her sleep, revealing another glimpse of those abs, I wasn’t able to look away.
Maybe taking this job was a mistake. I turned down a high-paying extraction in Eastern Europe, the kind of brutal, no-rules operation I usually live for just to step into this. To become a babysitter to some spoilt Bratva princess.
Now I’m regretting it, because of one five-foot-four woman with fire in her eyes and curves that don’t quit, and my focus is already fracturing.
Letting out a groan, I grab her suitcase and lead her up to my penthouse.
I bought this place two years ago so I'd always have somewhere to stay whenever I was in the city. But like every other property I own, it mostly sits empty. I'm rarely in one place for long. Even when work keeps me in the city, I tend to stay in hotels.
The moment we step inside, she lets out a soft gasp.
“This place is beautiful.”
It is.
Even though I barely live here, I spared no expense when I bought it. I hired one of the best interior designers in the city, and they did a damn good job.
We’re standing in the living room, a wide, open space with floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across an entire wall.
Morning sunlight pours through the glass, filling the room with warm light.
Beyond the windows, the city sprawls beneath us, skyscrapers rising into the clear sky and busy streets already coming to life below.
I watch as she slowly turns in a circle, taking everything in. It's strange having her here. I've never brought a woman into this penthouse. Hell, I've never brought anyone here.
I don't like people. More importantly, I don't like people in my space. Yet somehow, seeing Milana standing in the middle of my living room doesn't feel wrong. If anything, she looks like she belongs here.
The thought hits me out of nowhere, and I shove it away immediately. What the hell am I thinking? Of course, she doesn't belong here.
Clearing my throat, I force myself back into business mode. “Your brothers are on their way, they’ll be here any minute.”
As if on cue, my phone vibrates. A text from Artyom: Parking lot. Coming up.
“They’re here,” I tell her.
Milana’s entire face lights up instantly, eyes bright, a genuine smile breaking through the exhaustion. The happiness radiating off her is almost startling. She’s clearly relieved to see her family.
I give them access through the building security and open the penthouse door. Artyom and Mikhail step inside, their presence filling the space like the dangerous men they are.
The moment Milana sees them, her face lights up even brighter. She rushes forward and throws her arms around Mikhail first, then Artyom. The two huge men engulf her in tight hugs, immediately checking her over.
“We heard about the attack. Are you hurt?” Artyom asks, voice low and controlled, scanning her from head to toe.
Mikhail tilts her chin up. “Any injuries?”
It’s strange seeing men like them, dangerous and hardened, become so gentle and concerned over their little sister.
“I’m fine,” she reassures them, smiling softly. “Just a small scratch from some flying glass, but it’s nothing serious.”
They both glance at me. I step forward. “Ilya,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Sent by Konstantin.”
Artyom nods. “Good. Thank you for getting her out quickly.”
We move to sit down. The conversation turns serious immediately. They lay out the situation with Michael Volkov, how unstable and vengeful he’s become, the growing threats against the family.
Artyom looks at Milana. “We can’t bring you to the main house right now. It’s too obvious. Kira and Irina have already been moved to safe houses with heavy protection.”
Irina, Mikhail’s wife, is heavily pregnant, and he doesn’t seem to like the idea of being kept away from her.
“So I have to stay here with Ilya?” she asks, clearly not liking the idea. Our feeling appears to be mutual.
“You have two options,” Artyom says. “Stay here with Ilya… or go join them at the safe house.”
Say no, I think, jaw tight. Go with your sister in-laws.
Get the fuck out of my space. My skin feels too tight, this strange itch crawling under it.
I need distance from her. From the way she smells, the way she looked sleeping on the jet, the way her hands felt on my shoulders earlier.
This job is already testing limits I didn’t know I had.
Milana shakes her head. “No. I don’t want to go to a safe house. I’d rather stay here.”
Well, there goes my luck.
Artyom studies her for a moment, then nods. “If that’s what you want, you can stay here. Under Ilya’s protection.”
“What about Calina?” Milana asks. “Is she with them at the safe house too?”
Mikhail leans back. “She refused to leave. Maxim is keeping her close and handling her security personally.”
Milana frowns. “Why can’t I just go home then? Why go through all this trouble for me?”
Artyom’s expression hardens. “Because you’re the easiest target. Calina is protected by Maxim. But you… Michael knows how important you are to us. He’ll come for you first, to make us bleed.”
I watch her face shift at Artyom’s words. Like the weight of what was just said is slowly settling on her shoulders. It's as if she’s suddenly aware of what she represents to them. The weakest link.
And for some reason, that sits wrong with me. I don’t like the way she goes quiet. It shouldn’t matter. It’s not my problem. And yet it does.
The feeling lingers through the rest of their stay, as they go over security protocols, additional measures, and contingency plans.
Finally, both brothers turn their full attention to me.
“Take care of her,” Artyom says, voice cold steel. “She is our sister. Nothing happens to her. Understood? You will be very well rewarded, as discussed.”
Mikhail’s eyes are sharper. “We’re trusting you with one of the most important persons in our life. Don’t make us regret it.”
I meet their stares evenly. “She stays safe. You have my word.”
After Artyom and Mikhail leave, the penthouse falls quiet again. I lock the door behind them and turn to Milana.
“Come on. I’ll show you around.”
I lead her down the hallway first. “This is your room.” I push open the door to the guest suite right beside mine. Close enough that I can get to her quickly if there's ever a problem. It’s spacious, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. “My room is right next door.”
She steps inside, taking it in silently, then follows as I continue the tour.
“Kitchen’s through here. Fully stocked.” I gesture to the massive open-plan space with its marble island and high-end appliances. “Living room. A library is at the end of the hall if you need to study.”
We move to the far side of the apartment. I slide open the glass doors that lead outside. “Private rooftop pool. No one else has access.”
Milana walks to the edge and looks out over the Manhattan skyline. The early morning light is starting to strengthen, casting everything in a soft glow. She doesn’t say much, but I can see her absorbing the sheer size of the place.
I point toward the second elevator. “There’s a gym in the building downstairs, but this elevator goes straight there. You can use it whenever you want, as long as you don’t leave the building alone.”
She turns back to me, her expression carefully neutral, but I catch the flicker of fear in her eyes. This isn’t a safe house.
“You’re safe here,” I tell her. “But you’re not free to come and go as you please. Not until the threat is handled. No leaving without me. No contacting anyone on your regular phone, at least not until it’s safe. And you don’t give out your location to anyone.”
Milana nods slowly, hugging her arms around herself. “I’m a little jet lagged, I think I’m going to lie down.”
I nod and watch her head to her bedroom. When I hear the door to her bedroom close, I head downstairs. I lock the main door behind me and move to the hidden panel at the back. A quick scan of my palm and the concealed door clicks open.
I descend the stairs into the basement level connected only to my apartment. The air is cooler down here, sterile. I unlock the reinforced door at the end of the short corridor and step inside.
The real Ilya is exactly where I left him, wrists and ankles chained to the heavy metal chair, head slumped forward, unconscious. A few bruises from the initial takedown still mark his face.
I stare at him for a long moment. This is the man whose identity I stole. The man whose life I’m currently wearing like a second skin.
I turn to my man standing guard. “Any update?”
He shakes his bald head. “None, boss.”
“Take the rest of the day off. I’ll take it from here.”
“Thanks, boss,” he grunts.
The moment the door shuts, I turn back to the shackled man.
“Hello, Ilya,” I say quietly. “We meet again.”