6. Katerina #2
“Of course. I look forward to it,” I say, tone steady despite the annoyance radiating through me.
His eyes narrow slightly like he’s trying to decide whether I’m sincere or mocking him. Before he can come to a conclusion—or worse, probe me any further—I turn on my heel and leave his office.
The moment the heavy doors close behind me, I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I walk briskly down the corridor, ignoring the lingering thrum of adrenaline pulsing beneath my skin.
Soon, this will all be over.
I repeat it to myself like a prayer. I just have to be patient and play along for now. I just have to keep my temper in check and bite my tongue and remember why I’m here in the first place. But the uncomfortable truth presses at the edges of my thoughts, stubborn and unwelcome.
Being tied to a man like Aleksandr Volkov, even if only on paper, feels far more dangerous than I want to admit.
What if I’ll never be rid of him?
I stare at the burner phone in my hand, the dimming screen casting a cold glow across my palm. My unanswered message sits there like a taunt, almost mocking me in a way. Not a single reply. Nothing to tell me my father has received even one of my reports.
Just silence.
Again.
The familiar frustration burns through my chest. I begin pacing the length of my room, the plush carpeting muffling my footsteps. It softens the sound but does absolutely nothing to quiet the storm in my head.
I’m still running on high adrenaline from earlier. I haven’t seen him since this morning, suspiciously. Not at lunch or after dinner during the usual moments when our routines overlap and I catch his gaze lingering on me as I head back upstairs to retreat to my room for the night.
It’s as if the second I walked out of his office, he vanished completely.
Part of me wants to be relieved. Normally, his absence would be a blessing, a reprieve from whatever twisted game he wants to play in order to provoke me yet again. But tonight, it gnaws at me.
Now that we’re legally husband and wife, I’m acutely aware that the next threshold and the next unavoidable step is consummation. The thought alone sends a twist of dread spiraling low in my stomach.
It’s not that I fear sex itself. That I could absolutely allow myself to indulge in because for once, getting myself off will have nothing to do with pleasing anyone else but me. It’s him that I’m worried about.
His unpredictable nature and his ability to twist any dynamic into one where he holds the power and I’m expected to yield accordingly. I’m not looking forward to the moment he finally decides to collect what he no doubt sees as a marital due.
And yet, in the same breath, an intrusive thought slides through me before I can stop it. I suppose the only silver lining is that he’s undeniably, infuriatingly easy on the eyes. With any luck, that aesthetic blessing translates to something resembling decency in bed.
God, I hope so because if I’m going to be stuck with him as my husband in the eyes of the law for however long this situation lasts for, then the least the universe could grant me is a night that doesn’t end in awkward disappointment or clinical detachment that leaves me feeling completely unfulfilled.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter to myself under my breath. I scrub a hand over my face, pacing faster.
I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. Honestly, I shouldn’t be thinking about him at all beyond the assignment. This isn’t why I’m here.
What I should be doing is gathering more intel while he’s gone, using his absence to learn whatever I can. Aleksandr Volkov disappearing from sight is an opportunity I can’t let slip through my fingers while I still have it.
Stuffing my feet into a pair of slippers, I quickly head over to the door and pull it open.
The mansion is too quiet at these hours.
That’s the part that always unsettles me.
Even during the day, this place operates on a muted hum.
But as soon as dinner concludes, it’s almost as if everyone here quickly retreats to seclusion.
It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever witnessed.
A mansion full of people and yet it feels empty. Like every occupant has learned to make themselves scarce at night to avoid something or someone.
I step into the hallway and gently close the door behind me, the soft click of the latch moving back into place.
I pause, straining my ears to listen for the sound of footsteps heading my way, finding nothing but the dull thrum of the ventilation system and the faint hum of the security grid hidden somewhere deep inside the walls.
Satisfied that I’m alone, I move.
My slippers make no sound on the floor as I head toward the staircase.
Every shift of shadow, every flicker of low lamp light, sets my senses on edge.
I move slowly, letting my senses adjust to the muted glow of sconces spaced far apart.
My hand hovers just above the banister while my ears continue to strain for any sign of movement.
Then I hear it.
Voices.
Low, male, quiet enough to suggest confidentiality but not so quiet they’re meant to be secret.
The soft hum of conversation drifts toward me from the foyer, piquing my curiosity and tightening something deep in my chest. I edge my way forward, keeping close to the wall, letting the darkness swallow me where the light from above doesn’t reach.
My steps remain featherlight, nearly silent.
When I approach the corner leading into the foyer, I stop just before stepping into view and press my shoulder against the wall.
With a slow inhale, I slowly tilt my head to peek around the corner.
And there he is.
Aleksandr stands with two of his lieutenants—all three of them alert and dressed for the cold weather outside. Heavy coats are pulled tight around their bulky frames, gloves shoved over fingers. Their shoulders are squared as though expecting a confrontation rather than a conversation.
Even as they speak quietly, all three are drifting toward the front doors with purpose.
Their movements are coordinated in that effortless way men trained like them tend to move.
My eyes dart left toward the tall windows lining the foyer.
The glass panes reveal only darkness beyond to a pitch-black night.
It’s so late.
Why is he leaving at this hour?
He’s rarely visible after dinner, but I’ve never seen him leave the property after dark. It’s certainly strange… and to also be surrounded by his inner circle like this? What happens in his world that can only be handled in the dead of night?
“That’s all I know at the moment,” Aleksandr is saying, his tone clipped with authority. “Though I’m sure there will be much more discussed once I’m there. Sokolov has a habit of being tight-lipped whenever he decides to grace me with a phone call.”
“One would think he’d share what has already been decided on,” one of his lieutenants, the one with the darker blond hair, replies. “Seeing as how the four of you need to be in agreement before any decision is passed.”
“Yes, one would think,” Aleksandr drawls back.
The second lieutenant sighs heavily. “I don’t get it. What’s the point in Malyshko’s secrecy? Shouldn’t you all be coming to the table informed?”
“One would think,” Aleksandr repeats, this time with the faintest hint of boredom.
A shiver of unease twists down my spine.
I’m missing something important.
Something vital.
This isn’t small talk. These aren’t routine logistics being discussed, by the sounds of it.
These names—Sokolov, Malyshko—they’re part of something bigger, something that goes deeper than mere territory disputes that can be settled with threats and bribery.
These are the kinds of facts my father sent me here to uncover.
I should be terrified.
I am.
But more than that, I am desperate to know what is happening.
Unfortunately, I can’t exactly follow him wherever he’s going… not unless I somehow weasel my way into the car with him. Is that even possible? Does marriage grant me any kind of leverage?
Aleksandr reaches the door first. His hand extends for the handle.
Fuck it. I have to at least try.
Before logic can scream at me to retreat, I step out from my hiding spot and into the open doorway. Two sets of eyes snap to me instantly, both lieutenants reaching for their weapons in the same heartbeat. The motion is swift and shockingly coordinated.
Aleksandr is the last to turn, not doing so until he sees his men bristling. He freezes faintly, then turns fully, his hand slipping away from the door handle the second he recognizes me.
“Well,” he says, voice dripping with bemusement, “out for another late-night stroll? I thought we talked about this.”
I scramble for an excuse, any excuse that doesn’t involve admitting I was eavesdropping again. If he catches me doing that twice, he will absolutely punish me. And if he does it in front of his men? It’ll be even worse. Panic makes my thoughts scatter like startled birds.
Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “I want you to take me to see my father.”
He stares at me for a long moment, completely bewildered. “What?”
Fuck.
Why did I say that?
“I miss him. I want to see him.”
Aleksandr turns back toward the windows agonizingly slowly with the most blatant mockery I’ve ever witnessed. He stares pointedly out into the pitch-black night, then equally slowly turns back to face me again.
His eyes say it clearly. Would you like to try that again?
Heat floods my cheeks as humiliation prickles across my skin. I can feel the two lieutenants staring at me from behind him, evaluating me, amused and maybe even judging Aleksandr for putting up with me.
“It’s quite late, Katya. Don’t you think?” he murmurs, voice chiding, almost indulgent.
“Could say the same for you,” I shoot back before I can stop myself. “Where are you even going?”