16. Katerina
KATERINA
Ifind Aleksandr still in his office once the estate finally settles back into its normal rhythm.
After watching him disappear with that man toward his office, I had taken the opportunity to head upstairs and change into less formal clothing. I’d peeled it off with shaking fingers, the silk whispering accusations over my skin as it pooled at my feet the same way those icy grey eyes had.
By the time I came back down to the main floor, the tension had suddenly dissipated.
Whoever that man was, he had been incredibly unsettling. Asking any of Aleksandr’s staff about it only resulted in dismissive stares and murmured deflections as they moved around me to resume their busy schedules.
Heading to Aleksandr’s office now, I find myself wondering if that man had been part of that secret society Aleksandr mentioned. He certainly fit the bill with how he’d made everyone feel. Even Aleksandr who never flinches, had straightened his spine just a fraction when their eyes met.
The only thing that has me questioning my own intuition is how young he looked.
He couldn’t have been more than thirty-five at the most. Certainly not in the range of Aleksandr or the other graying, battle-scarred men I’d imagined when Aleksandr first described being a part of such an underground institution.
But then again, perhaps secret societies weren’t all that concerned about age-related power imbalances. To them, I suppose influence within the dark markets, control over the invisible levers that move billions and end careers, is what earns you your place at those meetings.
When I reach his office, I push the door open without knocking.
The room is dim except for the sun coming in from the windows behind his desk.
He sits in his chair behind it, both elbows braced on the rests with head bowed over a tablet he clearly isn’t reading.
The sleeves of his shirt are rolled to his forearms, ink curling around thick wrists and disappearing beneath the fabric.
His hair is slightly mussed as though he must have run his hands through it more than once since his unexpected guest left. He leans back when he notices me, settling the tablet down before folding his hands in front of him as his gaze meets mine.
He watches me approach without speaking. His gaze tracks every step, starting from my legs, to my hips and the way the cashmere sweater clings to my chest, before returning to my face. When I finally reach his desk, it’s only then that he opens his mouth.
“A…” He pauses, visibly fighting to find the right words. “It’s complicated.”
I frown immediately. “I thought we were going to be honest with each other from now on.”
The corner of his mouth tics, though not into a smile like usual. “We are.”
I wave my hand in the air in front of me, frustration leaking into the motion. “Okay. Then who was he?”
He sighs, a long, tired sound that seems to come from somewhere deep in his chest. He rubs a hand over his face. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t concern you.”
My brows pull together instantly.
I watch him lean forward in his chair again and lift the tablet back into his hands.
He flicks a finger over the glossy surface to wake it, punching in a code to unlock it with quick, practiced taps.
I stand there for a few more seconds, waiting for him to say something else.
Anything else. An explanation. Even a deflection would be better than this sudden wall of silence.
When he doesn’t, I’m forced to speak again.
“I know he must be part of that society you were talking about. The underground one, I mean. He certainly fit the bill with how unsettled he’d made everyone feel.”
Aleksandr’s fingers pause over the screen. “Enough, Katerina. Drop it. As I said, it doesn’t concern you.”
My shoulders tense at the use of my full name.
He almost never uses it nowadays unless he’s teasing me.
Why is he being so cryptic?
Dismissiveness and Aleksandr Volkov do not go hand-in-hand.
Especially not after the barriers we’ve dropped over the past few weeks.
We’ve spent nights tangled in the sheets with secrets spilling off our tongues, mornings and afternoons planning a social murder over coffee.
We’ve been honest with each other in ways neither of us has ever been with anyone else.
I have more than earned my right to understand the inner workings of whatever it is he does beyond his job as Pakhan.
It isn’t as if he has to hide the dark details of his dealings. I know plenty already, enough that the remaining percentage I can guess quite accurately. There would be no reason for him to be so tight-lipped when we’ve grown closer than ever.
Unless… he’s being forced to keep me in the dark.
Dread pools in my stomach
“Did he come here to threaten you?” I ask. My voice is quieter now, but much more intent. “Is that why you won’t talk to me?”
He sighs again and sets the tablet face-down on the desk with a soft clack. “What are you looking to gain from this? Who he is and what our relationship is are irrelevant and have nothing to do with you. It is my business.”
I shift on my feet, concern nagging harder now. “Well, it does if it is going to affect the plan on Friday.”
“It won’t,” he says far too quickly for my liking.
Oh, God.
All we need is outside interference taking a wrecking ball to weeks’ worth of planning. There will never be another opportunity like the one on Friday. Not one that will satisfy my need to expose my father on a large enough scale to give me the closure I want.
The Metropol gala is perfect because it’s going to be televised, every camera in the country pointed at that stage with a mandatory attendance of everyone worth exposing him to. If his colleague or whatever he is came here to threaten Aleksandr into hesitating, then we’re screwed.
My heart kicks hard against my sternum with a single, violent thud that echoes in my ears.
“Aleks,” I say carefully. “If he told you to back off—”
“He didn’t.”
“But if he implied—”
“I said it doesn’t concern you,” he snaps, loud enough to make me flinch.
I freeze.
I’ve never seen him like this before. Never with his anger directed entirely at me.
I’ve seen him after he’s interrogated and punished someone.
When that quiet lethality I rarely ever am allowed to witness shifts him into the man he’s rumored to be.
This isn’t that. This is something far more volatile and not at all like the Aleksandr Volkov that I know.
I swallow thickly, the motion painful. My throat feels raw, like I’ve been screaming for hours even though I haven’t made a sound. “Why are you shutting me out?”
His eyes flicker for half a second. Guilt, maybe. Or regret. The shutters slam back down before I can blink, replaced by hard, unyielding seriousness. “Enough. It’s handled. Friday will be fine.”
The finality in his words stabs me clean through the chest.
That’s it.
No explanation. Just a tight, clipped dismissal that feels like a slap to my cheek.
I stare at him, searching for the man who held me upstairs in bed only hours ago, who kissed me and whispered that I was his like it was a vow he’d die to keep. That man is gone now, replaced by the Pakhan of the Volkov syndicate.
I nod once, the action stiff and mechanical. My pride won’t let me beg, nor will it let me stand here and demand answers he’s already decided I’m not entitled to. I turn toward the door and leave before he can see how badly this rejection hurts.
My bare feet are cold against the floor. My arms wrap around myself without conscious thought as I quickly head back to my room, hugging the oversized sweater tighter around me like it can shield me from the sudden chill that has settled into my bones.
Once I’m back in my room, I shut the door and lock it.
Only then do I let myself sink against it.
My knees buckle slowly. I slide down until I’m sitting on the floor and bring my legs to fold against my chest. I drop my head until it rests against my drawn-up knees.
I don’t let the tears fall.
I refuse to.
My throat tightens until every swallow hurts. The silence he’s left me in feels louder than any argument we’ve ever had before—louder than his growled commands, louder than my own screams when he’s inside me, louder than the ringing in my ears as I fight to keep myself from falling into hysteria.
For the first time since this nightmare turned opportunity began, I feel small.
Small and foolish.
Whatever bond I thought we were building suddenly feels fragile.
Conditional in a way that can be taken the moment it becomes inconvenient to whatever life he lives beyond these walls.
The realization hurts far more than his angry outburst ever could.
Worse than the memories of my father’s voice telling me I was chosen for something greater and finding out none of it was true.
Aleksandr was supposed to be different from every man who has ever lied and kept secrets from me.
I lift my head and stare at the vast space of my room.
The distance between us has never felt wider.
For the first time since I chose to stay—since I chose him—I wonder if I made the wrong decision after all.
The night of the gala arrives before the hurt has time to heal.
I stand in the shadowed service hallway just off the Metropol’s grand ballroom with my back pressed to the stone wall.
The faint swell of a string quartet drifts through the half-open door, refined and grotesquely out of place with what I’m about to do.
I close my eyes for one heartbeat and breathe in through my nose, taking in the faint scent of expensive cologne along with the subtle bite of champagne.
My heart isn’t racing. It’s steady, eerily calm in a way that comes when you’ve already crossed the point of no return and there’s nothing left to lose or go back to. My fingers flex around the small USB drive in my palm.