Chapter 15
Damien
There are four of them. Professionals. They move through the wreckage of my hallway with the quiet efficiency of people who’ve done this enough times that they could do it in their sleep. The bodies have already disappeared and been driven away for disposal.
Kirill is going through the belongings of the man who took the cyanide, going through his pockets with latex gloves and the meticulous focus of a man cataloguing evidence.
He’s found nothing so far. No wallet. No phone.
No identification of any kind. These men were stripped clean before they were sent.
I turn away and face the window, taking a sip of vodka even though I want to gulp it straight from the bottle. That would be unwise in this situation with Lidiya in my bathtub upstairs.
The front door opening doesn’t make me turn around. I already know who it is.
“You sold Granny’s yacht?” my cousin Laszlo, snaps.
“I didn’t sell it, I exchanged it.”
“Same difference,” he growls. “She will be turning in her grave.”
“I’ll get it back.”
“Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?”
Turning to face him, my lips curve up at one side with an air of menace. “Leave that with me.”
“Daym,” he snarls. “This isn’t a fucking joke. You sold, sorry, exchanged a hundred-and-fifteen-million-pound superyacht for a woman.”
“A woman who’s currently worth more than the yacht,” I say. “Supply and demand, Laz. Basic economics.”
He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.
Laszlo is six foot two, built like a boxer who retired into wealth management, and right now his eyes are doing that thing where they try to bore through my skull to check if there’s anything functional behind it.
He’s three years older than me, my father’s sister’s son, and the only person who can call me Daym without losing teeth.
“You’re insane,” he states. “Clinically, certifiably insane.”
“Possibly. But I’m also right.”
His gaze sweeps the hallway, taking in the shattered glass, the dented plaster, the blood smears on the marble that Kirill’s team is methodically erasing. “What the fuck happened here?”
“Three uninvited guests. They came for the woman.”
“The woman you exchanged a superyacht for?”
“We’ve been through this. Do you need me to get the crayons out?”
“Fuck you.” Laszlo’s jaw works. He steps over a pile of glass that hasn’t been swept yet and plants himself in front of me.
He crosses his arms and gives me the look.
The one that says he’s about to deliver a lecture he already knows I won’t listen to, but he’s constitutionally incapable of not delivering it anyway.
“Baron doesn’t know yet,” he says.
“Baron will know when I tell him.”
“Baron will know when one of his people picks up chatter about three dead operatives who were sent to breach his son’s home.
Which will be approximately”—he checks his watch—“now. Maybe sooner. You think this stays quiet? Three bodies, Damien. Three bodies in Belgravia. Next door, probably heard the whole thing.”
“Next door is a misnomer. This is a detached plot. Besides, I have soundproofing. I had it installed last year after the incident with the subwoofer.”
Laszlo pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s trying to decide between helping me and strangling me. The fact that he’s still standing here means he’s leaning towards the former, but it’s a close call.
“Where is she?” he asks.
“Upstairs.”
“Unharmed?”
“Obviously unharmed. What kind of question is that?”
“The kind you ask when your cousin exchanges a family asset for a woman and then kills three men in his hallway on the same night. Context matters, Damien.”
I drain the rest of my vodka and set the glass down. “I would hope she is asleep, but the bathtub must be getting uncomfortable by now.”
“She is sleeping in the bathtub?”
“She felt safe there.”
Laszlo’s expression shifts from exasperation to something I can’t quite read. He opens his mouth, closes it, then runs a hand through his dark hair.
“I gave her two pillows and a duvet. She wanted to stay there. I’m not in the habit of dragging terrified women out of bathtubs against their will. That’s a line even I don’t cross.”
“The bar is subterranean, and yet you still manage to trip over it regularly.”
“Charming as always, Laz.”
He drops into the armchair and scrubs his face with both hands. When he looks up again, the sardonic edge has dulled into something closer to genuine concern, which is worse. I can handle his insults. His worry makes my skin itch.
“Talk to me,” he says. “Not the bullshit version. The real one. Why her?”
I pour another vodka. Pour him one too, because he’s going to need it. I slide the glass across the coffee table—the one that’s now cracked down the middle, which he eyes before picking it up.
“Someone threatened me,” I say. “At my gate. A fake device and a phone call telling me to stay away from her and the auction. They knew I’d been outside her workplace. They timed the surveillance to the minute.”
Laszlo goes still. The glass pauses halfway to his mouth before he gulps it back in one swallow. “And after that you didn’t up security?”
I give him a lazy smile. “Security keeps the monsters away, Laszlo. I wanted to see who would crawl out of the woodwork.”
“God, you are infuriating. You could’ve been killed.”
“Please,” I scoff. “What do you take me for?”
“Someone who puts his life at risk for a fucking thrill. That’s who. Not to mention her…” He gestures upstairs with his head.
“Lidiya.”
“Lidiya. I believe she owes us a lot of money.”
“She doesn’t. Not anymore.”
“Daym,” he growls again. “Baron will—”
“—have no choice but to accept that the debt is paid off in full and Lidiya is off the hook. He won’t care where the money comes from.”
“He will care if Voronov money pays off the debt.”
“It’s not Voronov money. At least, not family money. It’s mine.”
He searches my eyes for a long moment. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because someone came to my gate with a toy countdown and thought they could give me instructions,” I say, voice flat.
“Stay away. Don’t bid. Don’t look.” I take a slow sip of vodka.
Let it burn. Let it steady. “That wasn’t a warning, Laz.
It was a test. A man with that kind of reach doesn’t spend eighty million for dinner—he spends it to acquire leverage.
And he used her name to pull my attention where he wanted it. ”
Laszlo’s stare doesn’t move.
“So I flipped the board,” I continue. “I outbid him, I took her off the stage, and I brought her into my house. Because if I’m reacting, I’m losing.
If she’s with me, I control the variables.
I control the timing. I control the room.
” My mouth curves, humourless. “And because when she looked at me on that stage, she wasn’t asking for money.
She was asking me not to leave. No one tells a Voronov where he can and can’t go, and no one buys what I’ve decided is mine. ”
Laszlo exhales through his nose, slow and sharp, like he’s trying to keep his temper from becoming a strangulation attempt.
“You hear yourself?” he says. “You sound like Baron.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s not.” He sets his empty glass down hard enough to rattle what’s left of the coffee table. “Strategy, fine. Ego, fine. But that last part?” His jaw flexes. “Mine. That’s not a chess move, Daym. That’s you getting attached.”
“I don’t get attached.”
Laszlo barks a humourless laugh. “You exchanged Granny’s yacht and wrote off a debt we’ve been collecting for years. You killed three men in your hallway to stop them from getting to her upstairs.”
“And?”
Laszlo leans forward, eyes hard. “You’re making her a line in the sand, and you’re doing it in front of everyone. Orlov. The room. Whoever bid against you. The whole city will hear.”
“Good,” I say. “That’s the idea.”
He holds my gaze for a long beat, then drags a hand down his face. “You realise what this makes her, right?”
“A target,” I say, because there’s no point pretending.
“No.” Laszlo’s voice drops. “A weakness. Yours.”
Silence stretches.
Laszlo stands, already turning towards the hall. “If you’re going to claim her, you’d better be willing to burn the world that comes with it.”
My smile doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’m counting on it.”