Chapter 4
KIREN
The cold in Charlotte has a way of seeping into everything. It gets under the collar, finds the seams of the coat, and slides along the back of your neck as if it has every right.
A thin layer of snow clings to the edges of the long driveway inside the gates, pushed into ridges by passing vehicles. The security lights throw hard white cones across it, making the surface glitter and look clean. Nothing about tonight is clean.
I cross the courtyard without rushing. Two guards on the far side pull open the door to the security wing on the lower level of the estate before I reach it.
The warm air that leaks out smells damp concrete and the faint bite of bleach.
I step inside, and the door closes behind me with a heavy thud.
The hallway down here is narrow, built for utility rather than comfort. The overhead lights hum softly, and my footsteps disappear into the flooring designed to absorb sound. It keeps conversations private and death quiet.
Karp stands near the stairwell junction, his broad shoulders filling the space effortlessly. He doesn’t straighten when he sees me. He doesn’t need to. His respect is constant, not performative.
“He’s ready,” Karp reports, his voice low and even.
“Is he alone?”
“One guard outside the door. No one else.”
I give a short nod and continue down the corridor. Karp falls in beside me, his heavy boots muted against the flooring.
“Arkady?” I prompt.
“Quiet,” he replies. “His captains are moving. Avoiding their usual routes.”
Of course he is. We have eyes on everything we can. That’s the problem. Eyes won’t rescue her.
Rowan’s face forces its way into my thoughts.
I don’t know where she is, but my mind supplies it.
Her dark hair against bloodstained concrete, a bruise forming along her cheekbone, her hands bound behind her back.
I don’t know if any of it’s true, but that doesn’t stop the picture from building.
Worse than the image is the certainty that she’s surrounded by men who treat people like property.
I keep my face still. If my rage gets loose, it’ll burn down the wrong house.
We pass through two doors and enter a corridor lined with reinforced panels.
The security here comes in layers. A keypad first, then a reinforced lock, then a manual bolt driven deep into the steel frame.
The overhead camera records but doesn’t transmit.
What happens in this hallway stays here until I decide otherwise.
At the end, a final door stands closed. A single guard is posted at it. He straightens when he sees me, then steps aside and pulls it open.
The room is bare except for a steel chair bolted into the floor and a drain cut into the concrete. The walls are painted a dull gray. There’s no window, and the light overhead leaves nowhere to look but forward.
A man sits in the chair with his wrists cuffed to the arms. His face is bruised along one cheek, purple and yellow layered together. A split lip has dried dark. He holds himself upright anyway, his chin lifted in stubborn defiance.
He isn’t one of Arkady’s outsiders. He’s one of mine. That’s what makes this fracture inside my own house dangerous.
His name is Maksim. He wears Sovarin colors on the inside of his coat. He took an oath to me years ago, in a back room with the smell of cigar smoke and ink, with my ring pressed to his knuckles as he promised loyalty. Tonight, he looks at me like I’m a temporary obstacle.
I step into the room. The guard closes the door behind me. Karp remains outside. This isn’t a show. This is control.
Maksim’s eyes follow me across the room, not fearful or pleading, but confident in the way of a man who believes he placed his bet on the winning side.
I stop a few feet away. “You’ve had time to think.”
His mouth tightens. “I’ve had time to understand exactly what you’re doing.”
I let the silence sit long enough for the light to hum between us. The building makes small sounds, a faint shift in the pipes, vents adjusting airflow, and a door thudding shut somewhere above.
“You moved without authorization,” I state.
He gives a short breath through his nose, almost a laugh. “Authorization. That’s what you call it.”
“That’s what it is.”
His gaze hardens. “No. It’s what you hide behind when you don’t want to admit you’ve lost control.”
The words are meant to provoke me. He thinks I’ll react like a man with something to prove.
I take a step closer, slow enough to keep the air calm. “You gave Arkady support for a move that violated the internal structure.”
“He did what needed to happen.”
“Needed,” I echo calmly. “Explain it.”
Maksim shifts in the chair, the metal scraping quietly under him. “You’ve been distracted.”
The word strikes like a blade aimed at the softest place.
Rowan.
He doesn’t name her, but the implication is clear. A pakhan with his attention split is a pakhan who can be pushed.
I don’t react. “Continue.”
He takes that as permission. “Arkady sees it. He sees the weakness. He sees that you let one woman become a pressure point.”
My fingers remain relaxed at my sides. “That woman has a name.”
He lifts his chin. “If she mattered more than the Bratva, then yes. Maybe I would care.”
His loyalty to Arkady has already eaten his common sense. I step closer until I can see the small capillaries broken along the edge of his right eye. “Who gave the order to enlist Ivan.”
His brows pull together briefly, as if he didn’t expect that question. He recovers quickly. “Ivan is a tool.”
“You don’t bring tools into my house without my approval.”
“You don’t own the house,” he sneers. “You inherited it.”
The insult isn’t subtle. It’s meant to remind me of my father’s shadow. That I sit where Nikolai sat. That some men think blood is the only claim.
My pulse doesn’t show. “Answer.”
He stares at me for a long moment. His nostrils flare once, then he speaks with the smug certainty of a man who believes he has a shield.
“Arkady made contact. He brought Ivan in because Ivan had access. Ivan knew how to get what Arkady needed.”
“And what did Arkady need?” I hold his gaze.
Maksim’s mouth curves in quiet satisfaction. “A point of leverage.”
There it is.
“Leverage,” I repeat, and it tastes like rust.
A brief flash of triumph glints in his eyes. “He wanted to see how you would respond. That’s all.”
That’s not all. Tests are never only tests. They’re invitations. They’re challenges disguised as necessity.
“Confirm the objective,” I tell him. “What information did Arkady expect Ivan to extract?”
Maksim hesitates, then speaks as if the details are obvious. “Arkady wanted the inside of your world. Rowan moves in it. She hears things. She sees things.”
My jaw tightens at her name on his tongue. “Ivan was brought in to access her.”
“To access what she knows,” he corrects, and then adds, “To access you.”
The room feels colder, even under the harsh fluorescent light.
“You participated,” I remind him, my voice still even. “You moved resources. You coordinated men.”
He leans forward as far as the cuffs allow. “I served the future. You should have done the same.”
I give him nothing. “You believe Arkady should replace me?”
He doesn’t deny it. His eyes brighten, as if he’s been waiting for the question. “Arkady has the spine for it.”
“And I don’t?”
“You had it,” he responds, “before she became your weakness.”
He lets the word weakness do its work. He wants it to get under my skin. He wants me to lose control so he can point at it and claim he was right.
I breathe in through my nose. Slowly enough that my voice stays level.
“You don’t understand what this is.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “No?”
“This isn’t romance. This isn’t sentiment.” I take another step closer, letting him feel my presence without raising my voice. “This is territory. She’s in my territory. And Arkady violated it.”
Maksim’s mouth twitches as if he wants to argue, then he tries a different angle. “Arkady wants a stronger Sovarin. A pakhan who can’t be moved.”
“A pakhan who can’t be moved,” I repeat, and the repetition makes the sentence sound like what it is. Propaganda.
He watches me, waiting.
I tilt my head slightly. “Ivan.”
Maksim’s eyes narrow.
“Tell me what Ivan promised Arkady.” I keep my voice quiet, forcing him to lean in with his attention.
His lips part, then close. The hesitation is small, but it exists. I notice everything.
“You don’t know,” I conclude.
His chin lifts again. “Ivan promised results.”
“Results,” I echo, letting the word drag.
Maksim adjusts in the chair again as he tries to look unbothered and fails.
“Give me names,” I demand. “Everyone who coordinated this. Everyone who moved assets. Everyone who thinks Arkady should sit where I sit.”
His laugh is brittle. “You think killing me changes anything?”
“I don’t think,” I reply. “I decide.”
That draws his attention hard. His eyes narrow, and for the first time, there’s a hint of caution. Not fear. Not yet. But awareness.
He wets his split lip with his tongue. “If you kill me, Arkady won’t stop.”
“If I keep you alive, Arkady won’t stop either.” I let that simmer, then add, “But men will notice the difference.”
He tries to sneer again. “What difference?”
“That loyalty has a cost.”
His shoulders tense. He tests the cuffs with a small movement and hears the chain rattle.
I move closer until I’m within arm’s reach, then stop. But I don’t touch him.
“You confirmed what I needed,” I tell him. “Arkady aligned with an outsider to pressure me through Rowan.”
Maksim’s eyes flash. “Pressure works.”
I take a step to the side so he has to turn his head to keep looking at me. “Only when the man being pressured is weak.”
His mouth opens as if to push again, but he falters when he sees my expression. Calm, unmoved, and cold. This is the moment he realizes he’s not in control of the room.
His voice drops. “She’s not worth this.”