Chapter 15
HELENA
The car ride is still, but it’s not peaceful. The air inside the SUV is thick enough to choke on.
The sapphire ring sits heavy on my finger, a shackle disguised as jewelry.
"The loading crews are finalizing the cargo," Konstantin says suddenly.
He's looking at his phone, the blue light lighting up the sharp angles of his face.
I blink, startled by the business talk after the chaos of the interrogation room.
"What?"
"The Lady Anastasia," he says, voice flat. "We’re on a tight timeline. We have twenty-four hours before the tide turns, and that ship has to leave port."
"Twenty-four hours," I repeat. Tomorrow.
"One day," he confirms. "One day until the shipment launches. Until your father tries to make his move."
I turn to the window, watching the rain streak against the glass. "You don't know that he will make a move."
"He opened the door to the Italians, Helena," he says, voice vibrating with suppressed violence. "You think he did that to.. What? Sit still? He did it to start a war."
He locks his phone and slides it into his jacket. Then, he reaches out, his large hand covering my knee. His grip is firm.
"Prepare yourself," he says. "You’ll need your strength. Because tomorrow night, the Bratva Council arrives."
My breath catches. "The Council? The Elders?"
"Yes. They’re coming to inspect the operation and my new wife."
He squeezes my knee. A warning.
"They believe you’re a liability. The daughter of a traitor. Tomorrow night, at dinner, you have to prove them wrong. You’re going to show them that you belong to me, not to Arthur."
"And if I fail?"
"Then Sokolov doesn't just cancel the shipment," Konstantin says coldly. "He calls for a vote. He blocks my ascension."
His blue eyes assess me without an ounce of kindness.
"I’m the Enforcer, Helena. But the Pakhan’s seat is empty, and the old guard is hungry. If I don't deliver these weapons, I look weak. And a man who cannot hold his territory cannot wear the crown."
I stare out the window as the car turns into the private garage.
Tomorrow the ship leaves. The Council arrives. The war begins.
I’ll be standing in the center of it all, wearing his ring.
The elevator ride to the penthouse is essentially a trip to the gallows.
When the doors slide open, Lev is there, holding the bag the police returned to me.
"Put them in the master suite," Konstantin commands, stepping out. He walks straight to the bar, unbuttoning his cuffs. He looks like a man who wants to tear something apart but is settling for a drink instead.
I freeze. "The master suite? My things are in the guest room."
Konstantin pours a drink.
"You’re not a guest anymore, Helena," he says, taking a sip, eyes tracking me over the rim of the glass. "Guests leave. Wives stay."
He gestures to Lev. "Move them."
"Yes, Sir." Lev disappears down the hallway.
I watch him go, panic rising.
The guest room had a lock. It was flimsy, but it was a boundary. Now, apparently, there are no boundaries. I’m exposed to the wolves. To my husband.
"I need to call him," I say, the words rushing out before I lose my nerve.
Konstantin pauses and sets the glass down slowly. "Your father."
"Yes. He... he needs to know I'm safe."
He laughs. "He knows you’re safe. If you were dead, it would be on the news."
"Please," I whisper. "He thinks I'm in danger."
He looks at me, his gaze heavy, stripping away my defenses. Conflict rages in his eyes, possibly between the ruthless King who wants to isolate me, versus the man who just put his ring on my finger.
"Fine,” he says finally. “Consider it a wedding gift."
He unlocks his phone and holds it out.
"One call. Speakerphone. If you mention my location, or if you try to speak in code, I end the call. And then I punish you."
I take the phone. My hands are shaking. I dial the number I’ve known my whole life.
It rings. Once. Twice.
"Yes?"
My father’s voice.
"Dad?" I choke out. "It's me."
"Helena?" His tone shifts, but not to relief. It shifts to sharpness. "Where are you? Why are you calling from an unknown number?"
"I'm... I'm safe.”
Konstantin moves behind me. He doesn't step away to give me privacy. He comes closer, brushing his chest against my back. His hand rests on my hip, thumb digging into my blouse. It’s a possessive claim, reminding me that while I speak to my father, my body belongs to him.
"Dad, listen to me," I stammer. "I wasn't just safe... I was in handcuffs. The Feds arrested me."
"Arrested?" My father sounds skeptical. "By who?"
"Homeland Security. They charged me with trafficking, Dad. They said I was going away for twenty years."
I wait. I wait for the gasp. I wait for him to ask if I’m okay, if they hurt me, if I’m scared. I need him to be my father for once.
"Did you speak?" he asks sharply. "Did you sign a statement?"
The question hits my heart like a mallet. He doesn't care about the handcuffs. He cares about the liability.
"No," I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. "Konstantin got me out. He... he fixed it."
"How?"
"It doesn't matter how," I snap, the hurt bleeding into my voice. "I’m telling you I almost went to prison for your company, and you’re asking about statements?"
"I’m glad you’re safe. Of course, I am," he says. "But we have to focus. If Morozov got you out, he still needs you. Does he trust you with the logistics?"
My blood runs cold.
Konstantin’s hand slides to my waist, pulling me tighter against him. He isn’t surprised. He knew this was coming.
"What?" I whisper.
"The Venezuelan Charter," my father says, his voice dropping low. "The Lady Anastasia. Do you still have access to the manifests? The clearance codes?"
I close my eyes. "Dad, why are you asking about the shipment?"
"Because that shipment is our leverage," he hisses. "Listen to me. I’ve been talking to our friends. The ones in Naples."
"The Italians?" I breathe, my stomach churning. "You... you’re working with them? The ones who sent the message?"
"They’re allies," he says. "They’re the ones who got me out. Morozov’s guards at the estate? They didn't let me walk away. My new friends removed them. They rescued me."
"New friends?" I echo, the realization hitting me. "Dad, is it Don Moretti? The head of the Italian family?"
I grip the phone tighter.
"I saw the name on the papers in your study," I stammer as the memory rushes back. "The financial records I found in your desk. You have owed him for years, haven't you?"
"Don Moretti is a powerful man. He’s a man of vision. Unlike Morozov, who’s just a thug."
"A man of vision?" I choke out. "He’s a butcher! You aren't trying to save me. You're trying to start a war!"
"I’m doing this for the Blackwood name!" he shouts. "Morozov took everything!"
"The Blackwood name is dead," I tell him, unable to hold it back anymore. "I signed it away. I married him, Dad. I’m Mrs. Morozov now."
The line goes silent.
"You... what?"
"I married him. I’m his wife."
Konstantin’s hand moves up to my throat. His thumb rests against my pulse as it hammers. He leans down, his lips brushing my ear.
"Tell him," Konstantin whispers. "Tell him who owns you."
But my father speaks first.
"Then you’re closer than I thought," he says slowly, plotting. Scheming. "This is good. You’re in his house. You’re in his bed. You can find the records. The Italians need the exact route for the Anastasia."
Tears spill down my cheeks. He doesn't care. He doesn’t care about me. He doesn't care that I married a monster to survive. He only sees a tactical advantage. A spy.
"Do you even know who he is?" I whisper. "Do you know why he took me?"
"He’s a rival, Helena. It’s business."
"It's not business!" I scream. "He hates you. That’s why I’m here! He took me because of what you did to his family. He told me about the ambush, Dad. He told me about his father, his mother, and his sister all dying in that car!"
The line goes quiet. No gasp. No denial.
"One question," I whisper, gripping the phone tight. "Is it true? Did you give Don Moretti the coordinates? Did you help him kill them?"
I wait. I wait for him to call Konstantin a liar. For the outrage.
But the silence stretches on, thick with secrets, until it becomes a confession.
"That’s ancient history," he says finally, his voice devoid of remorse. "It was a necessary business realignment."
He calls the murder of a woman and a seven-year-old girl a business realignment.
Something inside me breaks.
"Helena, listen," he continues. "The Anastasia is a deep-draft vessel. It can only leave on the high tide. I need you to confirm— "
Konstantin snatches the phone from my hand. He taps the red button, severing the connection.
"He didn't deny it," Konstantin says softly.
"No," I whisper, staring at the black screen. "He didn't."
"Because he’s guilty."
He tosses the phone onto the sofa. It lands with a soft thud, signaling the end of my life as Helena Blackwood.
"You made your call," he says, turning me to face him. "You asked for the truth, and you got it. Your father is a snake who would use his own daughter as a spy."
He steps closer, invading my space. He’s close enough that I can smell the expensive scotch on his breath.
"I gave you what you wanted: your father's voice," he says. "Now, you give me what’s mine."
I look up at him. The conflict rages in my chest. I should hate him. I do hate him. He coerced me, trapped me, and forced a ring on my finger.
But my father... my father erased me. He made me feel small. Disposable.
"Konstantin," I whisper, my hands coming up to push against his chest. My palms tingle where they meet his shirt.
"It's been a long day," I breathe, my eyes searching his. "Can we... wait?"
"Wait?" He raises an eyebrow.
"We’re married, Helena," he says, covering my hand with his. "And I'm done holding back."
He releases me, but his gaze pushes me toward the hall.
"Go to the room."
I don't argue. I turn and walk into the master suite.