Chapter 14
Konstantin
The first thing I noticed was the weight of Maya sprawled across my chest, her breath warm against my skin, and the absolute certainty that I never wanted to move again.
She'd shifted in the night, thrown one leg over mine, her arm across my ribs like she was claiming territory.
Her dark hair fanned across my chest, tangled from my hands, from everything we'd done.
The morning light caught it, turned some strands almost bronze.
I could see the marks I'd left on her—a bite mark on her shoulder, purple-red against her pale skin, bruises on her hip where I'd gripped too hard when I was buried inside her.
I felt raw, possessive satisfaction that she wore my marks. That anyone who saw them would know she belonged to someone. To me.
Mine.
The word sat heavy in my chest, next to those other words I'd said last night. Words I'd never said to anyone. Not to the few women who'd passed through my bed over the years. Not to family. Barely even thought them to myself.
I love you.
The words had escaped without permission, pulled from somewhere deep I didn't know existed. Decades of violence, of being the monster, the enforcer, the one who did terrible things so others could sleep—and this tiny, broken, brilliant woman had cracked me open like an egg.
I'd meant them. That was the part that should have terrified me.
Love was weakness in my world. Love got people killed.
Love was leverage your enemies could use, a knife they could twist. I'd watched what love had done to my brother Nikolai—the panic when Sophie was taken, the way he'd been ready to burn down the entire city to get her back.
But lying there with Maya's weight on me, feeling each of her exhales against my skin, I understood. Some things were worth the risk. Some people were worth burning down cities for.
She'd said it back. Whispered it against my chest like a secret. It had felt wonderful.
The monster that lived in my chest—the thing that craved blood and breaking bones—was quiet. Satisfied by her skin against mine. By the knowledge that she was here, safe, mine. The beast had found something better than blood to feed on.
Maya stirred, made that small sound she made when fighting toward consciousness.
Her fingers flexed against my ribs, and I tightened my arms around her automatically.
Not ready for this to end. Not ready for the world to intrude on this perfect moment where we were just two people who'd found each other despite the odds.
"Mmm," she murmured against my chest, not quite awake. Her leg shifted higher on mine, and I had to bite back a groan. Morning. Bodies pressed together. My cock had its own ideas about what should happen next.
But I just held her. Let her wake slowly, naturally. No demands. No rush. Just this.
Zmeya chose that moment to announce herself, jumping onto the bed with a demanding meow.
She stalked up the mattress like she owned it, green eyes evaluating the situation.
Found Maya occupying her usual spot on my chest and expressed her displeasure with a series of chirps that probably translated to profanity in cat.
"Your daughter is upset," Maya mumbled, still not opening her eyes.
My daughter. I chuckled.
Domestic. Normal. Everything I'd never thought I'd have.
Malysh appeared at the edge of the bed, more cautious than his sister, gray eyes wide as he assessed whether it was safe to join.
I reached down with one hand, careful not to disturb Maya, and lifted him up.
He immediately curled into the space between Maya's hip and mine, purring like a tiny motor.
This was it. This was what people killed for, died for, built their whole lives around. Not the money or the power or the fear you could inspire. This. Waking up with someone you loved, cats invading your bed, sunlight making everything look like a fucking Hallmark movie.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
The sound cut through the morning peace like a blade. I knew without looking that it would be bad news.
I reached for the phone, careful not to jostle Maya, though she was already stirring more, consciousness returning whether she wanted it or not.
Nikolai: Family meeting. One hour. Urgent.
Ice replaced the warmth in my chest. "Urgent" in our world meant bodies or bullets or both. Meant someone had made a move. Meant the brief peace we'd carved out was about to shatter.
I looked down at Maya, her eyes starting to flutter open, hazel catching the morning light. She looked soft. Vulnerable. Unaware that our bubble was about to burst.
I made a decision that went against every instinct that had kept me alive for thirty years—I'd handle this without her. Whatever Nikolai had to tell me, whatever fresh hell was coming our way, I'd face it first. Process it. Figure out how to protect her from it.
"Go back to sleep, kitten," I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It's early."
She made a sound of protest but burrowed deeper into my chest, already sliding back toward dreams. The trust in that simple action—the faith that I'd keep her safe while she slept—hit me hard.
I extracted myself from Maya's warmth like I was defusing a bomb—slow, careful, every movement calculated to keep her sleeping.
She mumbled something, reached for where I'd been, but I tucked a pillow against her and she settled.
The kittens watched me dress with judgmental eyes, like they knew I was abandoning their mother for bratva business.
Forty minutes later, I stood in Nikolai's office watching my brother pour coffee like we were having a normal morning meeting.
Nikolai sat behind the massive oak desk like he'd been born to it, which I supposed he had. Maks hunched over his laptop at the side table, three phones and two tablets spread around him like a command center.
Sophie was notably absent.
"You sent her away," I said. Not a question.
"To her studio," Nikolai confirmed. "With Dmitry and two others. She's working on some photography project." His grey eyes—so like mine—held understanding. "Some things, wives don't need to hear."
Maks snorted. "Sophie would skin you if she heard you say that."
"Which is why she won't," Nikolai said dryly, then his expression hardened. "Show him."
Maks turned his laptop toward me. Communications, intercepted from channels we monitored. The kind of channels where you could buy anything—drugs, guns, people. Where life had price tags and death came with payment plans.
"Posted six hours ago," Maks said. "Through the usual organ-trafficking networks."
I read it once. Twice. The words rearranged themselves in my brain, but their meaning stayed the same.
ACQUISITION REQUEST - URGENT
Subject: Female, 26, medical training
Identifying features: See attached photographs
Requirements: Capture ALIVE, deliver INTACT
Location: NYC area, likely Brooklyn
Payment: $500,000 US upon delivery
Condition requirements: No permanent damage, no missing parts, no chemical contamination
Contact: [encrypted]
"Intact," I said, the word like broken glass in my mouth.
"You know what that means," Nikolai said quietly.
I did. In their world—the world of organ trafficking and human commodities—"intact" meant all pieces present and functional. It meant Maya wasn't just a loose end to tie up. She was inventory. Product. Worth more alive because her organs were young and healthy.
My hands curled into fists hard enough that my knuckles cracked.
"There's more," Maks said, fingers flying over his keyboard. "The pharmaceutical connection Maya mentioned? It's not one company. It's a network. Shell corporations layered on shell corporations, but I've traced the money."
New images appeared on screen. Corporate structures that looked like spider webs. Bank accounts in the Caymans, Switzerland, Singapore. And at the center of it all, a name that made my blood run cold.
"Belyaev Holdings," I read. "Anton's exile fund."
"Brand isn't just working with the Belyaevs," Nikolai said. "He's their primary source of income now. The organ trafficking funds everything else—the drugs, the weapons, the expansion into our territory. Maya isn't just a witness. She's the thread that unravels their entire operation."
"And she's valuable," Maks added, pulling up medical records that he definitely hadn't obtained legally. "Her blood type, her tissue markers—she's what they call a 'universal match.' Her organs could go to almost anyone."
The monster in my chest—quiet all morning, satisfied by Maya's presence—woke up hungry. Not the clean hunger of necessary violence, but something darker. The kind of hunger that had earned me my reputation. The kind that left messages written in blood and bone.
"Five hundred thousand," I said, voice coming out like gravel. "They put a price on her like she's—"
"Merchandise," Nikolai finished. "Which tells us how desperate they are. That's ten times the usual bounty, even for high-value targets. Brand's operation must be struggling without her."
"He trained her," I said, pieces clicking together in my mind. "She knows his techniques, his contacts, his entire system. Without her, he has to rebuild from scratch."
"Or," Maks said quietly, "he harvests her and sells the parts. Either way, he wins."
The wood of the chair armrest creaked under my grip. I looked down, surprised to see I'd splintered it. Hadn't even noticed.
"There's a team already looking," Maks continued, because apparently this could get worse. "Professional trackers. The kind who find people who don't want to be found. They're checking hospitals, clinics, anywhere someone with medical training might go."
"She's safe here," Nikolai said, but I heard the unspoken for now at the end.
"The compound is secure," I agreed, "but she can't stay locked inside forever. She's already climbing the walls, and it's only been days."
"Then we need to move first," Nikolai said. "Take Brand down before he can mobilize fully."