Chapter 16
STEFAN
I should be listening to Taras.
I really fucking should.
But here I am, eye-fucking a vase of orchids like they hold the secrets to the goddamn universe.
They’re cool, unbothered, calm as could be as they bask in the morning light.
But me? I’m a fucking wreck. A lost cause.
My head is running an endless loop of Olivia’s hands on my face in that doctor’s office, the tremor of her fingertips against my jaw.
And when she saw our child on that screen—it was like maybe, for just a moment, she forgot all the reasons she should hate me.
“Yo!” Fingers snap in front of my face. Taras’s expression crystalizes—tense, annoyed, and very much done with my shit. “Earth to Stefan. Where’d you go?”
Taras’s voice slices through my thoughts. He’s sprawled in the leather chair across from my desk, boots propped on the ottoman, ash from his cigarette threatening to fall on my Persian rug.
“I’m right here.”
“Bullshit. The orchids have something more interesting to say, apparently.”
“I was appreciating them.”
Taras rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out. “You were appreciating them, or daydreaming about the woman who appreciates them?”
My jaw tightens. “Watch your mouth.”
“Or what? You’ll defend her honor? She’s not even here.” He takes a long drag, studying me. “When’s the last time you actually focused on anything that wasn’t between her legs?”
That kiss. That fucking kiss in the parking garage, her body pressed against mine, her mouth parting under mine, her life opening to make room for mine.
Since that ultrasound appointment, it’s all I can think about—finishing that kiss, pushing her against a wall and showing her exactly how much she still wants me despite everything.
But first, I need to deal with my bitch of a mother and her little boy toy Iakov.
“Are we going to plan or are you going to keep running your mouth?”
Taras grins. “Both. I’m talented like that.”
I push the orchids aside and force myself to focus. “What do we have on Natalia?”
“In short: jackshit.” He flicks ash into the crystal tray I keep specifically for his visits. “No credit cards, no phone pings, nothing. Woman’s a damn ghost.”
“She’s not a ghost. She’s hiding.”
“With Iakov, most likely.”
“Based on what evidence?”
“Just an instinct.”
“Oh, good,” I mutter. “An instinct. I can take that to the bank.”
Taras sits up and scowls. “You got any instincts you’d like to offer up? Because right now, mine are all we’ve got.”
He’s right, and we both know it. I’ve been too distracted, too caught up in Olivia to properly focus on the threat. The old Stefan would have had Natalia’s location within hours. Actually, the old Stefan wouldn’t have let her escape in the first place.
“That’s what I thought,” he continues smugly when I don’t answer. “Your instincts are all wrapped up in something else.”
“Leave Olivia out of this, Tar.”
“I’d love to. But you keep spacing out on her.”
I shove out of my chair, storm to the window. The city sprawls at my feet like a beast bowing before its master. “Stop pretending you can read my mind.”
“If anyone can, it’s me.” Taras joins me. His face tips toward the sky instead of down at the city. “We lived together for six years in Moscow. Every damn day since. I know you.”
“Sounds like we need a break-up.”
“Bite your tongue.” He grins. “You wouldn’t know what to do without me.”
“I’d enjoy the silence.”
“But who’d keep you honest?”
“My conscience.”
“Right.” He nudges my ribs. “Like you have one of those.”
I scowl at him again. “Go back to the instinct thing. You really think Iakov is sheltering Natalia?”
“She’s working with someone. Iakov hates you as much as she does. It tracks.”
“You’re right.” Grey clouds bridge across the skyline. “That’s gotta be it.”
“I could put a team on him. Surveillance, see where he goes—”
“Or I could just talk to him.”
Taras’s mouth snaps shut. He stares. Laughter hovers on his lips before his expression flatlines. “You’re serious.”
“Why not cut to the chase?”
Taras nearly chokes on his cigarette. “Talk to him? Just walk up and have a friendly little chat?”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a fucking snake! Also, you think Natalia would just let that happen? This is your mother we’re trying to find—the woman who betrayed your father, who you thought was dead for fifteen years. And now, she’s got her hooks in your pregnant girlfriend—”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He stands, pacing to the window. “Point is, Iakov’s not gonna just tell you where she is. He’s got the FBI on his side!”
“I want first-hand information,” I tell him. “Not secondhand, sometimes third-hand accounts filtered through our network. I want to look him in the eye. That’s the only way I’ll know if he’s lying.”
Taras turns to study me. “You know what your problem is? You think you know everyone because you know yourself. But people change, Stef. Look at you—you’re barely recognizable from the man I met in Moscow.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“It’s an observation. I know you, remember? I’ve seen you at your worst.”
“And you’re still here.”
“Because someone needs to keep your ass alive.” He returns to his chair, pulling out another cigarette. “You and Iakov used to hang out, didn’t you? Back in the day?”
The memory surfaces unbidden. Summer afternoons by the pool, teaching an eager eleven-year-old how to play chess. Iakov was smart, focused, desperate to prove himself. Game after game, he’d lose, but he never gave up. Never whined or made excuses.
“Something like that,” I say softly.
“What’d you do? Steal porn from gas stations?”
“I taught him to play chess.” I rub my chin, lost in nostalgia. “He was good at it. Beat me once, actually. I was impressed.”
“Well, now, he’s using those skills against you. He’s pulled out his queen and he’s about to destroy us with her.”
The chess metaphor isn’t lost on me. Natalia as Iakov’s queen, the most powerful piece on the board. But queens can be trapped, sacrificed, traded. Queens can be killed.
“Why did you stop hanging out?” Taras asks.
“Politics. My father didn’t want us playing anymore. Said it wasn’t appropriate, given our positions. Iakov told me his dad had said the same thing.”
“And you just accepted that?”
“I was fifteen. What was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Fight for your friend?”
“He wasn’t my friend. He was a kid I played chess with.”
“Right.” Taras’s tone says he doesn’t believe me. “And when his dad died?”
I remember Mikhail’s funeral. The church was thick with incense and hypocrisy. Iakov, barely eighteen, his face carved from stone until he saw me. Then the grief cracked—and rage shone through.
“This is because of you,” he’d hissed.
“He had a choice,” I’d replied. “He chose wrong.”
Not my finest moment, but I’d been young and drunk on my own power, fresh from orchestrating my uncle Vasily’s downfall. Mikhail was merely collateral damage.
“He blamed me,” I tell Taras in the present. “Rightfully so. His father backed the wrong horse, and it cost him everything.”
“And you’re surprised he wants revenge?”
“No. If I were him, I’d want revenge, too.”
“So why risk meeting him?”
“Because I need to know what he knows. And because running from him makes me look weak.”
Taras sighs, recognizing a lost cause. “Fine. I’ll find out where he spends his nights. But we’re not going alone.” He raps his fingers on his knee as he thinks. “What about Mikayla? She might know something else that could help us out.”
“She won’t talk.”
“You realize that, in order for a nut to crack, you need to apply pressure, right?”
I’m shaking my head before I can even begin to consider what he’s suggesting. “I’m not going to hurt her.”
Taras raises an eyebrow. “Since when?”
“Since it won’t work. She’s too well trained. No amount of torture will get her to spill now.”
“Then you should kill her.” He sighs heavily. “But we both know you won’t do that. And we both know why.”
I don’t deny it. How can I? It’s Olivia he’s talking about, and he’s absolutely on the money. That woman has crawled under my skin, into my blood, changed me at a molecular level.
He stands, stubbing out his cigarette. “You know what? Looks like you’ve developed a conscience after all.”
“Is that a problem?”
“For you? Probably. Consciences are expensive in our line of work.”
“Find Iakov,” I tell Taras. “Set up a meeting.”
“You sure about this?”
“No. But we’re doing it anyway.”
He heads for the door, pausing at the threshold. “What about tonight? Still planning that dinner with Olivia?”
“Yes.”
“You think that’s wise? Given everything?”
“I think she needs to understand what she’s gotten herself into.”
“Or maybe you’d like to get yourself into ‘something.’”
My jaw clenches. “Taras, from the bottom of my heart… fuck off.”
He laughs, closing the door behind him.
Alone again, I return to the orchids. Their petals are starting to curl at the edges, beginning their slow death. I touch one gently and nearly sever my tongue when that tiny bit of contact sends it drifting to the floor.
Dead at a touch. How fitting.