Chapter 37 Stefan
STEFAN
“This is it?” Taras asks from the passenger seat.
“This is it.”
We’ve been watching the apartment building for twenty minutes. It’s eerily still. No signs of guards or surveillance beyond the standard building cameras. For a man supposedly working with my mother and the feds, Iakov’s security is laughably thin.
“Could be a trap,” Taras says.
“Could be,” I agree.
“You still want to go in?”
I study the building’s entrance. Through the glass doors, nothing moves except a potted plant bobbing in the breeze from the A/C vent. “Yeah. I do.”
Taras grunts but doesn’t argue. He knows better by now.
We get out of the car and cross the street. The doorman looks up as we approach. I give him the unit number and he waves us through without even bothering to check his list. Amateur hour.
The elevator is unremarkable. Polished chrome, one light fritzing out so it drenches us in darkness every other second.
Crackling classical music plays from hidden speakers.
Taras shifts his weight and adjusts his jacket.
The gun underneath shows for just a second before he pats the fabric back down.
“Easy,” I say.
“Easy? Me? That’s my middle name, baby.”
“You look like you’re about to shoot someone.”
“Maybe I am. Could be you if you keep making jokes.”
The elevator dings. Fourteenth floor. We step out into a hallway that smells like fresh paint and expensive carpet. Iakov’s unit is at the end. 1419.
I knock.
Footsteps approach from inside. Light ones. The door opens and a woman appears. Red hair pulled back in a ponytail, chocolate brown eyes, a dusting of freckles across her nose. She’s wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweater. No makeup. Pretty in a natural way that doesn’t need enhancement.
“Can I help you?” she asks, wrinkling her forehead in confusion.
“I’m looking for Iakov.”
“Oh!” She smiles. “Are you a friend of his?”
“Something like that.”
She opens the door wider. “I’m Arielle. Come in. He’s in the shower, but he should be done soon.”
I glance at Taras, as if to say, Is she for fucking real? He just shrugs and we step inside.
The apartment is nicer than I expected. Real hardwood floors, an overstuffed couch in neutral beige, a wool throw draped carelessly over one arm—domestic shit that reeks of movie night cuddles and shared popcorn bowls.
My eyes catch on the bookshelf wedged between two ferns. It’s mostly romance novels. I never pegged Iakov for a secret sap.
Photos clutter the walls like a museum exhibit titled Look How Normal We Are.
Arielle laughing on a beach, hair whipping in salt-kissed wind.
Iakov grinning beside her at some rooftop bar, cocktail in hand.
A framed snapshot of them hugging an overexcited golden retriever. So domestic it ought to be illegal.
Taras nudges a woven basket of throw pillows with his boot. “Homey,” he mutters.
I don’t answer. The warmth here feels like a taunt. A middle finger disguised as a fucking Pottery Barn catalog. Every carefully curated detail whispers, This could’ve been you if you’d made different choices.
If I didn’t know better, I’d almost believe it.
“I’m Arielle,” the woman says. “Actually, I think I told you that already. Silly me. Anyway, can I get you anything? Coffee? I just baked banana bread if you’re hungry.”
“Coffee would be great,” I say.
“Me, too,” Taras adds.
She leads us to the kitchen. It’s more of the same in here: open and bright, lived-in and happy, not too ostentatious, utterly forgettable.
Arielle pours coffee into two mugs and sets them on the counter. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Black is fine,” I say.
“Same,” Taras says.
She smiles and leans against the counter. “So how do you know Iakov?”
“We go way back,” I say. “Family connections.”
“Oh, that’s nice. He doesn’t talk about his family much.”
“No?”
“Not really. I think it’s complicated.” She laughs softly. “But whose family isn’t, right?”
I sip my coffee. “How long have you two been together?”
“About a year now. I just moved in a few months ago.”
“Big step.”
“Yeah. But it felt right, you know?” Her eyes light up when she talks about him. “He’s really wonderful. Kind. Patient. He makes me laugh.”
I study her face. She means it. Every word. I’ll be damned.
“What do you do?” I ask.
“I teach elementary school. Second grade.”
“That must be rewarding.”
“It is. The kids are amazing. So full of energy and curiosity.” She cuts a slice of banana bread and sets it on a plate. “I want to change the education system someday. Make it better for them. For my future kids, too.”
“You and Iakov are talking kids, then?”
She blushes. The color spreads across her cheeks and down her neck. “Not right now. But one day, I’d love to.”
I take another sip of coffee. Despite myself, I like her. She’s genuine to a fault.
Footsteps sound from down the hall…
… and then Iakov Zakharov appears in the doorway.
He’s wearing jeans and a white t-shirt and his hair is still damp from the shower. When he sees me sitting at his kitchen table, he freezes.
“Stefan.”
His voice is dead and grating. The rasping thud of a rusted lock.
Arielle looks between us. When she senses the hostility in the air, the smile fades from her face. “You two know each other, right?” she asks again.
“We’re acquainted,” Iakov grits out. His eyes never leave mine. “Arielle, go to the bedroom.”
“But—”
“Now.”
She sets down the coffee pot. Her hands shake. “Okay. It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” I say. “Thanks for the coffee.”
She gives me a small, tight smile. Then she leaves. Her footsteps fade and the bedroom door shuts.
When we’re alone, Iakov crosses his arms. “What do you want?”
“Sit down,” I say. “It’s about time we had an honest conversation.”
He doesn’t move for a long moment. Then he pulls out a chair and sits across from me. Taras positions himself by the door. His gun is still tucked away—for now.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Don’t play games. My mother. Where is she?”
Iakov doesn’t look surprised. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious. She comes and goes as she pleases. Doesn’t keep me informed of her schedule.”
I lean back in my chair. “But you’ve been working with her.”
“On and off.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “She pays well. And she hates you as much as I do.”
“Do you hate me, Iakov?”
“What do you think?”
I study his face. The hard set of his jaw. The coldness in his eyes. “I think it’s complicated.”
“Everything with your family is fucking complicated.”
“Fair point.” I rotate the coffee cup in its saucer. “I remember when we first met. You were such a serious child. Somber as the fucking grave.”
“I had to be. My father didn’t tolerate weakness.”
“Mikhail was a hard man.”
“He was a good man,” Iakov says sharply. “He taught me everything I know.”
“I liked him,” I say. “He had honor. Discipline.”
“Then why did you kill him?”
Taras shifts by the door. I set down my coffee cup.
“I didn’t kill your father, Iakov. He killed himself.
After I destroyed his reputation and his standing in the organization, yes, but ultimately, the choice to die was his.
He knew what he’d done. He tried to have me killed after my father died.
And he knew what I had to do in response. ”
Iakov’s jaw clenches. “That’s not what happened.”
“That is exactly what happened. You know it. I know it. Everyone who was there knows it.”
“My father was loyal to Vasily!” he snarls. “He followed orders.”
“He helped orchestrate a coup,” I correct. “Those aren’t the actions of an innocent man, Iakov. You don’t need me to explain that to you.”
His face is purple with rage. “Your father was weak. Even then, the organization needed stronger leadership. And when he died, were we simply supposed to let you take over? You were a child. An arrogant, snot-nosed shit.”
“I was old enough to understand what was happening. Old enough to want justice.”
“Justice.” Iakov laughs bitterly, right in my face. “You don’t know the meaning of the fucking word. You destroyed my father. Humiliated him. Drove him to death. And you have the balls to barge into my home now and lecture me about justice.”
“I gave him a choice. Confess or die. He chose death.”
“That’s no choice at all.”
We stare at each other across the table. The cordial part of the visit is definitely over. It’s a good thing Iakov told Arielle to go away. It’s best that she doesn’t see just how ugly this can get.
“Your father made his bed,” I say quietly. “He knew the risks when he conspired against mine. He knew what would happen if he got caught.”
“And my mother? My sisters? Did they know the risks, too? Did they deserve to lose everything?”
“I made sure they were taken care of. Your mother got a pension. Your sisters got their education paid for.”
“How generous of you.”
“It was more than they deserved.”
Iakov’s hands curl into fists on the table. “You took everything from me, you smug motherfucker. My father. My future. My place in the organization.”
“You still had a place. I offered you one.”
“As what? Your lapdog?”
“As my brother-in-arms.” The word tastes strange in my mouth, but to my surprise, I mean it. “I wanted us to work together. If we’d stuck together, we would’ve had the chance to build something better than what our fathers had.”
“I didn’t want your fucking pity,” he spits, pounding the table with one fist.
I pick up my coffee cup again. It’s still warm. “Maybe not. But I know what I saw in you back then: loyalty.”
“Loyalty to my father,” he corrects. “Not to you.”
“Your father was dead. That meant you had a choice: move forward or stay stuck in the past. You chose wrong.”
“I chose to remember who I am.”
“And where has that gotten you?” I gesture around the kitchen. “A nice apartment. A pretty girlfriend who teaches second grade. A quiet life.”
“It’s more than you’ll ever have.”
“Is it?” I ask. “I have a woman I love. A child on the way.”
“What you have is a fucking target on your back, brother,” he says with a vicious sneer. “So many people want you dead. I’m not the only one. How long do you think you can keep your loved ones safe?”
“As long as I have to.”
“Even from your own mother?”
“Especially from her.”
Iakov leans back in his chair. “She really did a number on you.” He shakes his head. “You’re just like her. You know that?”
Taras clears his throat when he senses my rage building. “Stef, we should go.”
I ignore him. “Where is she, Iakov? I need to know.”
“I told you already: I don’t know.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Two weeks ago. She came by and dropped off some money. Said she had business to handle.”
“What kind of business?”
“She didn’t say. And I didn’t ask.”
“Did she mention Olivia? My child?”
“No.”
I watch his face. He’s telling the truth. Or at least he thinks he is.
“If she contacts you again,” I say, “you tell me. Immediately.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because if anything happens to Olivia or my child, I will burn this building to the ground with you and Arielle inside it.”
His face goes pale. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
We glare at each other for a long time, and I wonder if the violence that’s always simmered below the surface with us will finally boil and burst.
Finally, Iakov nods. “Fine. If she contacts me, I’ll let you know.”
“Good.”
I stand. Taras opens the door.
“Stefan,” Iakov calls after me.
I turn back.
“For what it’s worth, I did like you. Before everything went to shit.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I liked you, too.”
I walk out. Taras follows. The door closes behind us. In the elevator, he exhales. “That went better than expected.”
“Did it?”
“You didn’t kill him. I call that a win.”
“He doesn’t know where she is.”
“You believe him?”
“Strangely enough, I do.”
The elevator dings and we step out into the lobby. The doorman still doesn’t look up from his phone. Outside, the air is cold. I breathe it in. Let it clear my head, like Olivia said the pool did for her this morning.
“What now?” Taras asks.
“Now, we wait. She’ll surface eventually. And when she does, we’ll be ready.”
We cross the street to the car. I get in the driver’s seat. Taras settles beside me.
“You really would have burned the building down,” he says. “Wouldn’t you?”
I start the engine. “In a heartbeat.”
He laughs. “You’re a sick bastard, you know that?”
Clenching my teeth, I pull away from the curb and head back toward the estate. Toward Olivia. Toward the only thing that matters anymore.
Behind us, Iakov’s building disappears into the night.