17. Timur
TIMUR
Kazimir's got Rostik in a clinch when I walk through the back entrance of the club, which isn't normal. They're not normally an easy match like this. Rostik would box circles around my nephew on any normal night, but after being beat to hell, he's still recovering.
They're in the main ring, gloves on, headgear strapped tight, circling each other under the overhead rig.
Rostik's eye socket has healed enough that the swelling is gone but the bruising is still there, a faded yellow-green stain that spreads from his brow to his cheekbone.
He moves well, though. His footwork is sharp and his guard is up, which tells me Levin cleared him for light contact even if he's not ready for a real bout.
And that explains why Kaz is doing anything against this behemoth.
Kaz ducks under a jab and drives his shoulder into Rostik's chest, pushing him back into the ropes. Rostik pivots out of it and resets, bouncing on his toes, as Kaz grins at him like a proud older brother.
"Looking good, kid," Kaz says, then spots me at ringside. "Tim. Give me two minutes."
I lean against the apron and watch them finish the round.
Kaz isn’t pulling his punches, working at about a hundred and ten percent, and he's fast enough to make most men flinch.
But Rostik doesn't flinch. He eats a body shot and fires back with a hook that catches Kaz square on the jaw, sending him spinning out, and it looks like my nephew has had enough.
They bump gloves and Rostik ducks through the ropes, grabbing a towel off the stool. Kaz strips his headgear and tosses it on the canvas before dropping down to the floor beside me. He's breathing hard but he looks happy. The ring does that for him.
"He's close," Kaz says, wiping his face with his forearm. "Another three weeks and he'll be ready for a card." He starts tearing the tape off his wrists as I watch our prime fighter saunter off.
"That lines up with what I need to talk to you about." I pull up the scheduling app on my phone and turn the screen toward him. "We've got the invitational on the twenty-third. I need to run security scenarios before we finalize the venue."
"Yeah, how so?"
"Well we've got that Greek fighter coming in. He's got a good record on the European circuit. And two Australian kickboxing champions that Stepan connected us with before he left Moscow."
Kaz whistles low through his teeth. "Yeah, I figure the Australians will draw a big crowd."
"That's the idea. We need big names to pull the bettors back.
Fedorov's still hedging and the mid-tier guys are watching him.
If we put on a strong card with international talent, it gives them a reason to come home.
" We're pulling out all the punches now, short of going directly to Federov, which falls squarely in Roman's territory.
But I've been avoiding him for days now.
"What about security? After what happened to Rostik, I don't want anyone getting near our fighters before they step in the ring." Kazimir's concern is warranted. The Mirov men did a number on him, and they nearly put Morin in his grave. We can't have any surprises.
"That's why I'm here. I need to walk the venue, check camera angles, test the comm system.
I want every entrance covered and a sweep team on standby in case Morin's intel about the Mirovs disrupting us turns out to be real.
" Nothing can be overlooked. One bad incident and Fedorov is gone.
Not to mention half a dozen mid-tier bettors.
And if we lose another large bettor, we lose our credibility.
Kaz peels his gloves off and drops them on the apron. "Speaking of things that need to be real." He gives me a look. "Did you ever confirm the Belova girl?"
I open my mouth and close it. He's right.
I've been so buried in logistics and Morin's reports and whatever is happening between me and Kira that I haven't followed up with Stepan since our last call.
The confirmation photo still hasn't come through and I've let it slide because everything else felt more urgent.
"Not yet," I grumble.
"Tim."
"I know. I'll call him now."
Kaz shakes his head and grabs a water bottle from the bench.
"You said a few days. That was two weeks ago.
I'm not trying to ride you on this but you told me you'd handle it and it's still hanging.
" He honestly has no right to nag me like this after what he's done, but if I don't take this seriously, Roman will start riding me. That's a whole different ball park.
"You're right. Give me ten minutes."
I walk toward the back office, pulling my phone out as I go.
Following up with Stepan was the last thing on my mind for so long, but I should do it.
In reality, I don't need to. Everything about Kira is so genuine, and we have this connection now that's so strong.
After dessert two nights ago, I almost just drove her right to Sergei to apologize, but I wanted her to myself—in my bed. Which was sensational.
This feels pointless, but I listen to the phone ring with my only intention being to get Kazimir off my back.
He picks up on the third ring. "Tim. I was gonna call you tonight."
"Beat you to it. Where are we on the photo?" I flick a glance up at the ring where Kaz is peeling the last of the tape off his wrists. He's really grown up in the past year, and I'm honored to be his uncle.
"Marina's been working on it. She reached out to her contacts in the Belova family but it's been slow. Apparently, Kirianna was sick for a long time. Some kind of extended illness that kept her out of the public eye. There aren't many recent photographs of her."
"How long is a long time?" My mind starts whirring. Kira never told me anything about being sick, but then, maybe she's self-conscious about it or something. Lots of people are private about their health struggles. Hell, when Roman learned he had a heart murmur, he told no one for two years.
"Years, from what Marina's been told. She recovered, but during that period, the family kept her very private. No events, no public gatherings, nothing that would have generated photos outside the immediate household."
I lean against the wall and process that.
In all the conversations we've had about her past, her family, her childhood…
She told me about her mother's death, her sister, her accounting work, her drawing.
She told me about writing letters to her grandfather in St. Petersburg.
But she never said a word about an illness, and something that kept her out of the public eye for years isn't a small detail.
But people don't always talk about the things that hurt them most. Some wounds stay private because sharing them makes them real in a way you're not ready for.
Maybe she's self-conscious about it or it's something she's not ready to share yet. I just haven't earned that part of her story. I am part of the reason she's been isolated from her family too, so that's going against me.
"When can Marina get me something?" I ask.
"She's pushing for it. The family's cooperating but they're cautious.
Sergei runs a tight operation and they don't pass around photographs of family members without good reason.
Marina told them it was for alliance verification purposes, which is true enough.
She thinks she'll have something within the week. "
"Tell her it's urgent. I need this closed out." What I really need is my nephew off my back. He's acting like a little king and I'm ready to put this behind me.
"I will. How's everything else? The fights?"
"We've got a card coming together for the twenty-third. Your Australians are confirmed. I need their travel details and fight records sent to Kaz by the end of the week so he can set the matchups."
"Done. I'll have it to him tomorrow."
"Good... Look, I gotta go. Get me that image, alright?" I hate sounding like a nag, but I want to move on. The sooner I confirm this, the sooner Kazimir will accept that Kira is who I think she is. And then I can really pour out what I'm feeling for her.
This may not be some perfect twin-flame match made in heaven, but Kira is pretty much the woman of my dreams—in the world, coming from an ally's family, beautiful and smart and funny, and damn, does she make my heart do strange things. Every time she looks at me, I think I might stop breathing.
Yeah, I have to confirm she's a Belova, but I already know, no matter what, that she's mine.
And I'm not giving that up no matter who she is.