Chapter 12 Dimitri
DIMITRI
The documents are spread across my desk when Katya enters.
Ledgers, payment records, debt slips.
All of them, of course, have been forged and convincingly enough to fool even me.
I've spent the past two days building her paper trail, creating a history that will hold up under scrutiny, all in the interest of keeping her safe.
"Sit," I tell her without looking up.
My eyes pore over the documents for a few more moments.
I always want my assets to be safe when I send them in for a job, but I find that assuring Katya's safety is weighing on me more heavily than most times.
It's like she crawled right under my skin and made it impossible to take a risk with her life that I'd otherwise not bat an eye at with one of my men.
That’s how I know she's fucking with my mind.
That and the way my cock gets hard every time I think of that mental picture of draping her over my knee to spank her like the good girl she is.
She settles into the chair across from me while I finish marking the final entry in the ledger, then slide it toward her.
"This is your debt record," I say.
"Three separate loans. One from a bookie named Timur who operates out of a bar in Khamovniki. One from a card dealer in Arbat. One from me."
I tap the desk and sit back, confident that my plan will work.
She picks up the ledger, scanning the numbers.
"These are real?"
"Real enough."
I lean back in my chair farther, stretching my neck.
"Timur is a contact of mine. He'll confirm the debt if anyone asks. The card dealer's dead now, so his records can't be verified. But the debt to me is common knowledge among my crew. No one will doubt it."
She sets the ledger down.
"How much do I supposedly owe?"
One eyebrow rises on her perfect face, and I see the snark simmering beneath the surface.
She's enjoying this too much, but then so am I.
Maybe it's one reason I want to spank her so badly.
"Enough to be desperate. Not enough to be worthless."
I tap the page this time.
"Forty million rubles total—with interest compounding weekly. If someone from the Radich crew asks, you tell them you can't pay it back. You tell them I've threatened to break your hands if you miss another payment."
"So the point is to get them to offer to pay it…"
Her face screws up into a dark scowl and she asks, "So, if they do?"
"You refuse, at first." I stand, moving around the desk.
"You tell them you don't trust gifts. You tell them you'd rather find a way to earn the money yourself. That opens the door for them to offer you work."
She watches me approach, her posture tense.
"They’ll never believe that line of crap."
Katya is smart, but I know this crew.
These idiots would eat poisoned bread if an elderly woman gave it to them.
"They will."
I stop in front of her.
"Because every word you say will be backed by documentation. Every claim you make will have proof. That's why we are doing this. That's why I don't leave anything to chance."
Katya sighs hard and lets her eyes drop to the ledger again.
It seems like she's still wrestling with this, and I have no other way to convince her it will work than to just pull the trigger and go for it.
But her job isn't to believe me.
It's to obey me.
Which is what she'll do because she gave me her word.
"Come," I say, turning toward the door.
"We need to walk the card room before tonight."
Katya stares out the window with her hands folded in her lap as I drive us across town toward the card room where my men have already scouted and informed me it's safe and empty.
I focus on the route, deciding on alternate exits in case we need to extract her quickly for safety, but there is no unsettled feeling in my gut about this.
I think I fully trust her ability more than I would some of my own men who've been with me for years.
Rolan would tell me that's a dangerous thing, that I'm thinking with my dick, but my gut's never wrong.
When we arrive, the building's empty.
The card room doesn’t open for another three hours, which gives us time to prepare.
I unlock the side door and lead her inside to the small room.
A single round table sits in the center, green felt worn thin from years of use.
Cameras are mounted in two corners, angled to capture the table and the door, but they're currently off.
A hanging lamp lets cool light puddle over the playing surface, leaving the edges of the room in shadow.
It's just the creepy sort of place that criminals thrive in, and from watching Katya's body language, I can tell it puts her on edge.
"This is where you'll meet them," I tell her, walking the perimeter.
"The game starts at eight. You'll arrive at seven thirty, early enough to seem eager but not desperate."
She stops at the table, running her fingers over the felt.
"Who else will be here?"
"Four players—two of them are Radich soldiers. One's a courier who works for both sides—basically, anyone who needs a job done in this world. The fourth is a neutral party, a gambler who has no loyalty to anyone."
I move to the first camera, checking the angle.
"You'll sit between the courier and the neutral. That puts you in view of the Radich men without making it obvious that you want their attention."
She looks up at the cameras.
"They will be watching."
"Yes."
I move to the second camera, adjusting it slightly.
"But not in the way you think. The cameras are for the house, not for the Radiches. They want to make sure no one's cheating. The Radich men will be watching you directly. That's what matters."
She circles the table, studying the layout.
"How did you get me in?" Her eyebrows rise as she asks, and I feel my patience being tested.
"Does it matter? You have a job to do. Let's just say I'm willing to pay any price to ensure I get what I want."
I feel my pulse quicken as I think of other things I want besides the person who put the hit on me served up on a platter.
Like Katya in my bed again.
She scowls and asks, "What do I do when they start talking to me?"
"You listen more than you speak. You do not volunteer information. You wait for them to ask, and then you answer truthfully. Your debts… Your frustrations… Your fear of me."
I walk to the door, checking the lock.
"If they offer you a drink, you accept but don't drink. If they offer you a seat in their circle, you hesitate before agreeing. You make them work for your trust."
She stops at the table, her hands resting on the back of a chair.
"What if they want me to do a job for them to prove my loyalty?"
"You tell them you're not opposed to it, but you need to know what they're offering in return."
I move back to the table, standing across from her.
"Don't say yes immediately. Negotiate. Make them think you have standards, even if those standards are low."
She nods as if she's soaking it all in.
If she's worth her weight in horse shit, then she's a good study and this will be simple.
It's really just playing a role, and I'm sure she's played this before, a beguiling yet desperate young woman who can twist a man any direction she pleases.
It makes me skeptical as I wonder if she's done that to me in any way.
"Good."
I pull out a chair and sit.
"Now we practice."
For the next hour, I drill her on responses.
She plays the role of the desperate runner, and I play the Radich soldier testing her.
She stumbles at first.
Her answers are too polished, too careful.
I correct her each time, pushing her to sound more raw, more needy.
By the end of the hour, she's found the rhythm.
Her voice carries the right amount of fear and defiance.
Her body language is open but guarded.
She's ready.
"Better," I say, standing.
"But you need to remember one thing. They'll push you. They'll test how far you are willing to go. If you flinch, if you hesitate, they'll know you're lying."
She stands as well, meeting my gaze.
"Christ, Dimitri, I won't flinch."
"Good."
I walk to the door, checking my watch.
"We should go. I want to be back at the office before the crew arrives."
But before I even get out the door, my phone chimes with a text message notification.
Gavriil has more bad news for me and I don't even hide my deepening scowl as I read his words.
"What is it?"
Katya asks with tension edging her tone.
"It's the north gate," I tell her.
"The guard schedule was leaked again. Someone knew when the shift change was happening."
I open the file attached to the text, scanning the details.
The gate was left unmanned for fifteen minutes.
Enough time for someone to slip through unnoticed.
Enough time for someone to send another scout or sneak out something important like cash or insider information for betting.
"Rodion is dead," I say absently.
My mind works through every nuance of my work life.
I'm baffled.
"Who else has access to the schedules?"
But I can't think of a single reason anyone else would have access now that I've removed him.
I close the file and try not to overthink things.
I executed the mole myself.
But this leak happened after his death, which means there's someone else.
Someone I haven't identified yet.
Katya is standing near the window, watching me toil.
She turns to face me with a serious expression.
"Let me find out who it is," she says.
I look at her, surprised.
"What?"
Something twists in my chest as I realize she's offering to help.
My first instinct to hesitate and protect myself is quashed by another deeper instinct to move toward her and find out why this change of heart.
"The same way I did with Rodion."
She steps closer.
"I can ask around, talk to the crew. See who's nervous, who's avoiding me. You said I'm good at reading people. Let me use that."
Her hands move as she talks, and everything about her seems casual and confident.
I can't tell whether this is a con or a genuine offer.
I stare at her, processing her words.
She's volunteering, putting herself forward.
A week ago, she would've run at the first opportunity.
Now she's offering to dig deeper into the danger.
I walk toward her slowly, already letting the idea of her partnering with me sink in.
"Are you starting to enjoy working for me?"
I feel my world shifting around this new idea that Katya Volsky may actually choose to participate in things she's not otherwise forced to do.
The same curious sensation I get when I imagine her coming willingly to my bed again.
It makes the predator in me feel hungry for the hunt.
Her expression shifts, uncertainty flickering across her face, but she doesn’t answer.
I take another step.
"You came here as a thief—my prisoner. Now you're offering to put yourself at risk for my operation. That's not the behavior of someone who hates me."
She backs away, her shoulders hitting the wall. "I just…"
"Is it?"
I close the distance, stopping inches from her.
"Or are you starting to understand that you belong here, that you belong to me?"
Her breath quickens.
I can see the flush creeping up her neck, darkening her cheeks.
Her lips are deep red, parted slightly.
Her pupils are wide, swallowing the hue of her eyes.
"Your body's telling me things your mouth won't," I growl out.
"You're flushed. Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing is shallow. Do you know what that means?"
She swallows hard.
"You're a fool."
"Am I?" I reach out, gripping her jaw gently.
"Or are you lying to yourself?"
She tries to turn her head, but I hold her firm.
My other hand moves down, sliding over her waist, her hip.
She goes rigid, her breath catching.
"Tell me to stop," I murmur.
"Tell me you don't want this."
Still, she says nothing, so I move my hand lower, slipping it beneath the waistband of her pants.
Her body tenses, but she doesn’t push me away.
I find her entrance slick and ready, coated with juices, and the confirmation sends a surge of heat through me.
"Liar," I whisper against her cheek, close enough to her ears to make the hairs on her arm rise.
She hisses, her hands coming up to grip my shirt.
"Just because my body responds doesn’t mean I like you."
"Does it not?"
I press my fingers against her clit, feeling the way she reacts.
She's swollen, her lips blood-engorged and dripping.
"Then what does it mean?"
Her eyes flash with anger and desire.
"It means I like being fucked. That's all."
"Is it?"
I lean closer, my mouth closer to her ear now.
"Then tell me. Are you giving me permission to fuck you again?"
Her breath stutters.
She turns her head to the side, her jaw tight, her eyes closed.
But she doesn’t answer.
She's not refusing, but she's not outright consenting, and I made her a promise.
I told her I would not touch her without her consent.
And she's not giving it—even if her body is dripping for me.
I pull my hand free.
Her eyes snap open, wide and startled.
I bring my fingers to my mouth, tasting her, holding her gaze the entire time.
"Next time," I say, my voice steady, "you'll ask me—not the other way around."
Her face flushes deeper, her lips parting.
But she says nothing.
"Get out. Go wait in the car while I fix what you started…" My hand works my belt open as she stands frozen for a moment, then moves toward the door.
The unsteady way she walks is comical as I start to pull my dick out.
She glances back, like she can't believe I'd jerk off right here all because of her, but she doesn't turn around fully or stop.
When she reaches the door, she pauses, but she leaves, the door closing softly behind her, and I tuck myself back into my pants and zip up.
Katya is a complication I don't need.
But she's also a reality I can't ignore.
She's mine, in every way that counts.
And soon, she'll admit it to me openly.
It's just a matter of time.