Chapter 15 Katya
KATYA
Iarrive at the safe house at nine, climbing the stairs with my hand wrapped around the burner phone in my pocket.
Dimitri is already here, sitting at a small table with his laptop open.
He looks up when I enter, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.
"Any trouble?" he asks me, nudging his laptop back a bit.
"No." I close the door behind me, locking it.
"Daniil texted. He wants to meet tomorrow at a cafe."
Dimitri nods, typing something into his laptop.
"What time?"
His eyes scan the screen as I approach, but he doesn’t seem willing to share whatever's on it.
"Noon," I tell him, slipping my jacket off.
"Good." He closes the laptop and stands, moving toward me.
"Show me the phone."
I pull it out and hand it over, then toss the jacket onto the back of a chair at the table.
He scrolls through the messages with narrowed eyes and shakes his head.
Then he hands it back.
"You did well today," he says.
"The performance at the track was convincing."
"It didn’t feel convincing."
I move to the couch, dropping down onto the worn cushions.
"It felt real."
"That's what made it work."
He sits beside me, close enough I can feel the heat from his body.
"The Radiches will believe you're finished with me. That's what we need."
I lean my head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
"God, I keep feeling like this is a huge mistake, that they aren't going to accept me."
"They will."
His confidence should reassure me, but it doesn’t.
All I can think about is the sound of those gunshots, the way the dirt exploded at my feet.
I knew he'd never shoot me, but my nervous system didn't.
My body thought I was going to die.
"Get some sleep," Dimitri says, standing.
"Tomorrow will be harder."
I don’t argue.
I move to the bed in the corner, kicking off my shoes and climbing under the thin blanket.
Dimitri stays at the table with his back to me, working on his laptop.
The glow from the screen makes a glow on the wall over me, but I press my eyes closed and try to rest.
Sleep doesn’t come easily.
I'm not trying to fight it, but I slip in and out of fitful sleep with bad dreams and nightmares and eventually, I lose consciousness and rest.
The next morning, I wake to find Dimitri already gone.
A note is on the table, written in his sharp handwriting.
Check in every hour. Don’t deviate from the plan. –D
I crumple the note and toss it in the trash.
Then I shower, dress, and leave the safehouse at eleven thirty.
The café is twenty minutes away by metro, tucked into a side street near Arbat.
When I arrive, Daniil is already seated at a corner table, a cup of coffee in front of him.
I slide into the chair across from him, folding my hands on the table.
"You wanted to meet."
"I did."
He leans back, studying me.
"How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine."
"You don’t look fine. You look like someone who just lost their job."
I shrug.
"I did lose my job. And debt doesn’t disappear just because Vetrov fired me. I owe him and other people too…"
I'm still selling this entire act, but I don't think it's working.
This sleazy man scares me.
Daniil grins at me in a malicious way as he slides an envelope across the table.
"Payment."
I take the money from him as my cheeks burn.
It feels evil to take it, but if I refuse it on the basis of my obvious moral superiority over this monster, I will break my cover.
"Thanks, but this is hardly enough to pay Vetrov."
"That's why I wanted to talk to you. I have an opportunity—a way to settle your debt and make real money at the same time."
"I'm listening."
"My employer is looking for someone who can move freely. Someone who knows how Vetrov operates but is no longer tied to him. Someone motivated by money, not loyalty."
"And you think that's me?"
"I know it is."
He leans forward, his elbows on the table.
"But before we go any further, I need to know you're serious. I need to know you're willing to do what it takes."
My stomach churns.
"What does that mean?"
"It means proving yourself."
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small plastic bag.
Inside is a fine white powder.
"This is your test."
I stare at the bag, my pulse spiking.
"You want me to sell that?"
He chuckles darkly and opens the baggie, dipping his finger into it.
White powder sticks to his skin and he brings it to his nose and snorts it, then smiles.
"No, dear. I want you to use it."
My stomach churns and I feel the blood draining from my face.
Dimitri never said a thing about doing drugs.
How far am I supposed to go for him?
This is insane.
I can't do this.
"I want you to prove you're not a cop or an informant. Or someone who'll run back to Vetrov the moment things get uncomfortable."
He sets the bag on the table between us.
"Do this, and we move forward. Refuse, and we part ways. Simple."
I look down at the bag, my mind racing.
Dimitri and I never discussed this.
We never prepared for this.
My hand moves to the burner phone in my pocket, but I stop myself.
If I pull it out now, if I check in, Daniil will see.
He'll know.
"I don’t use drugs," I say, keeping my voice steady.
"I never have."
"Then today is a good day to start." He pushes the bag closer.
"Unless you're scared."
"I am not scared."
I pick up the bag, turning it over in my hands.
"But this isn't necessary. I can prove myself another way."
He's not buying it.
He's sick and twisted and who the fuck knows what he'll make me do to prove I'm trustworthy.
My body feels like a piano string ready to snap.
"This is the way." Daniil's smile fades.
"You do it now, or you leave. Those are your options."
I set the bag down, my jaw tight.
"And if I do this? What happens after that?"
"Then we talk about the job. The real job. The one that pays forty million rubles and gets you out of debt."
Forty million.
Exactly what I owe according to Dimitri’s false ledger.
This is too convenient.
Too easy.
But I can't think clearly.
My head's spinning, my hands shaking.
I need to buy time.
I need to figure out what to do.
"I need a surface," I finally say.
"And something to cut it with."
Daniil reaches into his pocket again, pulling out a small mirror and a razor.
He sets them on the table, then leans back, watching.
I open the bag with trembling fingers and pour a small amount of powder onto the mirror.
The white crystals catch the light, glittering.
I pick up the razor, my hand unsteady, and start to cut lines.
"You have done this before," Daniil says.
"No." I keep my eyes on the mirror.
"But I have watched people do it."
I finish cutting the lines, then set the razor down.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
I look up at Daniil, searching his face for any sign of mercy.
But there is none and I feel trapped.
Just how far am I willing to go for Dimitri?
It's not like we mean anything to each other, right?
I could cut and run right now.
I have my mother's pendant.
I could take this money Daniil paid me and get a bus out of town, go back to Perm.
"Do it," he says.
"I told you I don’t use drugs."
If my heart doesn't explode in the next five seconds, I'll be shocked.
It's racing so fast, I'm getting dizzy.
"And I told you this is not optional."
He reaches behind his back, pulling out a gun.
He doesn’t aim it at me.
He just sets it on the table beside the mirror.
"Do it. Or I will assume you are lying about everything else too."
My blood turns cold.
The gun sits there between us while I'm ready to piss myself.
I look around the room.
Two other men are seated near the door.
They're watching us.
Watching me.
There's no fucking way out of this.
It's crossed beyond how I can help Dimitri and I'm firmly in the "save my own life" territory.
He's literally going to kill me if I don't snort this blow.
I lean forward, my hands braced on the table.
I can feel Daniil's eyes on me, waiting. I pick up the mirror, bring it closer.
"I need a tube," I say, hating how my voice shakes.
I'm lucky the damn mirror doesn't shake right out of my grasp.
Daniil hands me a rolled-up bill.
I take it, but my fingers are numb.
This is wrong.
This is all wrong.
But if I refuse, he'll kill me.
Or worse, he'll know I'm working for Dimitri.
And then he kills me and probably Dimitri too.
I press the bill to my nostril and lean down.
The powder burns as I inhale sharply, making my nose water right away.
My eyes well up and I pull back, gasping, my head spinning.
"Again," Daniil says.
I do the second line.
Then the third.
By the time I finish, my face is numb, my heart racing faster than it was seconds ago.
I set the mirror down, my hands shaking uncontrollably now.
Daniil claps slowly, a mocking sound that cuts through the ringing in my ears.
"Well done. You passed."
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, trying to steady my breathing.
The world is tilting.
The lights are too bright.
Everything feels sharp and wrong.
"Now we talk business," Daniil says, pocketing the gun.
"You're going to deliver a message for me. To Dimitri Vetrov."
I blink, trying to focus.
"What? Why him?"
My brain isn't functioning well. I'm hyper aware of everything—the colors in the room, how bright the light is, the touch of my clothing on my skin.
"Yes, Vetrov… Is that a problem?" he asks, and he collects his mirror and his baggie now.
"N–No… What’s the message?"
"You're going to tell him his time is up. That we're coming for revenge. That he can run, but it will not save him."
Daniil leans forward, his eyes cold.
"You deliver that message, and we pay you forty million rubles. You do it right, and we have more work for you. Better work. Work that pays even more."
My head 's spinning.
I can't think straight, too many thoughts coming all at the same time.
The numbers blur together in my mind.
Forty million.
More work.
Better pay.
It’s too easy.
Too simple.
But I can't figure out why.
My thoughts are scattered, my focus fractured.
"Why me?" I ask, my voice slurred.
"Because you hate him. Because he threw you away. Because you want revenge as much as we do." Daniil stands, dropping a few bills on the table to cover his coffee.
"You have until tomorrow night. Deliver the message, then call me. I'll have your money ready."
He walks toward the door, pausing to look back at me.
"Don’t fuck this up, Katya. This is your only chance."
Then he's gone, and I'm alone at the table with my head pounding and my heart racing too fast.
I pull out the burner phone, my fingers clumsy.
I need to call Dimitri and tell him what happened.
But my hands won't cooperate.
The phone slips from my grip, clattering onto the table.
I pick it up again, forcing my fingers to work, and dial his number.
It rings once.
Twice.
Then his voice comes across the line, clipped and angry.
"Where are you?"
"The café," I manage. "Daniil… he made me—"
"Made you what?" His voice sharpens.
"Talk to me, Katya."
"Drugs. He made me do drugs." The words tumble out, barely coherent.
"He had a gun. I could not—I couldn't say no."
There's a beat of silence and then he says, "Are you hurt?"
"No. Just—everything is wrong. My head is wrong."
"Stay where you are. I am coming."
"No." I grip the phone tighter.
"He wants me to deliver a message. To you. He said your time is up. They're coming for revenge."
There's another silence and it feels loaded.
"And he is paying you to deliver this message?"
"Forty million rubles."
"That's what you owe…"
"I know." My voice cracks.
"I know it's too easy. But I can't think. I can't…"
"Listen to me." His voice is firm now, grounding.
"You're going to leave the café and walk three blocks east to the pharmacy on the corner. I will meet you there in fifteen minutes. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Say it back to me."
"Three blocks east. Pharmacy. Fifteen minutes."
"Good. Go now."
The line goes dead and I stand, my legs unsteady.
The room tilts as I walk toward the door.
The two men near the entrance watch me leave, and it's a little creepy.
But I'm starting to feel more alive than I ever have in years.
Like every cell in my body is tingling with life.
Outside, the air is brisk and it helps a little.
I start walking, counting the blocks until the pharmacy appears on the corner, its green cross glowing in the afternoon light.
I push through the door and stand near the back, pretending to browse the shelves.
My hands are still shaking and my heart is still racing.
The chemicals in my system aren't fading.
They're building, making everything too much.
When the door opens and Dimitri walks inside, his eyes find me immediately.
He crosses the space in three strides, gripping my arm and steering me toward the back exit.
I stumble after him as he drags me through the employee stock room, past a few people who look confused and start shouting at us, and then toward a sign clearly marked Exit.
"Come," he says.
We step into the alley behind the pharmacy, and he releases my arm and turns to face me with a look of concern on his face.
"How much did you take?" he asks.
"I don’t know."
He curses under his breath, then pulls me closer, tilting my head back to examine my eyes.
"Your pupils are blown. You need water. And time."
"I don’t have time." I pull away from him. "God, I feel sick."
"We have time, Katya."
He takes my hand, his grip firm.
"But first, we get you somewhere safe."
"The safehouse?"
"No. Somewhere else. Somewhere they can't track."
He starts walking, pulling me along.
"Stay close to me. Don’t let go of my hand."
I don’t argue.
I let him lead me through the alleys, through side streets I don’t recognize.
My legs are heavy, my thoughts scattered.
But his hand is steady, and I hold on.
This has gotten entirely out of control and I don't think I can keep doing it.
I'm not getting him information.
I'm just putting myself at risk for no reason.
My freedom is worth nothing if I'm dead, but if I don't finish this, one of them is going to finish me.