Chapter 17 Katya
KATYA
My body is fucking wrecked, dehydrated and sore.
My heart just won’t stop beating too fast and I feel like I ran a marathon.
Dimitri and I were awake late and slept even later.
My vagina feels like someone took a wrecking ball to it, but it makes me grin at how incredible that man makes me feel.
I almost feel bad still wanting to make my way home to Perm.
I'm lying in bed, still waking up as I listen to the sounds of the safehouse.
Dimitri crawled out of bed thirty minutes ago, but now, nearing noon, I know I have to get up or I'll waste the whole day.
So when my phone buzzes, I roll over and pick it up and see the text from my Radich contact.
Daniil 11:57 AM: 2 p.m. Warehouse on Volzhskaya. Bigger job. Better pay.
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen.
Dimitri's in the shower, water running in the bathroom.
I should wait and show him the message first.
But something in my gut tells me this is the moment we've been working toward.
I send a quick reply.
Katya 11: 58 AM: I'll be there.
When Dimitri emerges, towel around his waist, I'm already dressed and mentally preparing myself for the meet.
I hold up the phone to show him, and his eyes narrow to read it.
"Daniil wants to meet. Two o'clock. Warehouse on Volzhskaya."
His expression darkens.
"That's Radich territory—deep Radich territory."
He looks hesitant, especially after what happened yesterday, and I completely understand.
I was paranoid the whole time, thinking about how that man could've overdosed me.
But I didn't go through that for nothing.
We're so close now.
"I know," I tell him, "and I know you're going to say no, but you don't get a choice. I can do this, Dimitri. We're so close to having your answer."
I pocket the phone and watch his face screw up into a dark scowl.
"You're not going alone," he grumbles, but he doesn’t protest now.
Last night it was all, "Never going back, I have to protect you, you'll get yourself killed," and today, no protest?
It doesn't bother me a bit.
I'm a big girl and this is what I'm choosing.
I don't know why I feel strongly about it now, especially after everything, but deep down, I know I can do it.
And I did agree to the deal, so in a way, I feel obligated.
But it's more than that.
Hearing Dimitri talk about his past and open up to me about how he killed one of their men and they've been hunting him ever since spoke to me.
I felt like the two of us had a lot in common.
I don't pity him.
It's not that.
It's more like I care…
Like I'm starting to actually care what happens to him and whether he is able to defend himself and get his revenge on them for stalking and attacking him for so long.
"I have to go alone," I grumble, pulling on my jacket, checking the pockets.
"If I show up with backup, they'll know."
"Then I’ll follow you. Close enough to intervene if things go wrong."
"Fine."
I move toward the door, but he catches my arm.
"Wait."
He disappears into the closet, returning with a small wire.
"Lift your shirt," he orders.
I do, and he tapes the wire to my ribs, his fingers careful against my skin.
When he's done, he pulls my shirt back down and tests the connection on his phone.
"Say something," he tells me, so I mumble a few incoherent sounds and he rolls his eyes at me.
“Really?"
I snicker at him and lift an eyebrow.
"I'll be fine," I say plainly, and he nods.
"Good. I hear you loud and clear."
He grips my shoulders.
"You stay in public spaces as long as possible. You do not let them take you anywhere isolated. If they try, you run. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
"And if anything feels wrong—"
"Christ, Dimitri… I run. I know."
I pull away from him.
"I need to go. I want to be there before them so I can watch them approach. You know how this works."
I have two hours until they want to meet, but getting the lay of the land is essential for a good play.
He doesn't release me immediately.
His eyes search mine, and I see something there I haven't seen before.
Fear.
Men like Dimitri Vetrov don't get afraid.
They may have concerns, but their faces are always a mask of serious concentration or anger.
It rattles me a little, but I keep my face calm.
"I'll be fine," I tell him.
He nods, but he doesn't look convinced.
"Katya…" he says, but I'm already on my way to the door.
"Hmm?" I turn to look at him, still draped in a towel, water beading on his chest.
Fuck, he's incredibly sexy and I feel so conflicted every time I look at him.
He's fire and ice and I'm a woman drunk on his sex.
I'd do anything for the way he makes me feel, even take stupid risks like the one I'm about to make.
"Be careful. I'll be right behind you."
"Yeah," I say, forcing a smile.
Then I head out to hail a cab.
The warehouse is on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by a chain-link fence and empty lots.
I arrive way too early, walking the perimeter to get a feel for what I'm walking into.
Two men stand near the entrance, smoking.
They watch me approach but don't move.
I pass them and circle around a few more times before I decide it's just time to bite the bullet.
"I'm here to see Daniil," I say, approaching them directly instead of beating around the bush anymore.
One of them jerks his head toward the door.
"Inside."
I push through the rusted metal door into a cavernous space.
The ceiling is high, lined with broken skylights that let in shafts of dusty light.
Crates are stacked along the walls.
In the center of the floor, Daniil stands with three other men.
He smiles when he sees me.
"You came."
"You said better pay? I'm interested."
I slide my hands into my jeans pockets and try to act casual as I study their faces.
I don’t recognize the new men, but the job won't get done if I don't work with strangers.
One of these men may know who's been coming after Dimitri and that's my job to find out.
"Good." He gestures to the men beside him.
"These are my associates. They wanted to meet you before we move forward."
I nod at them, keeping my expression neutral.
One is older, his face lined and hard.
The other two are younger, their eyes cold.
"Let's talk business," I say.
"Of course." Daniil moves closer, his hands in his pockets.
"But first, we need to make sure you're clean."
My stomach drops.
"What?"
"Standard procedure. You understand."
He nods to the younger men.
"Check her."
They move fast.
One grabs my arms, pinning them behind my back.
The other runs his hands over my body.
He gropes my tits, squeezes them unnecessarily roughly, and grabs my crotch too.
When I wince and scowl at him, he returns to my chest, finding the wire immediately.
"Got it," he says, ripping it free.
Pain flares across my ribs as the tape pulls skin.
I bite down on a cry, but the moment sinks in slowly.
I had no idea they were going to check me for a wire.
He's never done this before.
Daniil holds up the wire, examining it.
"Interesting. Who were you broadcasting to, Katya?"
"No one." My voice is steady even as my pulse hammers.
"I was just making a recording for my own records. For protection…"
Even as I say the words, I sense myself cracking.
I wasn't prepared for this at all.
I thought I'd walk in here and get the job and walk out, maybe ask a few questions about Dimitri's debt to them, get a few answers.
Not this.
"Liar."
He tosses the wire to the floor and crushes it under his boot.
"Take her to the back."
"Wait—" I protest, but they're already dragging me.
I try to pull free, but their grip is too tight.
They haul me through the warehouse, past stacks of crates, into a smaller room at the rear.
The door slams shut behind us.
"You dumb fuckers, let me go!" I grunt, trying to kick them.
The men jeer and mock me in Russian, and I'm powerless against them.
Even one on one, they're too strong, but three to one is suicide by thug. I can't keep fighting.
Inside, the space is bare except for a single chair in the center and a metal table against the wall.
A flashlight sits on the table, its beam pointing at the ceiling.
They shove me into the chair.
I try to stand, but one of them forces me back down, his hand on my shoulder.
"Stay," he growls.
"You can't fucking keep me here! Let me go!" I shout, and the first man walks out.
But before I can stand back up, the older man enters, carrying a folder.
He sets it on the table, then turns to face me.
"Ekaterina Morozova?" he says, and the way he lifts an eyebrow confuses me.
"That's not my name," I tell him plainly, but he can only chuckle.
"Isn't it?" He opens the folder, pulling out a document.
"I have this birth certificate issued in Perm. Mother's name: Anzhela Volsky. Father's name: Lyovik Morozov."
I stare at the paper, my mind reeling.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
That's my mother's name, but she told me my father was dead.
She said he died before I was born, a tragic accident.
"You don't?"
He pulls out another document.
It's a photo of a man I've never seen, standing beside a woman who looks exactly like my mother.
"This is your father. Lyovik Morozov. Pakhan of the Morozov family. Dead now, but his bloodline lives on. Through you."
"You're insane."
I feel like I’m back on those drugs and for a moment I wonder if I dreamed being sober, having sex this morning with Dimitri before he went to the shower.
But I know that's not the case.
Then I wonder if they dosed me, if somehow when I wasn't paying attention, they blew some sort of drug in my face, or if they administered it while they were patting me down.
Is this a hallucination?
"Am I?"
He sets the photo down, leaning against the table.
"We've known who you are since the moment you walked into that card room, Katerina. We've been waiting to see what Dimitri's play would be. Whether he knew. Whether he was using you."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
My voice rises, panic creeping in.