Chapter 24 Dimitri
DIMITRI
The safehouse has become a cage.
Three days of sitting in these rooms, planning and strategizing, watching Katya circle the same space over and over.
She's restless.
I can see it in the way she moves, the way her eyes track to the windows, the way her fingers drum against her thighs when she thinks I'm not looking.
She wants to get out of here and do something but I can't give her that.
But I can give her something else.
"Come," I tell her, standing from the table where I've been getting messages from Rolan.
"We're going outside."
She looks up, surprised. "Outside?"
"The yard. I need to see what you can do with a weapon."
I move to the closet, pulling out a pistol and a box of ammunition.
"If you're going to be part of this, you need to know how to defend yourself."
I set them aside while I grab a jacket and put it on, then take a second one out for her and toss it at her.
She catches up, but stares at me.
Her expression shifts, and she rolls her eyes and scowls.
"I know how to defend myself."
"Not with a gun, you don't."
I check the chamber, then hand her the weapon.
"Let's go."
Katya grumbles as she puts the jacket on, swapping the gun to the opposite hand when she has to slide her arm into the sleeve.
Then she huffs as she follows me through the cabin to the back door where the brisk breeze blows in the instant I open it.
The yard behind the safehouse is small, enclosed by a copse of trees that line the property.
I set up a row of bottles on a wooden crate at the far end, then turn to face her.
She's holding the pistol awkwardly, her grip too loose, her stance all wrong.
"Hold it properly," I tell her, moving behind her.
I adjust her grip, wrapping her fingers around the handle.
"Firm but not tense. Your finger stays off the trigger until you're ready to shoot."
She nods, but I can feel the tension in her body.
She doesn't want to be here.
She doesn't want me teaching her this.
But she needs it.
If she'd have had a weapon and training when she went into that meet, maybe they never would've gotten the upper hand.
"Feet shoulder-width apart," I continue, nudging her left foot back with mine.
"Bend your knees slightly. You need balance."
I stand behind her, arms around her torso as I reach out to guide her hands on the weapon.
She tries to grip the pistol with her left hand high on her wrist and I correct it, sliding it lower under the butt of the weapon for stability.
She adjusts her stance, her jaw tight, and I back up, crossing my arms.
"Now aim. Focus on the target. Line up the sights. When you're ready, squeeze the trigger. Don't jerk it."
She raises the pistol, her arms shaking slightly.
She squints down the barrel, then pulls the trigger.
The shot goes wide, missing the bottles entirely, and she jolts at the noise, letting the gun kick up high and wincing.
She lowers the gun, her face flushed.
"Again," I say.
"But—" she protests, looking intimidated.
I hate being hard on her, but it's for her own good.
"Again."
She takes a breath, steadies herself, and fires.
The bottle on the left explodes, glass scattering across the ground.
This time she doesn't lower the gun immediately.
I feel something loosen in my chest.
"Better. You're getting it," I tell her, but I know we're far from where she should be.
She looks at me, surprise flickering across her face.
Then she raises the pistol again, more confident this time.
She fires twice, hitting two more bottles in quick succession.
When she lowers the gun, there's a small smile on her lips.
"Good," I tell her. "You're learning."
Katya sighs and tries again and again.
She misses a few more times, which is to be expected, but by the time she's emptied the clip all but one of the bottles I set up are in pieces on the grass.
She hands the pistol back to me, wiping her hands on her pants.
"Can we go inside now?"
"Yes."
I reload the weapon and tuck it back into my waistband.
"But we're doing this again tomorrow and the day after. Until you can hit every target without hesitation."
She doesn't argue.
Just nods and walks back toward the house.
I follow, watching the way her shoulders have relaxed slightly.
The practice helped.
Not just with the weapon, but with her nerves.
She needed something to focus on besides the walls closing in around her.
Inside, we sit across from each other at the table.
I pour two glasses of water, sliding one toward her.
She drinks half of it in one gulp, then sets the glass down.
"Rolan called this morning," I tell her. "While you were sleeping."
She looks up, her expression wary.
"What did he say?"
"He's been making calls. To what remains of your father's family. Lyovik's allies—the Turov family and others who owed him debts."
I lean back in the chair, watching her face.
"He's been telling them about you and the fact that you're alive. Most of them didn’t know you even existed."
Her hands curl into fists on the table.
"And what did they say?"
"They want to meet you. They want proof that you're who we say you are. Probably a DNA test or something." I pause, choosing my words carefully.
"But they're interested. The Turov family especially. They owe a blood debt to the Morozovs. If you claim your name, they'll honor it."
She's quiet for a long moment, staring down at her hands.
"I'm not a Morozova."
"You are," I tell her.
"Whether you knew it or not. And this is a good thing, Katya, a very good thing."
"I never asked for this," she says softly and her head droops again.
I can't imagine what she's feeling right now at all.
All of this having been thrust into her lap must be traumatic, maybe an identity crisis.
"No, but it's yours now."
I lean forward, my elbows on the table.
"The Radiches know what you are. They're going to use it against you and all of us. The only way to survive this is to claim it first. To stand with us and use your name to bring your father's allies into our fold."
Katya grips the water bottle in her hand then slowly twists it around and around.
I watch the skepticism in her eyes and the way she goes inward to her own thoughts.
It physically pains me to see her like this.
"I don't know how to be what they need," she says finally.
"I don't know how to be a Pakhan’s daughter."
"You don't have to know."
I turn to face her.
"You just have to be you. You've been on your own for how long now? And you're a survivor. That's what they'll see. That's what they'll follow."
She looks at me, her eyes searching mine.
"And you? What do you see?"
The truth rises in my chest, demanding to be spoken.
I see the woman I fell in love with.
The woman who spit in my face and refused to beg.
The woman who dived into danger without hesitation.
The woman who makes me feel things I swore I'd never feel.
But before I can answer, she turns away.
"I need time to think."
"Katya, they're preparing for war. We don't have the luxury of time."
She's quiet for a long moment.
Then she lifts her to look at me.
"What will happen if I claim that name? I'm afraid. I don’t want to do it alone. Will you stand with me?"
"Yes."
The words are on the tip of my tongue, to tell her I love her.
To confess how much I would love her even if she refused her name.
How I'd still keep her.
But I don't want her decision to be swayed by my affection for her.
It has to be her own feelings.
"Even if it means risking everything? Even if it means going to war?"
"Yes." I move closer, stopping just inches from her.
"I will stand with you—always."
I mean every word I say and she doesn't even know why.
She takes a breath, then nods slowly.
"Okay, then…"
She sucks in a deep breath and says, "Tell Rolan I will do it. If I really am the tie that binds all of this together I can't just walk away."
Her eyes meet mine and I see the defiant streak she has that made me instantly obsessed with her.
"I'll be Ekaterina Morozova."
Relief floods through me, so strong it's almost painful.
I assumed she'd come around but there was always a part of me that held a space for her in case she refused.
I could never force her to do it.
It had to be her choice, and now it is.
And now I know why I can never let her walk away from me.
I love the way she challenges me.
The way she refuses to break.
I love her strength and her vulnerability.
I love the fire in her eyes when she's angry and the softness in her voice when she's scared.
I love her.
And I need to tell her.
"Katya—" I start, but my phone rings, cutting me off.
I curse under my breath, pulling it from my pocket.
Rolan's name flashes on the screen.
"I need to take this," I tell her.
She nods, moving back to the table. I move into the hallway, answering the call.
"What is it?" I ask.
"We have movement," Rolan says. “The Radiches are mobilizing. They're gathering at one of their warehouses on the south side. Looks like they're preparing for something big."
"How many men?"
"At least twenty. Maybe more. They're bringing in reinforcements from outside the city."
"What about Katya's family? Have they responded?"
"Yes. They want to meet her tomorrow night at their estate outside the city. And it couldn't come at a better time." Rolan sounds on edge, and I understand why.
This could go nuclear in just a short time.
We can't sit back twiddling our thumbs while our biggest enemy prepares to strike.
I glance back toward the table where Katya sits, her head in her hands.
"She agreed to stand with us."
"Good." Rolan's voice is firm.
"Then we move forward. I'll coordinate with the family. You prepare her for the meeting. She needs to be ready."
"She will be."
"And Dimitri?" Rolan pauses.
"Be careful. The Radich crew is going to come for her. Harder than before."
"I know." My voice is flat. "But they won't get her. I won't let them."
"I hope you're right."
He hangs up.
I stand there for a moment, the phone still in my hand.
Then I walk back into the room. Katya looks up, her expression tense.
"What did he say?" she asks.
"The Morozov family wants to meet you."
I sit down across from her.
"This is it. Once you meet them, once they see you and recognize you, there's no going back. You'll be Ekaterina Morozova. Fully. Permanently."
She nods slowly. "I know."
"Are you ready?"
"I don't know."
She looks down at her hands.
"But I don't have a choice, do I?"
"You always have a choice."
I reach across the table, covering her hand with mine.
"But I need you to understand something. Once you claim your name, you become a target. Not just for the Radiches, but for anyone who wants to use you. You'll never be anonymous again. You'll never be able to disappear."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
I squeeze her hand gently.
"Because once this starts, I can't protect you from everything. I can't shield you from the consequences of who you are."
She lifts her head, meeting my gaze.
"I'm not asking you to shield me. I'm asking you to stand with me."
Her fierce determination sparks in my chest and I feel pride swelling.
"I will," I tell her.
"I promise you that."
She smiles, small and tentative.
"Then I'm ready."