Chapter 26 Dimitri
DIMITRI
Driving toward Zarechye, Katya sits staring out the window at the frozen landscape.
She’s been quiet for nearly an hour, lost in her own thoughts, and I don’t push her to talk.
Gavriil follows in the second vehicle behind us, three armed men riding with him.
The drive will take another forty minutes from this point, and I use the time to think through our strategy for when we get there.
"Tell me how this works," Katya says, finally after such a long time.
Her voice is calm, but I assume inwardly she's anything but.
All of this was just dumped on her in the last few weeks and even the strongest of men would be overwhelmed.
I glance at her briefly before returning my attention to the road.
"When we meet Artemy, speak clearly and directly. Answer his questions with honesty. Don’t apologize for who you are or where you came from. You don’t diminish yourself or your experience."
I don’t know the man, but if honor is something he prioritizes he'll at least listen to her.
"What will you do?" she asks, and that's when I hear the hint of apprehension in her tone.
She's probing to make sure I don’t leave her.
"I remind them of our alliance terms. If he's a wise man he will see the wisdom in it…" I adjust my grip on the wheel.
"But I won’t speak for you unless you ask me to. This is your family, not mine. I'm there to support the alliance, but you’re the one who carries his blood. It won't matter to him if I remind him of a pact his uncle made years ago. He'll have to see proof."
She nods slowly, processing the information.
"So Artemy will test us both. He'll want to see if you respect me as an equal or if you’re simply using me as a tool to further your own goals."
"I expect that," I say.
"He'd be a fool if he didn’t test me. Any leader worth his position protects his family fiercely. So yeah, he'll push and watch. He'll try to find cracks in my commitment."
She sighs and wraps her arms around herself, returning to the scenery we're passing.
"I'm not here because I'm using you, Katya. I am here because I refuse to let you face this alone. And if you want to turn around right now just say the word. You're not a pawn."
She doesn’t respond, but I see her hand relax on her knee.
The tension doesn’t leave her entirely, but it lessens.
She understands what I'm saying, and more importantly, she believes it.
We pass through a small village, its buildings clustered along the road like sleeping animals.
A few people move about despite the cold, bundled in heavy coats and scarves, but no one pays us any attention.
The SUVs are unmarked, generic enough to belong to any family traveling through the countryside.
I check the rearview mirror.
Gavriil is still behind us, maintaining distance but staying within sight.
"What can you tell me about my cousin?" Katya asks.
Her fingers drum a light rhythm on her knee, a nervous habit she probably doesn’t realize she’s developed.
"Well, he took control of the Morozov family when he was fifteen years old, shortly after your father died. Based on intel we know the family had enemies who saw weakness in a child leading them, and Artemy had to prove himself through a lot of bloodshed, some of it within his own family."
I navigate a curve in the road, the tires gripping the frozen asphalt.
"He lost territory. He lost men. He lost influence. But he held the core. This alliance would benefit him greatly."
"That sounds like you—all the bloodshed," she says, a faint edge entering her voice.
And while she might be right to some extent, I've never been in my life what Artemy Morozov is today.
I can’t help the slight smile that pulls at my mouth.
"He's not me. We're similar in some ways, but we operate from different philosophies. Still, if you prove you’re Lyovik's daughter, he'll accept you. But he'll also have expectations about how you carry that name."
"What kind of expectations?"
She turns to look at me fully now with serious eyes.
She looks a bit uncertain and frightened when I glance at her.
"That you act like a Morozova. That you carry yourself with the weight of that name. That you don’t embarrass the family through weakness or poor decisions." I pause, choosing my next words with care.
"But you already know how to do these things, whether you realize it or not. You've been surviving on your own for years, learning to read situations and people, learning to adapt. You know how to be strong when circumstances demand it. You'll be fine."
We turn off the main road onto a narrower path lined with skeletal trees on both sides.
The gravel crunches beneath the tires as we drive deeper into the countryside, away from civilization.
The landscape becomes more remote with each passing kilometer.
After approximately ten minutes of driving on this smaller road, we approach a gate flanked by two armed men.
Both of them watch our approach with sharp eyes.
One of them uses a walkie to radio in to someone.
This is the place.
I slow the SUV to a stop and lower the window.
The cold air rushes in, carrying the bite of winter.
One of the men approaches the driver's side, and I can see his AR presented proudly over his chest in plain view.
"Dimitri Vetrov?" he asks in a gruff voice.
His breath crystalizes in the air and blows away in the breeze.
"Yes. We have an appointment with Artemy Morozov."
The man backs away and nods to his partner, who says something else into his radio.
The gate swings open, and I drive through without hesitation.
In the rearview mirror, I watch the gate close behind us as Gavriil's vehicle follows.
The driveway winds through the trees, revealing more of the property with each turn.
The country home comes into view gradually, a two-story structure with a wide porch and armed guards positioned at strategic points around the perimeter.
The stone is weathered but solid, the building clearly old but well maintained.
This is a place where power resides.
I park the SUV in the courtyard, positioning it carefully.
Gavriil pulls up beside me and stops, his engine cutting off moments after mine.
I step out into the cold, and Katya follows.
My eyes sweep the perimeter, counting guards, assessing exits, skimming for potential threats.
Old habits that will never die.
"Stay by the vehicles," I tell Gavriil quietly as I move past him.
"Don’t engage unless they move first. If something goes wrong, we get her out of here."
I keep my tone so low I hope Katya doesn't hear because I don’t want her being afraid.
He nods without speaking, understanding the gravity of the moment.
He and his men position themselves near the vehicles, but not in a threatening way.
They're here as backup, but ideally their presence will be nothing more than a show of respect for the Morozov family.
Katya walks up beside me, and I watch her take a breath and center herself.
Her face is calm, her posture straight.
She looks every inch the strong woman who has survived impossible circumstances.
Exactly the defiant and hardened woman I met in that barn when she tried to steal my horse.
"Ready?" I ask and she nods.
So we move toward the house.
The front door opens, and a man steps out onto the porch.
He's tall and lean, with dark hair and sharp features that echo Katya's own face.
When his eyes lock onto her, I see instant recognition flash across his features like lightning.
His gaze is intense, searching, analytical.
This is Artemy Morozov, and he knows immediately what he's looking at.
He descends the porch stairs slowly and his eyes never leave Katya's face.
His expression doesn’t shift from amazement and awe.
"You look like him," he says calmly, almost in wonder.
"You have his eyes. His mouth. Even the way you stand…"
Katya doesn’t flinch.
"I’ve never met my father, so I can’t say if that's accurate or not. But I accept what you’re telling me."
As she speaks, she nods at him, then bows at the shoulders.
"My name is Katya Volsky, but I've learned recently that I'm Ekaterina Morozova."
Artemy circles us slowly, like a predator assessing prey.
"Where has the Morozov line been hiding?"
"Perm… Then Moscow—anywhere my mother could keep us alive and unnoticed."
Katya's voice remains steady and damn am I proud of her.
Not even the faintest hint of nerves in her tone.
"She wanted to protect me from this world. She failed."
Artemy stops directly in front of her now, his eyes studying every inch of her face.
"You know what you are now? You understand what your blood means in this city?"
His hand rises and he pinches her chin between his forefinger and thumb and gently turns her head as if not believing his eyes.
"I am beginning to understand," Katya says.
"And I am here to reclaim my father's stolen empire."
I see Artemy's expression shift.
Something almost like respect flickers across his features before his face returns to its neutral mask.
He understands her position as the true heir and thus leader of this family, and he doesn’t see her as a threat.
This is respect—his blood runs thick with Morozov family ties.
It's a good sign.
"Bold words for someone who grew up not knowing who she is," he says in a wry tone.
"I survived on my own. I learned to fight, to steal, to read people. I learned not to rely on anyone but myself. I didn’t need the empire to learn how to be strong." Katya leans forward slightly, and there is fire in her eyes now.
"But now I am claiming what is mine by blood. And I need your support to do it."
Artemy's gaze shifts to me.
"So why are you here, Vetrov? Are you her lapdog, or does this serve your family's interests as well?"
His eyes narrow like he has no clue why I'm here, but I know damn well Rolan has spoken to him.
The pushback won’t stand with me.
We have an alliance that he benefits from and if he wants Katya, he'll agree to upholding it.
"Both," I say.
I don’t look away from him.
The steel in his back will bow to the fire in my veins.
"I protect her because I care about her. And I offer resources, men, and strategy because the Vetrov family benefits from this alliance. Don't forget Lyovik's pact, son. It benefits you as much as us."
"Poetic," Artemy says.
He is not being complimentary.
"Tell me about this alliance?"
"Your uncle discussed the terms with my father, sealed it in blood. You know what it's about. Stop playing with me."
My fingers twitch, ready to grab my gun at any second.
Meetings like this are always tense, and I'd never have told Katya I was on edge about it too.
If she'd have known, she'd have been too scared to show up.
Artemy walks to the edge of the porch and lights a cigarette.
He smokes in silence for a moment, his eyes moving between Katya and me.
"You care about her," he says finally as he puffs smoke out into the frosty air.
"Yes."
"That makes you vulnerable."
"It makes me committed," I correct him.
"I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her alive. If that aligns with your interests and your family's goals, then we work together. If not, then we find another path. But I won’t abandon her, regardless of what decision you make."
Artemy takes another drag from his cigarette, then flicks it onto the ground and crushes it beneath his boot.
"Come inside. We'll talk properly."
He turns and walks toward the house. Katya and I follow.
The guards on the porch step aside as we pass, their weapons visible but not threatening.
Inside, the hallway is narrow and cold.
We are led to a dining room where a long wooden table dominates the space, surrounded by empty chairs.
Artemy takes a seat on one side, and gestures for Katya and me to sit across from him.
We sit and talk for a few hours, about Katya's upbringing, her memories.
Artemy shows her pictures of places she remembers but only after she describes them to a T, especially features about those locations that aren't depicted in the photos, and when it's all said and done, he can only graciously accept that she's his cousin.
The conversation is tense and ends with a stern warning from Artemy to keep Katya safe or it's my blood, then a renewal of the pact with a handshake.
He'll back us, but he won't lose men over it.
And with the meeting finished, we walk back out into the cold afternoon.
Gavriil and his men remain alert by the vehicles, and I nod to him as we approach.
Katya climbs into the passenger seat, and I slide behind the wheel.
As I start the engine and prepare to drive away, Artemy stands on the porch watching us.
He looks like Lyovik must have looked, if the few descriptions I’ve heard are accurate.
We drive away from the country home, and in the rearview mirror, I watch the house disappear behind the trees.
"He accepted you," I say as we return to the main road.
"He accepted the blood tie," Katya corrects.
"That's not the same as acceptance. But it's enough to move forward."
The alliance is renewed because of her, and I couldn’t love her more.
But here and now isn’t the time to tell her.
It will come, in due time.
And when it does, I'll make sure she understands what it means.
That she belongs to me forever, and no one will ever take her from me.