Chapter 17 – Dimitri
The bloodstained envelope sits on my desk, long after Sylvester and Vivian have left. The city outside hums with indifference, but inside, the air is thick with tension, and every shadow feels like a predator waiting for a mistake.
I pace, vodka glass in hand, the amber liquid untouched. My mind replays everything: the payments under her mother’s name, the Koval insignia smeared across a Laurent estate, the audacity of someone turning my carefully calculated revenge into a free-for-all of chaos.
A low, cold rage rises from my chest, curling like smoke through my veins—the same fury that once made me untouchable, the nightmare whispered about in Europe’s underworld. But beneath it, something new gnaws at me. Fear. For her. For Vivian.
I slam the glass down. The vodka spills across the polished wood, a dark mirror of the chaos in my mind. How dare they bring my wife into this?
The thought of her trembling, her innocence caught in a war not her own, claws at me.
I pace faster, boots scraping the floor.
My fists tighten around nothing. I feel my control slipping, the meticulous mask cracking, revealing the predator beneath—but this time, it isn’t just about power or revenge.
It’s personal.
I think of Vivian’s face when she told me about the payments. Her voice trembling as she handed me the file. We’ve both been played.
And yes, someone played us both, but if they think they can manipulate her, use her as bait, or make her a casualty…they haven’t met Dimitri Rusnak.
I lift the glass to my lips, but it doesn’t quench my bitterness. My eyes lock on the envelope again, and I know, without hesitation: Whoever did this will regret it.
Blood will answer blood. And anyone who dares touch Vivian will burn.
I don’t even care if the fire consumes me in the process.
I grab my phone and dial Lev. He picks up on the second ring.
“You good?” he asks.
I brief him: the photo, the insignia, the message meant for me and my wife, the escalating attacks. I tell him I’m going to attack as soon as Sebastian finds something tangible.”
“Fuck those bastards.” His tone darkens. “Dimitri…handle it quietly. Okay?”
“Why?”
“Any more publicity,” Lev warns, “and the authorities will start connecting the Bratva name to the financial wars. If this gets bigger, it becomes an international problem. We can’t afford that. Not now.”
My jaw tightens. “So you want me to sit still?”
“I want you to be smart,” he says. “I’ll back you up when you need me. But we have to be silent.”
I sigh. “Fine. But don’t tell Lukin anything for now.”
“Dimitri, don’t do anything stupid. You—”
I end the call before Lev can finish. I don’t need another warning. I don’t need anyone telling me to calm down.
I know my brothers will always have my back—that’s never in question—but I hate that this Koval mess is starting to drag them into the shadows with me. It’s putting pressure on them, forcing them to go quiet, to move carefully, to clean up traces they shouldn’t have to.
Maybe this part…I’ll have to handle alone.
Well, not completely alone.
Sebastian is more ghost than man. If he chooses to help, he’ll move through this war like smoke, unseen, untouched, deadly. And if he doesn’t…I’ll still burn the Kovals to the ground myself.
I leave the study, fury propelling me down the hall—and nearly collide with Sylvester.
He straightens immediately. “You don’t look happy,” he notes.
“Trace the offshore accounts,” I order. “All of them. And the courier who sent the envelope—I want his name, his residence, his entire family tree if necessary.”
Sylvester nods sharply. “I’m already on it.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
Sylvester nods once and hurries down the hall. I turn toward the living room, needing five minutes—just five—to breathe, to think, to stop myself from putting my fist through a wall.
But I don’t make it two steps before I almost ram into Vivian.
She’s standing in the doorway like she’s been waiting for me.
Her hair a little messy, her breathing uneven, eyes red like she’s been crying—but beneath all that?
Fire.
A quiet, steady, terrifying resolve.
“Dimitri,” she says, voice tight but steady, “whoever’s doing this…whoever is pulling the strings…they don’t just want the Rusnaks destroyed.”
She swallows, meeting my eyes without flinching.
“They want both our families gone.”
I notice the tremble in her fingers, the panic she’s trying so hard to hide. She’s scared, but she’s standing. She’s shaking, but she hasn’t folded.
I step closer, until she has to tilt her head up to look at me.
Her chin lifts, stubborn, brave, reckless.
“Then we fight back,” I say, my voice dropping low enough to scrape the air between us.
I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers.
“Together.”
Her breath hitches—and for the first time in days, the roaring in my skull quiets.
War is coming.
But she’s standing with me.
And that changes everything.
***
That night, the penthouse feels like a bunker. Maps, files, and laptops cover the living room table. Sylvester sits across from me, shoulders tense, eyes darting between documents and the screens.
And Vivian…Vivian sits right beside me. Not in another room. Not hiding behind a locked door.
Right here—in the center of the chaos.
Sylvester tries not to stare, but I catch it anyway. The flicker of surprise. The quick, confused glance he sends me like he’s silently asking:
She’s sitting in on this? You’re letting her?
I ignore him.
Vivian’s knee brushes mine every few seconds—a small, grounding touch that I never knew I’d crave.
Sylvester clears his throat. “Like I was saying…the courier who dropped the envelope at the estate used a fake ID. But the route he took intersects with another Koval transaction—”
Vivian shifts closer, unconsciously, like she wants to understand every word.
Like she refuses to be helpless ever again.
I don’t push her away.
Hell, I do the opposite.
I reach for her hand under the table.
Just for a second.
A brief squeeze.
Silent. Protective. Mine.
She glances at me, eyes softening, but she doesn’t interrupt.
Sylvester stutters over his next sentence. He’s definitely shocked.
Good. Let him be.
She’s not a bystander anymore.
She’s part of this.
Part of us.
And for the first time in months, the war doesn’t feel like a burden I’m carrying alone.
Eventually, Vivian’s breathing evens out by degrees, exhaustion dragging her under until she’s curled into the corner of the couch, lashes trembling against her cheeks.
The firelight flickers over her face, softening everything that’s been hard and frantic tonight.
She looks younger like this. Untouched by all the danger circling us.
I exhale, something tight in my chest loosening just a little.
“Hold that thought,” I murmur to Sylvester. “Let me take her upstairs.”
Sylvester takes one look at her sleeping form and nods, his expression softer than he’d ever admit. “Okay.”
I carry Vivian into our suite, the room dim and quiet.
Laying her on the bed feels strangely intimate, like placing something fragile where nothing should ever hurt it again.
I pull the sheets up over her, smoothing them over her shoulder.
Then, without thinking, I lean down and kiss her forehead—soft, quick, but real.
I pull back sharply, breath uneven, and force myself out of the room.
“Sebastian just sent something,” Sylvester says the moment I step back into the living room. His tone is urgent—no hesitation, no softness left.
“What is it?” I move fast, crossing the room in a few long strides.
He tilts the screen toward me.
CCTV footage fills the display—grainy, timestamped. A man walks into the bank where the fake accounts were created. The moment his face comes into view, everything inside me freezes.
No.
Not him.
Sylvester glances at me. “You recognize him.”
I don’t answer. Can’t.
Because I do recognize him—too well. Someone from the old-money circle. Someone who once shook my hand in boardrooms and conducted perfectly legitimate business with my company. Someone who was supposed to be gone…removed from the chessboard years ago.
Yet here he is, alive, active, and walking straight into the heart of the scheme designed to destroy us.
My pulse pounds. The enemy isn’t the Kovals alone. It’s someone much closer. Someone who knows exactly where to put the knife.