Chapter 9 – Drew
I’d watched Cassandra walk out my door three hours ago, her hair still tangled from my fingers, her lips swollen from kisses that had tasted like desperation and surrender.
She’d looked back once before stepping into the elevator, and the expression on her face had gutted me.
Like she was memorizing the moment. Like she thought it might be the last time we’d have anything resembling peace.
She was probably right.
Now I was sitting in my apartment, staring at my laptop screen, replaying every decision I’d made in the past twenty-four hours and trying to calculate the fallout.
I’d hacked the Bratva’s most secure files.
Had uncovered secrets that were meant to stay buried.
Had lied directly to Rafael’s face about Cassandra’s activities.
And the worst part? I’d do it all again without hesitation.
My phone buzzed. Kirill’s name flashed across the screen, and my stomach dropped before I even answered.
“Drew.” His voice came through rough, tight with barely controlled fury. “We need to talk. Now.”
“I’m listening.”
“Not on the phone, you fucking idiot. Meet me at the club. After office hours. Don’t be late.”
The line went dead.
I sat there for a moment, phone still pressed to my ear, feeling the weight of inevitability settle over my shoulders like a lead blanket.
Kirill knew. Of course, he fucking knew.
He’d designed the surveillance system himself, had built it with the kind of paranoid precision that came from years of watching enemies exploit the smallest weaknesses.
And I’d left a trace.
Not intentionally. Not carelessly. But enough of one that someone with Kirill’s skills and access could spot it if they were looking in the right place at the right time.
Which meant I had approximately eight hours to figure out how to handle this conversation before it escalated into something that could destroy everything I was trying to protect.
***
Rafael’s office was its usual controlled chaos when I arrived that afternoon. Documents spread across his desk, three different phones lined up like soldiers, the ever-present cigar burning in the crystal ashtray. He looked up when I knocked, his expression neutral but watchful.
“Drew. Come in.”
I leaned against the doorframe, keeping my posture casual. Calculated. Like I didn’t have a care in the world beyond the mundane business of running clubs and managing logistics.
“I need to make a trip to Seattle,” I said, keeping my tone easy. “Few club leads I want to check out personally. Face-to-face meetings close deals faster than phone calls.”
Rafael studied me for a moment, his gray eyes—so similar to my own—searching for something beneath the surface. “When?”
“Tomorrow. Day after at the latest. Shouldn’t take more than forty-eight hours.”
“And you need to go yourself because…?”
“Because I’m good at reading people.” I shrugged one shoulder. “And because I’m getting restless sitting behind a desk all day. You know how I am.”
That much was true. I’d never been built for office work, for the kind of sedentary existence that came with managing operations from behind a computer screen. I needed movement. Action. The kind of control that came from handling things directly.
Rafael leaned back in his chair, cigar smoke curling around his face like a dragon exhaling. “You planning to fly your own plane?”
“If that’s not a problem.”
“Your own risk.” He said it without looking at me, his attention already shifting back to the documents on his desk. Dismissal wrapped in permission.
That was all I needed.
The trap had been set.
***
The club was packed by the time I arrived that evening.
Friday night crowd, all expensive suits and designer dresses, money flowing as freely as the vodka.
I navigated through the crush of bodies toward our usual booth in the back, the private section where Bratva business got conducted away from prying eyes.
Kirill was already there. Alone. Drinking what looked like his third vodka, if the empty glasses on the table were any indication, and his jaw was ticking with the kind of tension that preceded violence.
I hadn’t even made it to the booth before he was on his feet, closing the distance between us in three long strides and shoving me hard in the chest. I stumbled back a step, more from surprise than force, and caught myself against a nearby column.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snarled, and his voice was low enough not to carry but sharp enough to cut.
“Nice to see you too,” I said, straightening my jacket. “Buy me a drink first, at least.”
“Don’t.” His hand shot out and grabbed my collar, yanking me closer until we were practically nose to nose. “Don’t you dare fucking joke with me right now.”
The raw fury in his eyes made something cold settle in my gut. Kirill didn’t lose his temper. Didn’t let emotion override calculation. The fact that he was this close to snapping meant whatever he’d found was worse than I’d anticipated.
“Let go of me,” I said quietly. “And we’ll talk like adults.”
He held on for another beat, his knuckles white against the black fabric of my shirt, before releasing me with a disgusted sound and stalking back to the booth. I followed, settling across from him and waiting for the explosion.
“You broke into the prohibited files.” His voice was flat. Dead. “You hacked through three layers of encryption that I specifically designed to be impenetrable, and you left a fucking trace.”
“I covered my tracks.”
“Not well enough.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his blue eyes boring into mine. “I designed that surveillance system, Drew. I know every node, every access point, every backdoor. And I know exactly how to spot when someone’s been where they shouldn’t be.”
Shit.
“Who else knows?” I asked carefully.
“Right now? Just me. But anyone monitoring the right nodes could spot your breach if they’re looking for it. And considering Rafael just authorized full surveillance on Cassandra’s activities, how long do you think it’ll take before someone connects those dots?”
My hands clenched into fists under the table. “What exactly did you find?”
“Everything.” He knocked back the rest of his vodka and slammed the glass down hard enough to rattle the table.
“Your access logs. The files you pulled. The investigation you opened into David Miller and Elena. You went digging in dirt that was buried for a fucking reason, Drew. What were you thinking?”
I wasn’t. That was the problem. I’d been operating on instinct and desperation, trying to understand the truth before it destroyed Cassandra. Trying to find a way to protect her without fully grasping the scope of what I was dealing with.
“I needed to know,” I said finally. “Needed to understand what she was up against.”
“She?” Kirill’s laugh was bitter. “You did all this for Cassandra? For a girl you’ve known for what, a few weeks? Are you completely out of your goddamn mind?”
“Probably.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.” I met his eyes, letting him see the truth of it.
The certainty that had settled into my bones despite every logical argument against it.
“I needed to know what was happening to her. Needed to understand why she was falling apart. And the only way to do that was to access the files she’d been trying to reach. ”
Kirill stared at me like I’d grown a second head.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve risked?
Not just your position. Not just your relationship with Rafael.
Your entire fucking life, Drew. If he finds out you’ve been accessing sealed investigations, digging into family history that was classified at the highest levels, he will end you. Cousin or not.”
“I know.”
“Then why? Why take that risk for someone who’s been lying to you, who’s been feeding intel to an outside source, who’s been systematically betraying everything the Bratva stands for?”
“Because she didn’t know.” The words came out rougher than I intended.
“She grew up thinking the Bratva killed her father for no reason. Thinking Rafael destroyed her family and then brought her into the organization as some kind of twisted power play. She’s been operating on incomplete information, and she deserves to know the truth. ”
“The truth?” Kirill’s voice rose slightly before he caught himself and lowered it again.
“The truth is that her father was an FBI asset who infiltrated our organization. The truth is that he compromised operational security and got himself executed for it. The truth is that Rafael showed mercy by letting her live and arranging for her care. She should be grateful, not looking for revenge.”
“Grateful?” The word tasted like ash. “You want her to be grateful that her father was murdered and she was abandoned in an orphanage? That she spent years not knowing who she was or where she came from? That Rafael pulled her back into the organization that destroyed her life and made her dependent on it for survival?”
“Yes.” Kirill’s expression hardened. “Because that’s how this world works. Loyalty matters. Family matters. And crossing those lines gets you killed.”
We stared at each other across the table, and I could feel the foundation of our friendship cracking under the weight of this conversation. Kirill was right—logically, strategically, he was absolutely fucking right. What I’d done was reckless and dangerous and potentially catastrophic.
But I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
“I’m not betraying the Bratva,” I said quietly. “I’m not working against Rafael or trying to undermine the organization. I just needed to understand the situation before it spiraled into something worse.”
“And now that you understand it? What’s your plan? Help her get revenge? Help her destroy the family that’s protected you your entire life? Choose her over blood?”
The question hung in the air between us, heavy and unavoidable.