Chapter 9 – Drew #2
Would I choose her over blood? Over the family that had raised me, trained me, given me purpose and identity? Over Rafael, who’d been more like a brother than a cousin, who’d taught me the difference between power and control?
I didn’t know.
That was the terrifying truth of it. I genuinely didn’t fucking know what I would do if it came down to that choice.
“I’m trying to find a middle path,” I said finally. “Some way to give her the truth without burning everything down.”
“There is no middle path.” Kirill’s voice was flat. Final. “Either you’re loyal to the Bratva, or you’re loyal to her. You can’t be both.”
“Watch me.”
He shook his head slowly, something that looked dangerously close to disappointment crossing his face. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Drew. And probably her too in the process.”
“Then help me.” I leaned forward, holding his gaze. “You’re the best tech person I know. The smartest. If anyone can figure out how to navigate this without leaving a trail that leads back to either of us, it’s you.”
“I’m not helping you commit suicide.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to help me find the truth.
The real truth, not the sanitized version that’s been filed away in sealed investigations.
Help me understand what really happened to David Miller, why he was executed, whether there’s more to the story than what the official records show. ”
Kirill was silent for a long moment, his fingers drumming against the table in a rhythm that spoke to his internal debate. Finally, he exhaled slowly and met my eyes.
“If I do this,” he said carefully, “we do it my way. No more rogue access. No more leaving traces. We use proper channels, we cover every step, and we make damn sure that if this blows up, it doesn’t take both of us down.”
Relief flooded through me. “Agreed.”
“And you need to understand something, Drew. If it comes down to choosing between you and the organization, I’m choosing the organization. You’re my best friend. My brother in everything but blood. But loyalty to the Bratva comes first. Always.”
The words should have hurt more than they did. Should have felt like betrayal. But instead, they just felt honest. Real. The kind of brutal truth that defined the world we lived in.
“I understand,” I said.
“Do you?” He studied me with those sharp blue eyes that missed nothing.
“Because from where I’m sitting, you’re already halfway gone.
Already choosing her over everything else.
And that kind of attachment makes you weak.
Makes you vulnerable. Makes you the kind of liability that gets people killed. ”
“I’m not weak.”
“No. But you’re compromised. And that’s just as dangerous.”
***
We stayed at the club for another hour, drinking in tense silence while the music pounded around us and the crowd grew denser.
Kirill outlined his plan—careful access to archived files through legitimate channels, using his position as the lead tech architect to justify the searches, building a narrative that made sense if anyone questioned the activity.
It would take time. Weeks, maybe months. But it would be safer than the reckless approach I’d taken, and less likely to result in both of us getting executed for treason.
By the time I left the club, it was past midnight, and my head felt heavy with vodka and the weight of impossible choices. I pulled out my phone and saw three missed calls from Cassandra and a text that made my chest tighten.
Vance wants to meet. Tonight. I told him no, but he’s pushing hard. I don’t know how much longer I can stall him.
I typed back immediately: Don’t meet him. Don’t go anywhere alone. I’m working on something, but I need time.
The response came thirty seconds later: I don’t have time. He knows about us. Has been watching. If I don’t give him something soon, he’s going to burn everything down.
Fuck.
I stood there on the sidewalk outside the club, feeling the cold Chicago wind cut through my jacket, and tried to calculate our options.
Vance knew about us. Had been surveilling Cassandra, which meant he probably had evidence of our relationship.
Evidence he could use to pressure her, to force her hand, to make her choose between loyalty to him and whatever this thing was between us.
And Rafael was putting surveillance on her, too. Closing in from the other side. Tightening the noose around both our necks while we fumbled in the dark, trying to find a way out.
We were running out of time. Running out of options. Running out of moves that didn’t end in blood.
I called her. She answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Home. Why?”
“Pack a bag. Not much. Just essentials. Meet me at the private airfield in two hours.”
“Drew, what—”
“Seattle,” I said, cutting her off. “We’re going to Seattle. Going to talk to Father Vincent, find out what he knows about your father, about the investigation, about everything. And we’re doing it before Vance or Rafael can stop us.”
Silence on the other end. Then, quietly: “You’re risking everything for this.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Because I couldn’t watch her destroy herself trying to find answers alone.
Because the truth mattered more than loyalty to an organization built on lies.
Because somewhere in the past six weeks, she’d stopped being a complication and started being the only thing that felt real in a world of carefully constructed facades.
“Because you deserve to know,” I said simply. “And because I’m tired of watching people I care about suffer for sins they didn’t commit.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Two hours,” she said finally. “I’ll be there.”
The line went dead.
I stood there holding my phone, feeling the weight of the decision settle into my bones like concrete. ’’This was the point of no return: the moment I stopped being Rafael’s cousin, Kirill’s best friend, and the reliable temp who followed orders and kept his distance.
This was where I became something else. Something dangerous.
Someone who chose love over loyalty. Truth over family. A girl with broken edges over the organization that had shaped my entire existence.
Kirill’s voice echoed in my head: Either you’re loyal to the Bratva, or you’re loyal to her. You can’t be both.
He was right.
And I’d just made my choice.
I pulled up Damir’s number and sent a quick text: Need you to cover for me for a few days. Tell Rafael I’m following up on the Seattle leads. Don’t ask questions.
His response came almost immediately: You’re making a mistake.
Probably. Almost certainly.
But it was my mistake to make.
I headed toward my apartment to pack, my mind already running through flight plans and contingencies and all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong. The pre-dawn air was cold enough to sting, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear sirens wailing.
The sound felt prophetic.
Like the city itself was warning me that I was about to cross a line that would change everything.
I just hoped that when the dust settled and the truth finally came out, we’d both still be alive to face the consequences.