Chapter 23 – Barbara
“Absolutely not.”
Kirill’s voice was flat, final, leaving no room for negotiation. He stood in the center of his penthouse living room, arms crossed, every line of his body radiating refusal.
“Kirill, please—” I started, but he cut me off.
“No, Barbara. You’re not putting yourself in danger. You’re pregnant. You’re—”
“I’m the only bait he’ll come for.” I forced myself to stay calm, to make him see logic instead of just his protective instincts. “Sebastian won’t meet with you. He won’t meet with Timur or any Bratva member. But he’ll meet with me. He always has.”
“Which is exactly why you’re not going.” Kirill moved closer, his hands finding my shoulders. “I won’t risk you. I won’t risk our child. There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.” I met his gaze steadily. “You said it yourself: We have less than forty-eight hours before he releases that video. We don’t have time for elaborate plans or waiting for Los Zetas to find him. We need to draw him out. Now. And I’m the only way to do that.”
The argument had been raging for twenty minutes. Kirill refused. I insisted. He threatened to lock me in the penthouse. I threatened to go anyway. Back and forth until finally, desperately, I’d called Vladimir.
The Sovetnik had listened to both sides, his ice-blue eyes giving nothing away through the video call. Then he’d delivered his verdict.
“No. Barbara Petrov is carrying the Bratva bloodline. She does not put herself in danger. Find another way.”
But I hadn’t given up. Had kept pushing, kept arguing, kept explaining that Sebastian would smell a trap if anyone else tried to lure him out. That he knew Bratva tactics, knew Los Zetas operations, knew how to spot surveillance and avoid capture.
That the only person he’d underestimate was me.
Finally—finally—Vladimir had relented. On conditions. So many conditions.
Crowded location. Open-air plaza. Bratva men positioned at every exit, every vantage point, every possible angle.
Kirill within striking distance at all times.
Body armor beneath my clothes. Weapons hidden on multiple operatives.
An escape plan. A backup escape plan. A plan for if everything went to hell.
And even then, Vladimir had made it clear: One wrong move, one sign of danger, and I was to be extracted immediately, whether Sebastian had been caught or not.
Now, standing in the middle of an outdoor plaza in downtown Chicago, I wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake.
The sun was scorching, beating down with late afternoon intensity that made sweat gather at the small of my back beneath the light summer jacket I wore.
Street vendors lined the edges of the plaza, their carts filled with food that sent competing scents into the air: roasted corn, grilled meat, something sweet and fried.
The hum of traffic provided constant background noise, punctuated by laughter from tourists and locals enjoying the weather.
Normal. Everything looked so beautifully, perfectly normal.
Except for the Bratva men hidden throughout the crowd.
I spotted them if I looked carefully. A man pretending to read a map near the fountain, his posture too alert, his attention too focused on everything except the paper in his hands.
Another man pushing a stroller with no baby in it, his eyes constantly scanning the plaza.
A woman on a bench who’d been “reading” the same page of her book for fifteen minutes.
And Kirill. Somewhere close. I couldn’t see him, but I felt his presence like a physical thing. Knew he was watching. Knew he was probably barely controlling the urge to call this whole thing off and drag me to safety.
My hands trembled beneath my summer jacket despite the heat. I clenched them into fists, trying to project confidence I didn’t feel. Trying to look like Barbara Davis—scared, alone, desperate to appease her blackmailer.
Not like Barbara Petrov—protected, armed with Bratva backing, setting a trap.
Movement caught my eye. A figure walking across the plaza, moving with the casual confidence of someone who thought he held all the cards.
Sebastian.
My heart stuttered, then raced. He looked different than the last time I’d seen him in person, leaner, harder, his hair shorter and darker like he’d been dying it.
But the walk was the same. The smirk was the same.
That particular brand of arrogance that came from thinking you were smarter than everyone else.
He reached the center of the plaza where I waited, stopping just out of arm’s reach. Close enough to talk. Far enough to run if needed.
Always planning his escape.
Coward.
I threw the bag at his feet before he could speak. It landed with a heavy thud, fifty thousand dollars in cash, more than I’d ever given him before. The final payment he’d demanded along with the threat.
Sebastian’s eyebrow raised. He knelt slowly, unzipping the bag, checking the contents. His expression shifted from suspicion to satisfaction.
“Good girl.” He stood, the bag in hand. “I knew you’d come through eventually. You always do.”
“Take it and leave.” I forced the words past the fear clogging my throat. “Take the money and disappear. Delete the video. Leave me alone.”
He stepped closer, and my mouth went dry. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it pulsing in my throat, my wrists, my temples. Every instinct screamed to back away, to run, to get away from this man who’d terrorized me for five years.
But I held my ground.
“You’re always so good at pretending you don’t like games, Babs.” His voice was soft, almost affectionate, which made it worse somehow. “But we both know you enjoy this. The drama. The danger. Why else would you marry into the Bratva?”
I squinted at him, anger cutting through fear. “You called me. You blackmailed me. You threatened to release the video. How can I possibly be playing a game?”
“Because you’re here.” He gestured around the plaza. “In public. In broad daylight. Surrounded by….” His gaze swept the crowd, and I saw the moment he spotted the Bratva plants. Saw his expression shift from confident to calculating. “Interesting.”
My stomach dropped.
He knows. He figured it out. We were compromised….
Sebastian reached into his pocket, and I tensed. But instead of a weapon, he pulled out something small. A tiny remote control, barely bigger than a key fob.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t anticipate this?” He smiled, and it was the most terrifying expression I’d ever seen. “Did you think I’d just walk into a trap without insurance?”
“What is that?” But I already knew. Already felt the bottom dropping out of my world.
“This entire plaza?” Sebastian gestured with his free hand. “You’re standing in the middle of an art piece, sister. My masterpiece. One wrong move”—he held up the remote, thumb hovering over the button—“and boom! You’ll go home in pieces.”
The world tilted. My skin went cold despite the scorching sun. Explosives. He’d rigged the plaza with explosives. Had turned my trap into his, had planned for exactly this scenario.
Of course he had. This was Sebastian. This was what he did. He was always three steps ahead, always planning, always—
“I know Bratva and Zetas are working together against me.” His laugh burst out, sharp and cruel.
“Your dear brother has fooled them both. They think they’re closing in.
They think they have me cornered. But I’ve been watching them.
Watching you. Watching Kirill play his little games with surveillance and tracking. ”
He was enjoying this. Actually enjoying watching the fear dawn on my face.
“Tell your husband to leave me alone.” Sebastian raised his voice, projecting toward the crowd, toward wherever Kirill was hiding.
“I know you’re listening, tech boy. I know you’re out there thinking you’re clever.
But here’s the thing….” He moved closer to me, the remote still visible in his hand.
“I press this button, and I lose my only sister in this whole world. Which would be tragic. Sad. But if I’m going down anyway? ”
He shrugged. The casual gesture made the threat even more terrifying.
“I’m not going down alone.”
Movement exploded from the shadows behind a vendor stall.
Kirill stepped out, and even from across the plaza, I could see the fury radiating off him. He moved with predatory grace, his hand already reaching inside his jacket….
A shout. Someone in the crowd saw the weapon. Saw Kirill moving with obvious violent intent.
Then a gunshot cracked through the air.
Screams shattered the peaceful afternoon. Chaos erupted in every direction, people running, screaming, diving for cover. Vendors abandoning their carts. Parents grabbing children. The normal plaza transforming into a war zone in seconds.
I ducked instinctively, my hands coming up to protect my head. But before I could hit the ground, arms wrapped around me. Kirill. He’d crossed the distance impossibly fast, was shielding me with his body, pulling me toward cover behind a concrete planter.
Another gunshot. This one from Kirill’s weapon.
I watched in horror as Sebastian’s guard—a man I hadn’t even noticed standing at the plaza’s edge—dropped with a bullet through his skull.
“Next bullet goes in your face.” Kirill’s voice was deadly calm despite the chaos. He had his gun trained on Sebastian, who’d frozen mid-step, the remote still clutched in his hand.
For a moment, everything hung in the balance. Sebastian’s thumb on the button. Kirill’s finger on the trigger. Me trapped between them, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might explode.
Then Sebastian smiled.
And dropped the bag.
And ran.
Just turned and sprinted toward the nearest exit, abandoning the money, abandoning his leverage, abandoning everything except his own survival instinct.
Kirill started to follow, but I grabbed his arm. “The remote…the explosives!”
“There are no explosives.” Kirill’s voice was tight with barely controlled fury. “He was bluffing. Look.”
I looked at Sebastian’s retreating figure. At the way he was running without looking back. At the remote he’d dropped in his panic—lying on the concrete, plastic casing cracked, no wires visible, no detonator, nothing that suggested it was actually connected to anything.
A bluff. The entire thing had been a bluff.
But it had worked. Had kept us frozen long enough for him to escape. Had played on our fear, our caution, our unwillingness to risk innocent lives.
Classic Sebastian. Always three steps ahead. Always with a backup plan.
Always surviving.
Bratva men were already giving chase, disappearing into the streets after Sebastian. But I knew—we all knew—he’d planned for this too. Had escape routes mapped out. Had contingencies for his contingencies.
He’d gotten away.
Again.
Kirill turned to me, his hands framing my face, checking for injuries even though I hadn’t been touched. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”
“I’m fine.” My voice came out shaky. “I’m fine. He didn’t—he just ran.”
“He ran because he knew I’d kill him.” Kirill pulled me closer, and I felt the tremor in his hands. Fear. He’d been terrified. For me. For the baby. For all of it. “God, Barbara, when I saw him with that remote….”
“I know.” I buried my face against his chest, breathing in his scent, letting his solid presence anchor me. “I know.”
Around us, the plaza was still chaos. Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Civilians were being evacuated. Bratva men were melting back into the crowd, disappearing before law enforcement arrived.
We needed to leave. Needed to get out before we had to answer questions we couldn’t answer honestly.
But for just a moment, I let myself have this. Let myself be held by my husband. Let myself acknowledge how close we’d come to disaster.
How close I’d come to being exactly what Sebastian predicted—going home in pieces.
“We’ll find him,” Kirill murmured against my hair. “He can’t run forever. We’ll find him, and when we do….”
“When we do,” I finished, “he pays for everything.”
Not just the blackmail. Not just the video. Not just today’s terror.
For my mother. For five years of fear. For every moment he’d made me believe I was alone and helpless and without options.
Sebastian had escaped today.
But his freedom was running out.
And when it did, when Kirill finally caught him, there would be no mercy.
I was counting on it.