Chapter 5 - Sergey
Surveillance is a relatively simple task. It’s supposed to be anyway.
In essence, it involves watching the target. Recording patterns without getting directly involved. Always staying one step ahead by standing several steps behind. Keeping a clear head and forcing emotions out of the equation.
That’s how it should be, anyway.
But as I’ve come to realize, nothing about Katya feels simple.
It’s been weeks now, and I’ve been shadowing her movements like I don’t possibly have anything better to do.
From following her Ducati through Brooklyn traffic to watching the lights in her condo windows flick on and off whenever she goes to bed, I see it, and I’m there.
I know her routines now, along with her usual cafe stops and the general rhythm of her days.
I see more of her than my own family now, and even then, it isn’t enough.
No matter how much I see, I want more. I need it. It’s maddening.
Initially, I told myself it was just irritation, given how Roman threw the task at me like it was the last part of the equation he needed to handle, not that it genuinely was something he thought I’d be good at.
I told myself it was about loyalty to my family and the business, and that I was only hovering to keep Yuri in check.
But that isn’t the truth, and I know it.
As much as I want to think I have no personal connection to the assignment or any skin in the game, I can’t lie to myself forever.
I think about her constantly. Even during the rare moments when I’m not trailing Kat, she’s the only person on my mind.
She’s like a plague I can’t get rid of, and at this point, I’m not so sure I want to be free of her.
When she’s locked away safely in her condo with the lights off, and it’s my turn to disappear for the night, her laugh from that night at the car meetup fills my head. The smell of her garage and the sight of her wearing those paint-speckled coveralls drive me to the brink of insanity.
No matter how hard I try to ignore it and to keep myself as detached from the situation as possible, it’s pointless. She has thoroughly worked her way under my skin, and I’m nothing more than a prisoner to those thoughts of her.
I feel a foreign kind of pull to her, and while I know it’s dangerous to let that kind of thing consume me, it’s winning.
After keeping an eye on her at the shop for a few hours this morning, I had had enough of sitting around and decided to kick my surveillance efforts into high gear. I needed a more hands-on approach, after all.
The lock on her condo door gives way under my pick with a faint, almost satisfying click. It’s scarily easy, and something about that sends a wave of irritation through me.
As someone with her family ties, knowing what their business entails and the dangers that come with it, she should have much better security than this. Hell, she should have a guard stationed outside her door during all hours at this rate.
Not only is she the daughter of a pakhan, but she’s also the sister of his heir. She’s the perfect piece of blackmail, and yet, Kat is no better protected than the average pencil-pusher.
It’s infuriating somehow, but at the very least, it makes my little side task easier to accomplish.
She likely assumes the building’s security cameras are enough to keep her safe from anyone with ill intent outside of her main lock, but that’s simple enough of a fix for someone with my resources.
After a quick text to Ivan, the feed will be looped at the right time, and nobody will even know I was here. Easy peasy.
Kat should really do something about that trust of hers.
Although if she’s been banking on the cameras and the main lock at her door, then I can only imagine someone as feisty as her would have something else to protect herself with. Surely, she has a gun tucked away somewhere, or maybe even a baseball bat for when things get sticky.
Slipping inside quietly, I shut the door behind me and allowed my eyes to adjust to the dim space.
The place smells subtly like citrus and vanilla, but more so than that, there’s something unmistakably her. Something that makes heat pool in my gut.
This isn’t professional in the slightest, and I know that. I shouldn’t be here. Yes, the assignment involves essentially stalking her, but surely this is crossing a line.
As long as we have eyes on her…
That’s what Roman said, after all.
If he doesn’t care, then neither do I.
The condo isn’t half bad, and Kat is clearly doing well for herself, even if she treats her job as a modest little gig.
Initially, I would’ve expected this place to be bought and paid for with daddy’s money, but given the hours she works and the dedication she puts into it, she has obviously provided herself with all of this.
The living room is neat but not painfully so. A few pairs of shoes and boots are lined up by the door, her jackets are tidy, yet she keeps the closet door open, and a few loose envelopes lie across the kitchen island like she dropped them there without a second thought.
She has a bookshelf next to her flat screen, seemingly for balance with quite a few paperbacks crammed together, along with some motorcycle-related manuals and magazines.
I absently run a leather-clad finger along the spine of a worn book, finding myself imagining her curses up with it, face fixed in that concentrated expression I’ve come to appreciate.
For the most part, the place is standard issue.
A few minimalist art prints hung along the walls here and there for depth, a collection of sentimental coffee mugs in the cupboard, and just enough random decor pieces to prove that someone lives here.
At the very least, there’s a personal touch to it all, but given how much time she spends elsewhere, the condo is just a place for her to sleep and feel comfortable.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a home without a few framed photos.
To my surprise, I don’t find any recent pictures of Kat with her family.
Instead, there’s one photograph resting on the dresser in her bedroom of two kids and a much younger Igor.
It’s her and Yuri, both in their swimsuits, while the ocean serves as their backdrop.
Igor has a big smile and a cigar between his fingers, and while he looks every bit the part of a pakhan in this captured moment, he’s fulfilling the most important role.
Being a dad. Their dad.
Something about that makes my stomach twist for a moment, and I don’t know why.
Maybe it’s the fact that he’s dead, and my family is to blame. How I’d never have the chance to meet the man who was supposed to have an important part in Kat’s life.
No…scratch that thought. There’s no way I’m even remotely thinking about that.
This is not some cute little daydream. I’m not dating a pakhan’s daughter and wondering wistfully about how things might go if I were to be a good boyfriend and have a good rapport with her father. I’m not here to ponder her potential wounds, either.
I’m keeping an eye on her and learning about her involvement in her brother’s business. Nothing more.
But Christ, I can’t deny how that title makes something in me squirm.
Boyfriend.
This sure as hell isn’t something a boyfriend would do. Snooping around her room like an addict needing another fix. At least, not a good boyfriend.
Forcing the thought away, I take a breath and let my eyes roam over the other few frames nearby. I pause the moment a familiar face catches my attention.
This one seems to be the most recent of her small collection. In it, Kat is laughing with the man who has been boiling my blood recently. The one who always manages to slip into focus when I’m watching her.
Fucking Roland Pierce.
Obviously, I did a background check on him after the first time I saw him in the shop.
He’s a mechanic extraordinaire, apparently, assuming half of the provided services in the shop.
His records are fairly clean, aside from a stray assault charge he caught after nearly blinding a guy at a bar, apparently for attempting to spike a friend’s drink.
Not ideal, but also not the worst reason, I suppose.
Still, from what I could gather about him, it seems he used to brush shoulders with some of Yuri’s men, but hasn’t associated with them in some time. A similar route to Kat’s, it seems.
He might seem like an okay guy who gives Kat her space, but that doesn’t clear him from my shit list just yet.
I’ve seen them work together numerous times now. They’re practically in sync, grabbing each other lunch when they head out on break, offering the other a clean rag when they need it, or knowing exactly the right jokes to crack to get the other to laugh.
It’s almost sickening how well they get along, and while the relationship seems platonic, it still irks me.
I’ve been telling myself he’s nothing. That he’s nothing more than a familiar face to Kat. He’s just a grease-stained mechanic with no ambition beyond the next project and the resulting paycheck.
But the thought of him standing as close to her as he is in this photo while she holds up the keys with the garage in the background…sharing her trust, her time, and her life, for god’s sake…it makes my jaw clench.
Blinking down at the picture, I loosen my hold on the frame before I can break the glass, realizing I even picked the thing up.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I’ve never been the possessive type, and definitely not the kind to get so caught up over one single woman. I’ve never lost sleep over someone I don’t know on a deeper level, and I don’t let my emotions cloud my judgment.
Sure, I can be a bit impulsive at times, but never like this.
I’ve sure as hell never let a woman twist my mind into thinking breaking into her place while she’s at work is normal, all under the guise of surveillance.
But Kat is doing something to me, and I don’t know how to stop it.