Chapter 16
Yarik
T wo days have passed since Sarah spent the night in my bed, and we haven’t had a chance to speak privately.
The estate has been busy with contractors repairing damage from a water leak in the east wing, and Mrs. Nykova has kept Sarah occupied with coordinating the work schedules and vendor payments.
I’ve watched her from a distance, noting the careful way she moves around the workers, always keeping her distance and positioning herself near exits.
She’s been more cautious since our conversation about her ex and more aware of her surroundings, as though speaking about it stirred up old fears and instincts again.
Part of me wants to assign security to shadow her, but she’d notice, and the questions about why I’m doing that aren’t ones I’m ready to answer.
Not yet.
This afternoon, while she’s focused on reviewing invoices at her desk, I prop a note and a wrapped box against her desk.
She doesn’t notice until I’m already gone, but I watch from the hallway as she opens the note first, knowing what it says since I wrote it on heavy card stock with my silver fountain pen.
Dinner tonight. Private dining room. 8 p.m. —Y
She looks up and searches for me, but I’ve already retreated to my office. Ten minutes later, she appears in my doorway with the box under her arm. “You don’t have to keep buying me things.”
I glance up from the contracts I’m reviewing. “Open the box.”
She hesitates but unwraps the tissue paper to reveal a dress in deep sapphire silk. The color will complement her eyes perfectly, though I don’t tell her that.
She holds up the dress and frowns. “Yarik...”
I return my attention to the paperwork. “Humor me. Eight o’clock.”
She stands there for another moment, studying my expression. Finally, she nods and disappears back to her office.
The rest of the day drags. I have calls with our shipping contacts in Montreal, a tense conversation with Valentin about increased Nikitin surveillance around our warehouse properties, and a stack of reports about shell company activity that makes my jaw clench with frustration.
Someone is still probing our defenses and testing for weaknesses. The pattern is too sophisticated to be random and too precise to be anything other than a coordinated effort. Every instinct tells me the Nikitins are behind it, but we need proof before we can act.
At seven-thirty, I dismiss the staff and make my way to the private dining room on the second floor. It’s smaller than the main formal dining area, with windows overlooking the gardens and a fireplace that I light while waiting for Sarah to arrive.
She appears exactly at eight, wearing the sapphire dress that fits her perfectly. The silk drapes elegantly over her curves, and she’s left her hair down in soft waves around her shoulders. She looks beautiful, though there’s still wariness in her eyes.
I pour wine into two glasses and note how she accepts hers but doesn’t immediately drink. “You clean up well.”
She smooths the silk fabric and glances around the intimate room. “This feels like a date.”
I quirk a brow, mildly amused at the way her statement sounds like an accusation. “Does that bother you?”
She considers the question seriously. “I don’t know. We haven’t exactly defined what we’re doing here.”
I gesture to the chair across from me. “Let’s talk about it over dinner.”
The meal of roasted chicken, fresh vegetables from the estate’s garden, and bread that’s still warm from the oven is simple but excellently prepared. I wanted comfort food, not the elaborate presentations the formal kitchen usually provides. I need something that feels like home.
We eat in comfortable silence at first, and I study her in the candlelight.
She seems more relaxed than she has in days, with some of the tension leaving her shoulders as the meal progresses.
She hasn’t touched her wine, and I suspect she wants to keep a clear head around me.
I can’t blame her but hate that she’s in a position to feel wary of my intentions.
At the midpoint of our dinner, she sets down her fork and looks at me curiously. “Tell me about your parents. I know how they died but nothing about how they lived.”
The request catches me unprepared. Most people avoid asking about my family, understanding instinctively it’s dangerous territory. Sarah just watches me with patient curiosity and waits to see if I’ll answer.
I take a sip of wine and consider how much to reveal. “They were happy. That’s what I remember most. They laughed together and touched each other constantly. My mother would sing while she cooked, and my father would dance with her in the kitchen.”
Sarah smiles at that image. “You were close to them.”
“Very. My father started taking me to the office when I was ten and taught me the legitimate side of our businesses, focusing on real estate, import-export, and restaurant chains. He wanted me to understand that we weren’t just criminals.
We were businessmen who happened to operate outside the law.
” I smile at the memory of sitting beside my father at his massive desk, learning accounting and business structures before I’d memorized the multiplication table.
She leans forward slightly. “What about your mother?”
I sigh softly, nearly overwhelmed with a wave of nostalgia that makes me ache to hug her again.
“She tried to keep me separate from that world as long as possible. She taught me to appreciate art, music, and literature. We spent hours in her garden, and she’d tell me stories about her childhood in Moscow.
” I pause, remembering the scent of roses and the sound of her voice.
Sarah reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. The gesture is simple, but it keeps me in the present.
“I was supposed to be with them that night. They were going to dinner and a movie—some romantic comedy my mother wanted to see. I had a fever that was nothing serious, but she insisted I stay home.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “You were thirteen?”
I nod. “Old enough to understand the men who shot them weren’t random criminals, but young enough to believe Uncle Yuri when he promised they’d pay for what they did.”
She traces circles on my hand with her thumb. “Your uncle raised you?”
“Technically, for a few years. Yuri was my father’s younger brother, but he was never suited for leadership.
He preferred gambling and women to the responsibilities of running a bratva .
He kept the organization together for a few years, but barely.
” I take a sip of wine, remembering those chaotic days.
“I started taking over operations when I was sixteen and officially claimed leadership at eighteen.”
She nods with understanding. “You said that’s when you got the stars.”
I nod. “After I killed the Kozlovs. They’d taken everything from me—my parents, my childhood, and my sense of safety. I wanted them to suffer.”
Sarah doesn’t flinch from the violence in my words. She just squeezes my hand tighter as she tilts her head thoughtfully. “Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if they’d lived?”
I don’t have to hesitate to form an answer. “Every day. My father was grooming me to take over eventually, but not until I was much older. I would have gone to university, maybe traveled, and had time to figure out who I was outside of all this.”
She leans back in her chair. “You still could.”
I shake my head. “I’m thirty-three years old, Sarah. I’ve been responsible for hundreds of lives, thousands of jobs, and millions in revenue for half my life. This is who I am now.”
She studies my face in the candlelight. “Is it who you want to be?”
The honest answer would complicate everything, so I deflect. “What about you? What did your parents want for you?”
Her smile turns rueful. “My mother wanted me to be practical. She insisted on college and a stable job, marrying a reliable man, and having children. She died when I was nineteen from cancer. She lived long enough to see me enroll in a vocational program to get a landscaping certificate and chastise me for not going for something bigger.” She smiles, clearly moved by the memory without bitterness.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want student loan debts, so I’d planned to work while pursuing a degree in botany.
” She frowns for a minute. “The return to school never happened. I was about to re-enroll for my bachelor’s when I met Alex…
” She trails off, signaling she didn’t mean to mention him.
Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about him tonight.
Neither do I, except to get enough information about him to track him down and kill him.
I envision what I’d do to him, and it would make it seem like I was easy on the Kozlovs in comparison.
I reach for her hand this time. “What about your father?”
“He left when I was fifteen. One day he was there, and the next, he was gone. Mom never talked about it, but I always assumed there was another woman.” She shrugs.
“I haven’t seen him since, but I haven’t really looked.
He was always gone more than he was there when he was supposedly with us anyway. ”
I squeeze her fingers gently. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs, though I can see the old hurt in her eyes. “It’s fine. We managed, though I think that’s part of why I stayed with Alex as long as I did. I was so grateful someone wanted me, and I didn’t have to be alone, that I ignored all the red flags.”
The second mention of her ex makes my jaw tighten, but I keep my voice neutral. “You said he was controlling.”