Chapter 27
Sarah
T he bedroom where Katya has imprisoned me feels like a medical facility stripped of all warmth.
White walls stretch up to a coffered ceiling, white furniture is arranged with geometric precision, and there are white sheets on the bed I haven’t been allowed to use.
Even the single window has been covered with white plantation blinds onto the white wooden floor.
I sit tied to a hard-backed chair—white, of course—in the center of the room, my wrists bound tightly behind me with the same rough rope Alex used when I was unconscious that’s already rubbed my skin raw.
Each small movement sends sharp pains up my arms, and my shoulders ache from being pulled back at an unnatural angle for what feels like hours.
There’s a dull throb in my skull that feels like a hangover and is probably from whatever sedation Alex used on me.
She paces in front of me like a caged predator, heels creating a steady rhythm that sounds like a metronome counting down to my execution.
She’s changed into a different outfit since I last saw her or just removed the cream coat.
Maybe she was always wearing a sleek black dress that hugs her figure and makes her look like she’s attending a funeral. Mine, probably.
Each step she takes is precise, with her hands clasped behind her back in a pose that would look elegant if not for the cold fury in her pale blue eyes.
She moves like a dancer, all controlled grace and deadly purpose, and I track her movements with the desperate attention of prey watching a hunter.
She stops pacing and turns to face me, her expression shifting to something that might pass for conversational if you didn’t look too closely at the pure rage lurking behind her composed facade. “I suppose you’re wondering why I went to all this trouble.”
I don’t respond. The duct tape across my mouth makes speech impossible anyway, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of showing fear even if I could talk. Instead, I meet her gaze steadily, trying to project confidence I don’t feel.
Katya resumes her pacing, her voice taking on the tone of a professor delivering a lecture to a particularly slow student.
“Roman was so easy to manipulate due to his obsession with you, and all that desperate need to possess what he’d lost. I barely had to suggest ways he could get close to Yarik’s organization. ”
She moves to a small antique desk near the window, running her fingers along its polished surface with casual familiarity.
“He thought he was so clever, approaching Yarik with business proposals and financial opportunities. I was feeding him every detail and every weakness in the Barinov network that he could exploit.”
I work carefully at the blade Nina hid in my jacket seam, trying to position it properly while keeping my movements minimal.
The angle is awkward with my hands tied behind my back, and I can only make tiny sawing motions against the rope without drawing Katya’s attention.
The blade is small and sharp, designed more for cutting thread than rope, but it’s the only weapon I have.
She pauses by the window, adjusting the blinds to peer out at something in the distance.
“The financial irregularities, the shell companies, and the unauthorized transactions were all designed to create chaos within Yarik’s operations.
Roman thought he was helping himself get access to you while weakening Yarik, but really, he was helping me identify every weakness and vulnerability I could exploit later. ”
The rope fibers part slowly under the blade’s edge, strand by strand. My fingers are cramping from the awkward position, and there are small cuts on my skin where the knife has slipped, but I force myself to keep working through each fiber.
She turns back to me, noting my stillness with approval.
“You’re a good listener. Roman never was.
He kept asking questions, wanting to know details about the larger plan, and demanding reassurances about his precious reunion with you.
As if his obsession with one woman could possibly matter in the scope of what I’m building. ”
She moves closer and crouches down so she’s at my eye level, close enough that I can smell her expensive overly sweet perfume and see the tiny lines around her eyes that makeup can’t quite hide.
“Yarik was never supposed to survive much past our wedding,” she continues, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper.
“It was only going to be a few months of marriage, just long enough to consolidate the business relationships and transfer key assets to joint accounts, while perhaps getting pregnant to make sure Yuri Barinov didn’t try to challenge me, if that pathetic old drunk could, followed by a tragic accident.
Perhaps a car crash, or maybe something that looked like retaliation from a rival family.
There are still a few Kozlovs around who could be framed for his murder, and that would give me a reason to take what they retained too, but that’s hardly worth the bother. ”
She reaches out and traces a finger along my cheek, and I jerk my head away from her touch.
The motion causes her to smile, but it’s a cold expression that doesn’t look genuine.
“I was going to be widowed so young, inheriting everything, with the perfect position to rebuild the organization according to my vision. The Nikitin network combined with Barinov resources, all under my control. It would have been beautiful.”
The blade bites deeper into the rope fibers, and they’re starting to give way more readily. Blood from the small cuts on my wrists makes the handle slippery, but I maintain my grip and continue the careful sawing motion.
She stands and resumes pacing, her voice growing more animated as she warms to her subject.
“The timeline was perfect. Roman would eliminate you as a distraction, clearing the path for a smooth engagement period. I would marry Yarik and gradually assume control of his operations through perfectly legal means—joint bank accounts, shared business interests, and powers of attorney for when he traveled.”
Katya stops abruptly, whirling around to face me with sudden fury. “Then you ruined everything. Your little affair with my fiancé, and your obvious emotional hold over him complicated everything I’d worked for.”
I could tell her he didn’t want to marry her even before he met me, but the tape—and that voice of reason at the back of my mind advising I don’t further enrage the woman who wants me dead—keeps me from doing so.
She moves to a small table near the window and picks up her gun, the same one she used to kill Alex, to check the magazine. The metal gleams dully from the can lights overhead, and her finger rests along the trigger guard.
She turns back to me, resuming her story as if she isn’t holding a gun.
“Yarik started questioning the engagement and looking for ways to extract himself from our arrangement. He began asking uncomfortable questions about the business merger, demanding more favorable terms, and stalling on signing important documents.” She turns the weapon over in her hands, examining it from different angles.
“He was supposed to be compliant and grateful for the alliance. Instead, he became suspicious and difficult.”
The rope around my wrists loosens significantly as more fibers part under the blade’s edge. The bindings are starting to give way completely, but I force myself to keep my hands in position behind the chair. If Katya realizes I’m almost free, she’ll shoot me before I have a chance to act.
She returns to her pacing, gun held casually at her side like it’s a natural extension of her hand.
“Now I have to clean up the mess you created. Roman first—that was actually quite satisfying. He was becoming increasingly unstable, demanding things I never promised, and threatening to expose our arrangement if I didn’t give him immediate access to you, as if I could do that. ”
Katya pauses, a genuine smile crossing her face for the first time since I’ve known her.
“You should have seen his face when I pulled the trigger. All that arrogance and entitlement, gone in an instant. He never saw it coming. I’m sorry you missed that part since you weren’t able to see his face.
Truly. After the hell he put you through, you deserved that satisfaction. ”
She moves closer to me again, the gun now pointed in my general direction though not directly at me.
“Your death will be next, of course. I’ll frame Roman for your murder—obsessed ex-boyfriend kills the woman who rejected him.
Cops will find him burned to death in that warehouse fire and wonder why he went that way. It’s all very tidy and believable.”
I’d poke holes in her idea, including why Roman would murder me wherever she plans to leave me and then go to an old warehouse and choose to set it on fire with himself inside and a gunshot in his chest if she wants them to believe suicide, but again, the tape keeps me from speaking.
It’s probably for the best that I don’t challenge her plan, but she’s not the chess master she thinks she is.
The sounds of gunfire erupt from somewhere outside the building, muffled by the walls but clearly audible.
It sounds like multiple weapons, coordinated return fire, and maybe the unmistakable sounds of a tactical assault.
Car doors slam, men shout orders, and I hear the distinctive crack of rifle fire mixed with the rapid chatter of automatic weapons.
Katya’s head snaps toward the window, her composed facade cracking for the first time. “Earlier than expected.”