Kirill asks me if I want to be there for…the rescue operation of his mother.
He sounds so casual about it that I can’t help but be a little appalled.
My reaction to his actions is more about me than him. I know that. I really, really do.
It’s not that he’s changed, but maybe I’m freaked out about the fact that he hasn’t changed.
In fact, he’s been being unapologetically himself in a very direct manner. He was strict and unapproachable in the army, probably due to martial law, but now, he’s shed his outer skin and is letting his inner self loose.
Not that I expected him to change, but I did think maybe being around members of his family would compel him to behave differently.
Little did I know that they would bring out his apathetic side.
I sit in the passenger seat as Yuri drives the car to the location where Kirill said his mother is. I asked Yuri if the boss put a tracker on her, and he just lifted his shoulder.
He didn’t have to spell it out. Everything is possible in this family.
I stare at Kirill through the rearview mirror. He sits with effortless charisma like a king. It’s scary how natural he is at looking calm and authoritative even when he’s doing a mundane task such as scrolling through a tablet.
His long, veiny fingers rest on the device with easy control. I can’t stop looking at his masculine hands. The fact that they could also be used for destruction doesn’t lessen the strange effect they have on me.
“Faster, Yuri,” he says without lifting his head, and a small smirk tilts his lips. “We don’t want to be late for saving my dear mother.”
This man is a psychopath.
I’m still shaking from the scene I witnessed near the highway. It looked like something right out of a movie but also so realistic, it left me in a temporary state of shock.
Not only did a minivan tailgate her car, but then, all of a sudden, they ran her off the road.
I was sure Yulia had died in the accident, but soon after, she was shoved out of the vehicle by her bodyguards, who were knocked out and thrown to the side of the road by men in black ski masks.
Everything happened at lightning speed and ended before I could think of a solution. I considered following them, but I knew I would be as good as dead if I did. So I called Viktor, who said, “I’ll take care of it,” and then hung up.
Maksim was unreachable, and when I got back to the house, Kirill was lounging like a bored king on his throne. He also acted as if the news of his mother’s kidnapping has no importance whatsoever.
We arrive at a warehouse that’s far from the city. Only a few abandoned industrial buildings are in sight, their old yellow-gray colors clashing with the afternoon sky in a beautifully gruesome image.
I jump out of the car, but Kirill doesn’t move, seemingly engrossed in whatever business he’s been doing on the tablet.
I bang on the window, and he stares at me as if I’m a nuisance. I catch a glimpse at what he’s watching, and my face heats.
It’s…porn.
Holy shit.
Is that what he was zeroing in on during the entire ride?
He doesn’t act flustered or abnormal as he turns off the iPad, throws it on the seat, and takes his time getting out of the car.
With the same nonchalant energy, he walks to the door of the warehouse. I catch up to him and blurt, “Shouldn’t we have some sort of a plan first? They probably have a sniper somewhere. We really should’ve brought more men with us. And is Yuri really supposed to stay in the car—”
My words come to a halt when he does something that stuns me into silence.
Kirill leans down and bites my ear. It’s not a lick or a nibble. It’s a flat-out bite that sends both a chill and zings of pain down my spine. Then, just like that, he pulls back.
I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I grab my assaulted ear. “What…what was that for?”
“Your silence.” He speaks casually, but there’s an unusual edge beneath his words.
The fact remains, what he did has the desired effect, and I stop talking. I do grab my gun and survey our surroundings, though. My senses are on high alert as if we’re back on that mission that ended it all.
I also can’t help overthinking about the turn of events in the current situation. Did they call him for a ransom? Is that why he’s so calm?
Kirill casually pushes the warehouse’s door open without even pulling out his gun.
I freeze in the entrance when I spot Yulia strapped to a chair. Her mouth is sealed shut with duct tape. Her usually elegant hair looks disheveled, and dried blood lines her temple.
But she’s not what makes me stop and stare. It’s the men beside her. Viktor, Maksim, and a few of my other colleagues.
What are they doing here?
Did Kirill send them prior to our arrival?
No.
I take in my surroundings, and something definitely doesn’t feel right around here.
There are no bodies, no signs of struggle, and definitely no remnants of the ‘saving Yulia’ mission.
As I stand there, dumbfounded, and slowly but surely play what happened in my head, Kirill approaches his mother.
She wrenches her shoulder back in a hopeless attempt to free herself from the bindings.
Kirill’s back nearly hides the entirety of her, and I have to step to the side to get a better view of her expression.
“You went through a lot, Mother.” He speaks with frightening neutrality. “You even got injured for it. I applaud the dedication.”
Muffled sentences leave her duct-taped mouth, and Kirill nods as if understanding every word.
“You welcomed me with the utmost affection, so I have to fulfill my filial duty and return the gesture.” He slowly removes the duct tape, as if intentionally wanting her to feel every second of discomfort. “The same can’t be said about your dear Konstantin. He knew about your kidnapping and still went to the Pakhan’s house. Some would even say your favorite son doesn’t give a fuck about your life or the possibility of your death.”
“You foul piece of trash! I’ll tell Sergei you planned this entire thing. If you think doing this to me will get you anything—”
Kirill slams the duct tape back on her mouth, killing any words she had to speak.
“Now, don’t strain yourself. It’s not advised at your age. Besides, do you honestly think Sergei will believe you over me? You seem to forget that I was an asset to the organization even when my father was alive. Know your limits, Mother.” He stares at Maksim. “Take her back home. Make sure she’s safe and sound.”
My friend nods and starts to untie her, but Kirill shakes his head. “Take her just like this. Only untie her when you reach the house. I’m sure you’ll understand, Mother. Your nagging is grating, and I prefer not to expose my men to any unnecessary stress.”
A muffled scream rips from her, but Kirill is already heading toward the warehouse door.
Yulia thrashes and screams behind the duct tape, eyes blazing and her whole regal demeanor ripped to shreds.
I’m frozen by the scene but only for a few seconds. I snap out of it when Viktor silently follows Kirill to the car and takes my previous spot beside Yuri.
I hide my gun, feeling like a clown. Apparently, I’m the only one who wasn’t aware of this situation.
“Get in.” Kirill peeks from the back seat, and I nearly stumble inside before catching myself.
Silence falls over the car as Yuri revs forward and drives at high speed.
I place both hands on my knees, gripping tightly for a moment too long. I think even Yuri was aware of the ‘kidnapping Yulia’ operation and everything that followed, because he wasn’t given orders about our next destination, yet he’s definitely driving like he knows exactly where we’re going.
Turns out, I’m the only one Kirill doesn’t trust enough to disclose these sensitive details to.
Of course, I understand that our few months of acquaintance doesn’t mean much compared to men who literally grew up with him and were raised by Anna.
Even Maksim and Yuri, who are my closest friends, feel so distant right now. They’re loyal to Kirill, not to me.
Maybe my efforts to belong to that loyalty circle are futile, after all—
My thoughts are abruptly cut off when a large, strong hand envelops mine.
Kirill’s.
I’ve always noticed how big and veiny his hands are, but to actually have one of them crushing and dwarfing my own is entirely different.
Just like earlier when he bit my ear, he catches me completely off guard, and I’m not sure how to react.
My internal temperature hikes up, though, and my heart thunders in the confinement of my rib cage.
Kirill, however, ignores me. He’s looking at the front seats with his easy expression, even as he pushes down on my hand.
It’s then I realize that my knee is bouncing and I slowly force it to a halt.
Kirill strokes the back of my hand in an approving manner. I catch my breath, unable to draw in air properly.
“How long until we get there?” he asks, completely unaware of the complicated emotions he’s stirring within me.
“Twenty minutes,” Yuri replies.
“Make it ten.”
“Yes, Boss.” And then he practically turns the car into a bullet.
While I know Yuri is trained in high-speed driving, I still think we’ll crash as he zigzags between cars and nearly hits a truck.
Through it all, Kirill still has his hand on my knee. Or more like, his hand engulfs mine that’s on my knee.
I suspected this before, but I’m entirely sure now. I really hate how much he affects me with his mere words and presence.
And, now, his touch.
My skin tingles, and something on the inside attempts to claw its way out.
Tactfully, I grab his hand with my other one, remove it, and subtly scoot to the end of the seat.
Kirill’s head tilts in my direction, a mysterious look covering his face as he slides his glasses up his nose.
I clear my throat. “Is anyone going to tell me what the plan is?”
“All the pieces will fit together soon enough,” Kirill says.
“Was kidnapping your mother part of the plan?”
“A huge one, yes.”
“Watch your tone, punk,” Viktor warns from the passenger seat, fixating me with his signature glare.
The car comes to a stop in front of a large metal gate. Everyone stays still for a moment, probably being examined by the cameras. Then the gate creaks open, and Yuri speeds inside the enormous property.
By the time we arrive at the mansion’s circular driveway, I’m about to vomit from motion sickness.
And I’ve never even had that before.
We step out of the car that’s parked behind a dozen others. We find Konstantin’s men chatting happily with other guards, probably the Pakhan’s.
They stop talking upon spotting Kirill and make way for him. Only two guards are allowed to escort him inside. Since Yuri is staying by the car, I follow Viktor and Kirill to a grand hall.
This place is even more majestic than the Morozov family house, and that’s saying something since that mansion looks royal.
This one, however, has a grimmer feel. In the entrance hall, there’s a huge painting of a war between angels and demons. Blood splashes all over the piece, and gruesome facial expressions are drawn in spine-chilling detail. I can almost hear the horrifying screeches of the mythical creatures.
A big, burly man with a stoic expression that matches Viktor’s opens the double doors to the conference room.
Kirill strides inside without so much as a nod.
Viktor and I follow, then stop when he does.
The dining room is decorated with a gold-themed table, a huge chandelier, and candelabras on the fireplace.
But the atmosphere is neither welcoming nor joyful.
The men who attended the funeral sit around the table. At the head, there’s the Pakhan, the big boss, and the one who calls the shots, Sergei.
Vladimir and Adrian are sitting on the leader’s right and left respectively.
Then there’s Igor and Mikhail. The old-fashioned and older generations.
Beside Mikhail sits Konstantin, looking smug, with a smirk lifting his lips as if he’s already a victor.
On the opposite side, sits…a woman. Blonde, serious, and with elegance dripping from her expressionless face.
I saw her with Sergei at the funeral. Maksim said she’s his grandniece and the previous Pakhan’s granddaughter.
She has no opinion on the on-site operations, but since she’s climbing the ladder in the organization’s legitimate front, V Corp, she has voting rights.
Behind every member stand two guards like Viktor and me.
“You’re late,” Vladimir announces in his booming voice.
“Are we a joke to you, Morozov?” Mikhail adds in an accusatory tone.
Igor nods. “That’s disrespectful, not only to us, but to the Pakhan himself. It doesn’t look good for your application to be part of this table.”
Kirill pushes his glasses up his nose with his middle and ring fingers, not appearing affected in the least. “I apologize for the delay, but I had a legitimate reason.”
He pulls out his phone and shows them a picture of Yulia bound, bleeding, and barely consciousness.
“On my way here, I received this picture of my mother, and I had to go save her. She’s now safe and sound back home.” He faces Sergei. “I don’t believe I’m worthy of any position in the Bratva if I betray my own. If I can’t protect my family, how can I protect a bigger organization?”
Igor turns to Konstantin, whose smile has vanished. “Is this true?”
“I didn’t know she was kidnapped.”
“Oh, yes, you did. You received the same image, no?” Kirill shows the cc at the top of the email. “If you could confirm your attendance via email, surely you’ve seen this picture. The only difference is that you chose to ignore it.”
“You—” He stands up and falls back down again at everyone’s silent scrutiny.
“I apologize on behalf of my brother,” Kirill continues in his serene tone. “He’s still too young and doesn’t understand the value of family yet.”
“You’re the one who left for Russia!” Konstantin accuses.
“At Father’s orders. As I said, family.”
“Roman did mention that he sent Kirill to Russia for further training,” Igor says.
Kirill’s expression remains neutral, despite knowing that’s not the case.
I’m not surprised that his father lied to his friends. He didn’t seem like the type who would’ve wanted to advertise his authority being challenged. So it’s plausible that he made them think the Russia episode was all part of his plan.
After all, judging by the will and the sensitive material he left for Kirill, he always considered him his sole heir.
Sergei places a hand on the table, and everyone’s attention flies to him. No further words are exchanged, and heavy silence clings to the tension in the room.
“I’m disappointed in your misconduct, Konstantin,” he says in a slow, composed speech pattern.
When the younger of the Morozov brothers starts to speak, Sergei lifts his hand, effectively shutting him up. “Nevertheless, we promised a vote, and we’ll conduct a vote. Those in favor of Kirill joining our table, raise your hand.”
Igor is the first to do so, followed by Vladimir, Adrian, and the woman.
Then, finally, Sergei himself.
When he raises his hand, Mikhail does, too, although reluctantly.
Konstantin’s face turns red, just like his mother’s earlier. All he can do is watch as Kirill topples his carefully constructed plans that he probably spent years devising.
“We won’t even need to wait for Damien,” Sergei says. “Welcome aboard, Kirill. Konstantin, I expect you to support your brother going forward. You can take your leave.”
“But—”
“Now.” There’s a nonnegotiable quality to Sergei’s voice that the younger Morozov has no choice but to follow.
As soon as the door closes behind him, Kirill takes his brother’s seat. “I apologize for his behavior. He still has a long way to go.”
“Indeed,” Vladimir says. “I trust you’ll keep him in check as you promised.”
Kirill nods. “You have my word.”
Oh, I see.
The pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place.
Kirill already had a plan A and a plan B. The first one was his mother’s kidnapping and making himself appeal to Sergei’s sense of loyalty and family.
But if that somehow went awry, he already had a plan B in place. Vladimir and most likely Adrian and Igor. He must’ve made some deals under the table, so they’d vote for him instead of his brother.
I stare at his back from my position behind him.
This man…is on another level.
And I’m genuinely glad to be on his side. I wouldn’t have survived if I were his enemy.
I’m starting to believe that he truly meant what he said. This isn’t simple ambition.
Kirill wants the world, not caring who he has to trample in his path.
I pay close attention to the meeting. Kirill tells them how he’ll improve his father’s legacy and even gives them his word about the percentage of profit they can expect from him this time next year.
One hundred percent. No shit.
By the end of the meeting, everyone looks at him through a new lens. He has a godly presence that demands both attention and weariness.
Some are apprehensive—Mikhail, Vladimir, and Rai. Others are appreciative—Sergei and Igor.
The only one who remains neutral throughout the whole meeting is Adrian.
There’s no sense of victory on Kirill’s face when we leave the dining room and head to the front door.
No sense of success or celebration.
He knew this would be the result all along. His level of strategizing is out of this world.
As we’re about to get in the waiting car, a tall, muscular man approaches us.
His shirt is barely buttoned, and his hair looks like he just got out of bed. But despite his overall disheveled appearance, he is anything but.
A sinister edge lurks in his gray-green gaze. It’s the look I’ve seen on the faces of soldiers who joined the army for bloodlust.
When he’s within touching distance, I slip in front of Kirill, hold up a hand against his chest, and say in my deepest, manliest tone, “Step back.”
The man’s deadly expression falls on my hand. “Why, aren’t you a tough little shit?”
He starts to twist my hand with ease, but I slip it out and manage to grab his and then twist it to his back.
Before I can pin it, though, he whirls around and punches me in the face, sending me flying against the pillar.
The breath knocks out of my lungs, and I cough several times as I feel a bruise doubling the size of my face.
In fact, I can’t feel my face. And why is the earth so hazy?
“As I was saying.” I hear the newcomer tell Kirill. “Are you why I was woken up so early? You don’t look that special to me. You sure you’re not supposed to be the accountant—”
The last thing I see is Kirill’s fist connecting with the man’s face before my world turns black.
