Despite the state of emergency, if I could hug Maksim for interrupting Kirill’s destructive plan, I would.
But then again, that might have the exact opposite desired effect and put Maksim’s life in danger, which is why I refrain from acting on that impulse.
That, and the fact that the club’s security might be in jeopardy.
In situations like these, anyone would expect chaos to ensue, but that’s impossible in an establishment run by Kirill.
There isn’t even an alarm asking people at the club to leave. The music continues, and everyone keeps dancing and drinking, completely unaware of the severity of the situation.
Kirill heads straight to the control room. I take a few moments to compose myself before I follow after.
But even when I reach the area, I remain in the shadows, at the farthest point, while still standing in the same room as him.
For my survival, I need to avoid being the center of his attention as much as possible.
We find Yuri watching the security footage with some other guards. On one of the screens, Viktor is inspecting a package that was left at the doorstep of the staff entrance. A large duffel bag, to be specific.
“Rewind the footage to the beginning of the incident,” Kirill orders, then clicks the intercom that connects to the speaker outside. “Don’t touch that yet, Viktor.”
“Yes, sir,” comes the guard’s reply.
Yuri clicks a few buttons, and the images go back to five minutes ago. A black van screeches to an abrupt stop near the club, then accelerates to the entrance. A few guards shoot at it, but nothing penetrates it. Which means the vehicle is bulletproof.
The people inside the van shoot their own bullets, hitting two bouncers before the side door opens and the duffel bag is thrown out. Then they rev down the street at high speed.
Kirill perches beside Yuri and rewinds the footage a few seconds, then pauses at the moment the door opens. He does it a few times, watching and rewatching the moment the duffel bag was thrown out.
He lets it play again and clicks the intercom that connects him to his senior guard. “There’s a person inside the duffel bag, Viktor. If he’s not dead, kill him.”
“Yes, sir.” Viktor slowly opens the zipper and everyone, including me, focuses on the picture that Yuri projects on three large monitors.
Viktor pauses when he gets a view of the person. The only thing we see from the camera’s angle is a head and short bloodied hair.
“Is he dead?” Yuri asks.
“No,” Viktor replies.
“Why aren’t you shooting then?” Kirill asks.
Viktor looks at the camera with a bemused expression. “It’s Mr. Konstantin, Boss. Should I kill him?”
Kirill actually pauses as if he’s really thinking of finishing his younger brother’s life. Then he casually says, “No need. Take him to my office, and make sure he’s conscious when I get there.”
He doesn’t wait for Viktor to reply and stares at Yuri. “I want you to strengthen the security while you figure out who’s behind that van.”
“I don’t think they will come back…” Yuri trails off when Kirill looks at him pointedly. “On it, Boss.”
He starts to leave the control room, but he stops at the door. “You’re coming with me, Lipovsky.”
My heart tightens with a strange sense of pain. It’s been ages since he called me that—since the army, to be more specific. I don’t care if Viktor does it, but it’s different with Kirill.
I don’t like to be called by the fake last name. It feels distant. Almost as if we’re strangers.
Still, I follow after, even while keeping a distance. I expect Kirill to pick up where he left off earlier, but he doesn’t even address me during the walk from the security room to his office.
The only part of him I can see is his back—broad, imposing, and…far.
He seems so far away right now. There’s always been a wall between us. Though it’s not disruptive, it’s there, highlighting the difference between us.
Kirill Morozov is a man of no morals. A monster with no limits. A beast in the form of a sophisticated gentleman.
There were times when I thought the wall was shrinking in size, specifically on the rare occasion when I thought Kirill was being kind. When he saved me and took care of me. When he protected my identity. When he looked at me as if I were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
I actually believed him when he told me I was gorgeous.
Now, I realize all of those moments could’ve been me trying to rationalize the hole I’ve been digging for myself, just to make myself believe that I’m different to him.
That maybe I hold a special place in his cutthroat life.
But right now, that wall keeps getting taller, crushing my futile hopes and every rosy thought I ever had.
When we arrive at the office, we find Viktor lowering an unconscious Konstantin onto one of the chairs. Blood trickles down his temple. His usually impeccable dark brown suit is crumpled, and his white shirt is soaked with blood.
His right eye and his lips are swollen, one of his shoes is missing, and his chest is smattered with cigarette burns.
There’s no doubt about it—he was tortured.
Despite his thirst for power and lack of practical decision-making skills, Konstantin isn’t actually a bad person. I think he’s just jealous of Kirill and hates his mind games. He’s also too influenced by Yulia’s hatred to see straight.
Ever since that incident in the Pakhan’s house where he was kicked out and thoroughly humiliated by Kirill, he’s been either avoiding him or glaring at him from afar.
Somewhat like Karina.
Yulia has been taking him to her family’s conventions, probably trying to build his power again. Kirill completely ignored that fact when Viktor brought it to his attention.
“They’re weak and won’t be able to accomplish anything. Let them entertain themselves by trying,” was the reply he gave.
Right now, however, Konstantin looks to be in critical shape.
“Should I call the doctor?” I ask.
“No,” Kirill says. “Wake him up, Viktor.”
“But he could have an infection,” I argue. He’s his brother, after all, no?
“I don’t have all day,” he addresses Viktor, completely ignoring me.
The burly guard nods and pours a bottle of water on Konstantin’s head. He startles awake, inhaling sharply, then breaks out in a fit of coughs.
His good eye widens, but the other remains half shut as he takes in the sight of Kirill standing in front of him.
“Who did this?” Kirill asks. “Who’s trying to send me a message through your useless life?”
Konstantin’s eyes ignite with anger so great, it burns through his whole frame. “Why…would you fucking care?”
“I don’t.” Kirill grabs him by his hair that’s soaked in blood and wrenches his head back. “But you happen to share my last name, and I don’t appreciate people sending me messages through the weak links in my life.”
“Fuck you.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” He slaps him on the cheek twice, then grabs him by the hair. “Focus.”
I don’t know how or why I do it, but I step to his side. “Please stop that. His eyes are unfocused, and he’s probably feverish. He needs medical help.”
“This is none of your business. Back off.” He doesn’t even look at me. “Who was it, Konstantin?”
His brother breathes harshly, but it’s irregular, and his tongue gets stuck on the roof of his mouth. “Fuck you…you fucking bastard.”
Kirill shoves him away, but he raises his fist to punch him.
I stand in front of him, arms on either side of me, and shake my head. “Don’t.”
“Which part of back the fuck off do you not understand, Lipovsky?”
Usually, I would shake like a leaf in front of those intense eyes, but I force myself to stare straight back at them. “Brothers aren’t supposed to hate each other.”
“I’ll let you know when I need your unsolicited advice.”
“Please…” I soften my tone since hardening it had the exact opposite effect I was hoping for. “You want answers, right? I’ll get them for you. If you leave me alone with him…”
“Leave you alone with him?” His voice drops to a frightening range.
“Okay, don’t leave me alone with him. But can you at least back off for a moment?”
“No.”
“Just…” I release a harsh breath so as not to lose my cool. “I only need ten minutes.”
“Five.”
“Seven.”
“Five.”
“Fine.” I look him up and down. “You’re still standing here.”
He takes a step back. No kidding, just one.
“You need to go farther.”
“No.”
“At least stand beside Viktor.”
He narrows his eyes, and for some reason, they appear colder than usual, which is terrifying in and of itself, but he does go to stand beside Viktor.
It’s not that far, but they’re at least behind Konstantin, so he can’t see them. He can probably sense the hostile energy radiating from them, though.
I slowly turn to face him, and he glares at me with his one good eye. “Whatever the fuck you think you’re doing—”
Kirill steps forward, and I lower myself so that my face is level with Konstantin’s. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anything.”
I grab a box of tissues from the coffee table and wipe at the blood on his temple. I can sense Kirill’s stare—or more like glare—but I ignore it and focus on Konstantin instead.
He curses under his breath with each of my ministrations, and his breathing turns shallower. He definitely has a fever, too.
“They really did a number on you,” I say with enough nonchalance to sound concerned, but not like I’m pitying him.
“Wait until I get my hands on those motherfuckers.” He coughs and wheezes. “I’ll drill their brains with holes, I swear to fuck—”
“Isn’t it too late after they already got you?”
“What the fuck do you know, asshole? Were you there?”
“No, but if I had been there, none of this would’ve happened to you.”
“You think you’re all that?”
“No, but I’m probably better than your useless guards who allowed this to happen.”
He purses his lips. “They were shot down. We were ambushed, so they couldn’t have done anything.”
“Doubt it. If they’d had the right security plan—”
“It was a setup!” he strains. “We were supposed to meet a contact from the Chicago branch, but it turned out they were out for me.”
“You mean me.” Kirill strolls to my side. “Your only power is being my brother.”
“Fuck you, motherfucker.”
I glare at Kirill for ruining the semblance of an agreement I was trying to build, but he merely ignores me. “Who was the person you were supposed to meet?”
“Ivanov,” he spits out.
My legs go weak. Did he just say Ivanov? No, surely this is a coincidence. There are a lot of Russian people with our last name. Maybe even from other nationalities as well, so it’s not like this person is related to me.
Besides, the only Ivanovs I know are back home.
“First name?” Kirill asks.
“Don’t know.”
“Description?”
“A burly blond guy who loves torture.”
“No shit.” He runs his gaze over Konstantin’s multiple injuries.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“I don’t know. Have you done something I should be making fun of? Getting yourself ambushed by some guy whose background you haven’t even checked does sound amateurish.”
“You fucking—”
“Let’s get him a doctor,” I intervene to avoid whatever war is about to start.
Kirill turns to leave, not bothering to consider my suggestion.
“Boss!” I call.
“Viktor, take him somewhere else so he’ll stop bleeding on my floor,” he announces, then leaves.
“That son of…” Konstantin wheezes, sounding delirious with fever.
“Let’s take him to a doctor,” I implore Viktor.
“Boss didn’t say that.”
“He also didn’t say to leave him to die. Come on, help me.”
He grunts, glances at the door as if he wants to be beside his tyrant boss, but then, he picks up the phone.
“Get the doctor to the house. We’re arriving in twenty with Mr. Konstantin. He’s injured and needs medical care.”
Then Viktor helps me carry a semiconscious Konstantin to the car. To be completely transparent, he holds most of the weight.
As we make our way out, there’s no sign of Kirill, Yuri, or Maksim in the halls or in the club’s VIP booth.
We arrive at the house five minutes after the scheduled time, and we’re greeted by a pacing Yulia. She’s in her sophisticated satin robe. For the first time, her blonde hair is gathered in a bun and her face is free of makeup, allowing some wrinkles of age to show through.
Upon seeing us, she pales, but her expression doesn’t change as she hastens her pace toward us. “What…what happened? Oh, Kostenka! Who did this to you?”
She pushes me away, and I nearly drop her son. “You…and you!” She punches Viktor’s chest. “Did Kirill tell you to do this? That…that devil isn’t satisfied with everything he’s done, so he’s now taking my son from me?”
“It’s not like that,” I say in a gentle tone. “Mr. Konstantin was tortured and thrown in front of the club, so we—”
“Mother…” he croaks, his voice breaking.
“Yes, dear? Mother is here now. Everything is going to be okay.” Her tone changes to that of motherly affection. A tone I’ve never heard her use on either Kirill or Karina.
She stops pushing and punching us, just so we can get him to the clinic. Once the doctor arrives, she kicks us out.
Still, I remain outside.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Lipovsky?” Viktor asks when I don’t follow him.
“I’m going to stay here in case the doctor needs anything.”
“Who the fuck are you? Mother Theresa?” He gets closer. “We got him help. He’s going to be fine. Other than that, we don’t mingle with him or his mother.”
“She’s Kirill’s mother, too.”
“Does she look like his mother to you?”
“Well—”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“But—”
“I said out. Go wait for Boss in front of his room for night duty.”
I want to punch Viktor square in his stoic face, but something tells me that wouldn’t go over so well.
Begrudgingly, I tell one of the maids to notify me about Konstantin’s condition, then I go up the stairs to wait for his majesty the tyrant Kirill. Maybe I should pretend to be sick so that I’m not trapped with him in the same room.
I consider asking Maksim for help, but I don’t want him to get suspicious—
“Sasha!” a familiar voice calls me as soon as I’m up the stairs.
Karina clutches my wrist, drags me into her room, and closes the door. As usual, it’s filled with candles and weird mojo, but she at least has the curtains drawn back.
“What happened?” she asks in an alarmed voice. “I heard the maids talking about the doctor and medical care. Is…is Kirill okay? Is that his blood on your clothes?”
“He’s as good as the devil.” I clamp my lips shut, forgetting that I’m actually talking to his sister.
“Oh, thank God.” She releases a breath.
“It’s Konstantin. He’s the one who was hurt.”
Her shoulders drop, but she says nothing.
“Don’t you want to see how he’s doing?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Yulia is probably by his side, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay then. I’ll just hear about it from the maids.”
“He’s your brother, Karina. You’re not supposed to hear about it from the maids.”
“I would rather do that than see Yulia fawning all over him.” She purses her lips. “He’s the only child she ever cared about, you know. The only one she treated as her own. Bought him things, took him on trips, and gave him words of affirmation. She looked at him with love, worried about him, and offered him the whole parental package. She only ever looked at Kirill and me with disgust. Contempt, even. When I started having panic attacks and anxiety, I went crying to her and asked for help like any scared daughter would ask her mother. But when I hugged her, she pushed me away as if I were revolting and told me I got exactly what I deserved. She’s like our stepmother.”
“I’m so sorry, Karina.”
She wipes away the tears clinging to her eyes. “Stupid water coming out when it’s not needed. Don’t worry. I’m totally over that.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not scared or anything, but just in case, can you stay here until I fall asleep?”
“Sure.”
I remain by her bedside as she tells me stories and cool tidbits she’s learned online. She’s a serial comic writer and said maybe one day she’d tell me her pen name. While she struggles with the world, she’s managed to build her own miniature world where she feels more at ease.
After she falls asleep, I cover her with a blanket and silently step out of the room.
I get a text from a maid informing me that Konstantin is out of danger and asleep. Yulia is staying by his side tonight.
Releasing a relieved breath, I go to Kirill’s room. I’ve got Konstantin’s blood all over me from when I carried him earlier, and I need a change of clothes before I report to night duty.
The moment I open the door, black energy grabs hold of me before a hand wraps around my mouth. A muffled squeal leaves me as I’m dragged inside.
A dark, ominous voice whispers in my ear, “Shh. I need you to shut the fuck up, Sasha.”
