I hadn’t intended to act tonight. The plan was simple observation and a quiet assessment of the rumor that had reached my ears three weeks ago through carefully cultivated channels. The woman who vanished with Vadim Morozov’s secrets, who may have helped orchestrate my brother’s murder ten years ago, had resurfaced.
I expected shadows and whispers and carefully gathered intelligence that would lead me to her hideout or safe house. I didn’t expect to find her here, in this city, working the floor of an upscale nightclub like a goddess pretending to be ordinary.
But it’s her. Every detail aligns perfectly with the description burned into my memory of the face that launched a thousand betrayals, the voice that could convince saints to sin, and the way men orbit around her like she’s a gravity well they can’t escape. Even now, watching her weave between tables with practiced grace, I see the effect she has on every male in her vicinity.
Irina Volkov. I’ve never seen her prior to tonight, but it has to be her.
We’re at another club now, though. It’s open later, and my night tend to go all the way until morning.
“What was that about earlier?” Maksim asks, and I know he’s talking about the girl.
“Just a drunk getting handsy with staff,” I say, reaching for my drink. The scotch burns down my throat, but it does nothing to wash away the taste of confusion that’s coating my tongue.
Maksim’s dark eyes narrow. “And you felt the need to intervene because…?”
“Because I don’t like watching women get assaulted in establishments where I’m conducting business.”
It’s a reasonable explanation and the kind of thing the old me might have said, but Maksim has known me too long to buy it completely. “This is about the Volkov woman.”
It’s not a question. He’s been my second-in-command for eight years, and he can read me better than anyone else alive. “Possibly.”
“Nikandr.” His voice carries a warning. “If that’s her, she’s the enemy. If it’s not her, she’s a civilian who doesn’t deserve to get caught in the crossfire of our war with Morozov.”
“I’m aware of the variables.”
He shakes his head. “Are you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you just claimed ownership of a woman you’ve been watching for three hours.”
The accuracy of his observation irritates me. “I said what I needed to say to get Williams to back off. We’re not there anymore. We left her alone for the night, and I think that’s fair.”
He arches a brow. “You could have accomplished the same thing by taking the bastard with us when we left. Could’ve taken care of him the old fashioned way, without talking to the girl.”
I flash a quick smile. “Too messy. Too public. Besides, I wanted to see her up close to know for sure that it’s her.”
Maksim doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push further. Smart man. He knows when I’ve reached the limits of what I’m willing to discuss, especially in a public setting.
For the rest of the evening, I force myself to focus on the conversation at our table while my mind threatens to wander too far with a woman I shouldn’t be so attracted to. She’s dangerous, able to strike like a viper, but her lips are soft and her eyes are innocent.
I bet that’s how she gets them. Innocent eyes. It’s hard not to believe ever word she says.
When the bartender announces last call, I settle our tab and lead my men toward the exit.
We walk out into the cool night air, where Maksim is already waiting beside our SUV.
“We need to talk,” he says without preamble.
“Not here.” I slide into the back seat and give the driver an address across town. “My office. Twenty minutes.”
The ride passes in silence, but I can feel Maksim’s disapproval radiating from the seat beside me like heat from a furnace. He’s right to be concerned. In our line of work, emotional involvement is a luxury that gets people killed.
Despite that, I can’t forget her expression when I touched her wrist, or the way her eyes widened with something that looked remarkably like wonder. If she’s Irina Volkov, she’s the most accomplished actress I’ve ever encountered. If she’s not…
If she’s not, then I’ve just inserted myself into the life of an innocent woman based on nothing more than a resemblance to someone who destroyed my family. The thought should horrify me. Instead, it makes me want to know everything about her, including her real name, her history, and what she dreams about when she falls asleep in whatever small apartment she can afford on a bottle service salary.
At my office, Maksim pours himself vodka and settles into the chair across from my desk.
Before he can speak, I say, “Did you get surveillance on the club? Video, audio… The works?”
“It’s in progress. I contacted our source there before we left. He’ll have everything installed by Thursday.”
Of course, he did. Maksim thinks three steps ahead on his worst day. It’s what makes him invaluable and occasionally insufferable.
“What else?” He sips the vodka slowly.
“I want everything we can dig up on every employee. Full background checks, financial records, and social media presence. Everything, including her.” I don’t have to identify who ‘her’ is.
He snorts. “You mean especially her. What are you going to do if she turns out to be exactly who we think she is?”
The question hangs in the air. If she’s Irina Volkov, she’s the key to ending Vadim’s operation, getting justice for my brother’s murder, and bringing down half the criminal enterprises on the West Coast with the knowledge in her head.
If she’s Irina Volkov, she’s also the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met, and touching her tonight was the equivalent of playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded chamber.
Without hesitation, I say, “Then we proceed as planned.”
“And if she’s not?”
“Then we have a problem.”
Maksim’s laugh is harsh. “We? No, my friend. You have a problem. The rest of us will be smart enough to walk away.”
He’s right, of course. He’s almost always right, which is why I’ve kept him close all these years despite his occasional tendency toward brutal honesty.
“Pull the old surveillance footage from the club,” I say with a glare. “Everything they have going back six months. I want to study her patterns, her interactions… everything.”
“Nikandr.” There’s warning in his voice again. “Whatever you’re thinking, remember we have a job to do. Morozov has been quiet too long, which means he’s planning something. We can’t afford distractions.”
“I understand the stakes.”
He doesn’t hide his skepticism. “Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re about to risk everything we’ve built on a woman who may or may not be the key to our revenge.”
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, letting his words settle over me, accepting his assessment is accurate. Everything I’ve worked for over the past decade, every sacrifice I’ve made, and every line I’ve crossed in pursuit of justice for my brother’s murder hinges on making smart decisions.
Yet when I remember the way she looked at me tonight, the genuine confusion in her eyes when I claimed her as mine, I don’t know how to forget about her if she isn’t Irina. “Set up the surveillance. We’ll figure out everything else as we go.”
Maksim drains his vodka and stands. “Famous last words.”
After he leaves, I pour myself a drink and walk to the window overlooking the city. Somewhere out there, she’s probably getting ready for bed, washing off her makeup and slipping into whatever she wears to sleep. The thought makes my jaw clench with an emotion that feels suspiciously like longing.
I pull out my phone and scroll through the preliminary information Maksim’s contacts at the club provided earlier. She’s living as Sabrina Clyde, twenty-six years old, and employed at Haus Modesto for three years. She lives in a modest apartment across town with a roommate named Jessica Witman. She has no criminal record, no suspicious financial activity, and no red flags that would indicate she’s anything other than what she appears to be.
But appearances can be deceiving, especially in my world. The smartest predators are often the ones who look the most innocent.
I finish my drink and head home to an empty penthouse that suddenly feels more isolated than usual. Tomorrow, I’ll start watching the surveillance footage. I’ll look for inconsistencies in her story, tells that might give away her true identity, or any sign that she recognizes me as more than just another wealthy customer.
I honestly don’t know if I hope that she’s Irina or pray she’s not.
