Kat
The moment I step outside, the sharp winter air cuts through me, but I barely feel it. My pulse is a constant roar in my ears, my breath coming fast and shallow.
Don’t cry. Not here. Not where he can see.
I force myself to keep walking, my heels clicking against the driveway, each step fueled by sheer determination and fear. My hands tremble as I throw my purse into the car and slide into the back seat.
“Home, Mrs. Fetisova?” Ivan asks.
I simply nod, not trusting myself to speak just yet. Piotr has Ana. The words repeat in my head like a horrible chant: Piotr has Ana. Piotr has Ana. Piotr has Ana.
He took my child.
Vlad will do everything he can to find her, I know that much. But that might not be enough, not when Piotr is involved. If he’s willing to use my daughter as leverage to force me to commit murder, what else is he capable of? When Piotr digs his claws in, he doesn’t let go. He now has my daughter in an undisclosed location.
A shuddering breath escapes me as I grip the door. Pavel doesn’t know about Ana, and telling him under these circumstances feels wrong. But what other choice do I have? I’m alone in this. I have no power. No moves to make. I blink rapidly, pressing my fingers to my temples, trying to fight the panic rising in my chest.
Breathe. Focus. Think.
The city is a blur as we speed down the streets. I barely register the buildings and lights flashing by. The car turns a corner, things becoming clearer as I spot a woman walking alone. Recognition slams into me: It’s the woman from Piotr’s office. The one he so carelessly discarded and left scrambling for her clothes. Why the hell is she walking?
Frowning, I glance out the back window. She looks lost. Piotr didn’t even bother to get her a ride home. Typical. What a prick. The rage that had only just started to settle flares again for a new reason. “Ivan,” I call up front.
“Yes ma’am?”
“We’re picking someone up,” I tell him, the decision already made.
Silence. Then a heavy sigh. “That’s not a good idea.”
“We’re doing it anyway.”
Ivan exhales sharply. “I’m calling it in. Your husband needs to know.”
“Fine, but pull over.”
Ivan pulls the car to the curb. I lower the window as soon as the woman approaches. “Need a ride?” I ask. She freezes and her eyes widen in surprise, relief flashing across her face. But the relief is quickly tempered with worry when she realizes who I am.
“You’re his sister.”
“I am. And I can’t apologize enough for his behavior. I assure you we were raised better than that.”
She bites her lip, glancing away. This young woman, whatever her name might be, is stunning. Sharp, Slavic features, deep green eyes, full lips. Her shape is curvy, ample in all the spots where men like women to be ample.
Finally, she nods, hurrying around to the other side of the car.
“Thank you,” she says as she climbs inside, clutching her coat tighter around herself. She looks shaken. I grab a few tissues from the center console and offer them to her.
“I’m sorry my brother’s such a dick.”
The woman allows herself a laugh, dabbing at her eyes.
“I’m Kat,” I offer my hand.
She hesitates but takes it. “Darya.”
I watch Darya from the corner of my eye. Her shoulders are curled inward, her hands twisting the now crumpled tissues I gave her. She looks fragile, on the verge of falling apart completely.
She catches me staring and offers a weak smile. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “I’m just not used to this.”
“Used to what?” I make sure to keep my voice gentle as I speak.
“Kindness.”
I hesitate, wondering how to approach her without scaring her off. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Darya. So, tell me about yourself. Do you live around here?”
She exhales, staring out the window at the passing buildings. “I’m renting a tiny place with a roommate in Bushwick right now,” she says. “I moved to the city a few years ago. I met Piotr at a club one night, and, well, I guess you can figure out the rest.”
“Do you work? Go to school?”
“I wait tables,” she says quietly, as if ashamed. “Nothing fancy. Just enough to pay the rent and keep up with the bills.”
There’s a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, so I don’t push too hard. “I’m guessing Piotr didn’t tell you much about his business?”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “He makes it clear I’m not supposed to know anything about him. Doesn’t want me asking questions, doesn’t want me around when he’s talking business. Guess he assumed I’d never overhear anything.”
“And yet, you did.”
She nods once, with her lips pressed tightly together. “And now I’m stuck. I know too much, but not enough to protect myself.”
“You’re not stuck anymore, Darya. I know you’re scared, but I promise; you’re safer with me than you were on your own.”
“I just…I don’t want to be dragged into something bigger than me.”
“I get it. But it’s already bigger than both of us. Piotr’s playing a dangerous game—one that puts people at risk. If you stay out there on your own, you’ll be the perfect target.”
“I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“Then trust the fact that we both want the same thing,” I say firmly. “To keep Piotr from destroying more lives.”
She doesn’t respond right away, but finally, she nods, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Alright, I’ll try.”
It’s not a declaration of faith, but it’s a start. She seems nice, smart, not the kind of woman I’d expect Piotr to keep around. But she is sleeping with my brother, which means I can’t trust her, not entirely. This could all be part of his game.
Still, just because I don’t trust her doesn’t mean she can’t be useful. There’s no harm in asking a few questions.
I keep my tone casual. “How long have you and Piotr been seeing each other?”
She sniffles and wipes at her eyes. “A couple of years.”
I glance at her, frowning. “A couple of years?” I repeat, just to make sure I heard her correctly.
She nods. “Two years, almost. But we’re not really together. It’s just for fun or, at least, it was. What you saw just now, back at the house, that’s not normal.”
“I’m confused. You and Piotr haven’t been sleeping together?”
Her eyes flash. “No! That’s not what I meant. I meant it happening in his office is not normal. Normally, everything we do happens at hotels. We meet, and then he sends me off with a little spending money.” She pauses, as if processing her words. “God, it sounds so bad when I put it like that. I don’t ask for the money.”
“It’s fine. No judgment here.”
“But you know what the worst part is?”
“What’s that?”
She shifts her weight, and I can tell that whatever she’s going to say next isn’t easy for her.
“I always think that the next time we meet, he’s going to want to take things to a more serious place. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help it. When he said that he wanted to meet at his house, my heart leaped a bit. He had invited me to stay the night for the first time. Part of me hates him, but another part jumped at it, certain that he was ready to turn this into something more than a two-year-long fling. God, I’m such an idiot.”
I laugh. “You’re not an idiot, Darya. It happens. When someone has their hooks in you, sometimes they use that leverage to make you dance around a bit.”
I’m trying to keep things light, but I’m really pissed. Piotr is notorious for treating women this way. Darya has no idea how many women my brother has pulled the same stunt with over the years. He takes what he wants, when he wants it, but he usually doesn’t keep women around for as long as he’s kept Darya.
“Sometimes I overhear, but sometimes he tells me things he probably shouldn’t.”
“Like what?”
Darya immediately stiffens. “It’s just pillow talk.”
Bullshit.
I press harder. “What do you know, Darya?”
Her hands clench in her lap. “Nothing,” she blurts out too quickly.
Liar.
I keep my gaze straight ahead. “If you’re scared, we can protect you.”
She lets out a hollow laugh. “You can’t protect me from Piotr. No one can.”
A chill curls around my spine. Darya might not realize it, but she just confirmed something I’ve suspected for weeks. Piotr isn’t just dangerous, he’s evil.
We reach an intersection. As Ivan slows the car down, I make a decision before I can second-guess myself. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“To my house.”
“Ma’am, I don’t—” Ivan protests from the front seat.
She turns to face me, her expression one of confusion. “Why?”
“So you can talk to my husband.”
She stills completely.
“Pavel Fetisov.”
A ragged breath leaves her lips. “No-o-o.”
“Why not?”
Darya swallows hard, her nails digging into her palm. “A man working for him has been trying to contact me. I’ve spoken to him once. I don’t want to get any further into this than I already am.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. It’s best you talk to him.”
She shakes her head back and forth several times. “I can’t—”
“You don’t have a choice.”
Darya’s breath hitches, a fresh round of tears spilling down her cheeks. She understands that however deep she thought she was in before, she’s now in deeper.
And there’s no going back.
