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The casual cruelty in her voice makes my chest tighten with protective fury. “Maybe some things are worth the risk.”
“Like what? Love?” She laughs, and the sound is sharp and bitter. “Love is a weakness that gets you killed. Look where it got you.”
“Did you ever love Yaraslov at all?” The question comes out before I can stop myself, but I need to know for Nikandr’s sake, and the closure he’s been seeking, I need to understand whether his brother died believing in something real or something fabricated.
Irina’s expression flickers for just a moment with surprise, or maybe guilt, making her look almost human, before the mask slides back into place. She drums her perfectly manicured fingers against her thigh, and she looks away from me for the first time since I woke up. “Yaraslov was...” She starts to speak, then stops herself. “He was different than I expected.”
“Different how?”
“Gentler. Kinder. He brought me flowers every time we met and always asked about my day like he actually cared about the answer.” Her voice grows quieter, almost wistful. “He had thisway of looking at me like I was something precious instead of something to be used despite paying for my time.”
“But you betrayed him anyway.” I can’t hide my disgust.
“I did my job.” The words come out sharp and defensive. “That’s what I was paid to do.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but footsteps echo through the warehouse before she can speak.
“I told you she could be your twin.” The voice belongs to a man who enters the space like he owns it, moving with the fluid confidence of a predator who’s already fed. He’s older than Nikandr, maybe fifty, with silver threading through dark hair and scars along his jawline that suggest a violent history.
Everything about him radiates controlled menace, from his expensive suit to the way his hands rest casually near weapons I can’t see but know are there. This has to be Vadim Morozov, the man who killed Yaraslov, been hunting Nikandr, and orchestrated my kidnapping with surgical precision.
He’s followed by two other men who are younger and broader, with the kind of casual violence that comes from years of following orders without question. One of them carries a tactical bag that clanks when he sets it down, probably full of weapons or surveillance equipment. The other has dried blood on his knuckles and a fresh cut across his cheek that suggests he was in the van that hit my guards.
“Though the resemblance is stronger in photographs,” Vadim says, studying me with clinical interest. “In person, there are obvious differences. The way she holds herself, and theexpression in her eyes… Irina, you project danger. This one...” He gestures toward me dismissively. “Projects vulnerability.”
Irina sniffs and examines her perfectly manicured nails. “She has a surface resemblance but lacks my elegance.”
I meet her gaze directly, letting her see the disgust I feel. “And your cold heart.”
Vadim laughs. “Maybe you’re more interesting than I thought. That makes this so much more interesting.”
He begins circling my chair like a shark testing the water, and I force myself not to flinch away from his presence. Fear is what he wants because it gives him power. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how terrified I am for my daughter.
“Tell me,” he says conversationally, “What do you know about your boyfriend’s business operations?”
I keep staring ahead. “I know he’s trying to get out of them.”
“Is he? Or is that just what he told you to keep you compliant?” Vadim stops directly in front of me, leaning down so his face is level with mine. “Men like Nikandr don’t retire, little fool. They die in the life, or they die trying to escape it.”
I meet his gaze, managing not to flinch. “He’s not like you.”
He laughs again, though it holds no amusement. “No? What makes you so certain?”
I think about Nikandr’s gentle hands on my belly, the way he reads pregnancy books, and the careful way he’s been dismantling his empire piece by piece to build us a different future. “Because he knows what he’s fighting for.” I’m more inclined to be forgiving of him not telling me about his lastmission beforehand despite breaking a promise to me now that I see the man he’s fighting against. He was clearly trying to protect me, though he did break his word.
He arches a brow. “And what’s that?”
“Our family.”
Vadim straightens up, his expression shifting to something that might be amusement or contempt. “Your family. How sweet. Your boyfriend should be arriving soon to rescue his precious family.”
I frown. Why would Vadim tell me Nikandr’s on the way? “What do you mean?”
“We’ve given him coordinates to a lovely abandoned textile factory about fifteen miles from here. My men made sure to leave plenty of evidence that you’re being held there, including heat signatures and movement patterns—all the little details that make surveillance specialists feel confident about their intelligence.”
The casual way he describes the deception makes my blood run cold. “He’ll figure it out.”