Page 3

Katya

It’s a chilly afternoon, and my usual coffee shop, Moonbeans, is busier than normal. The smell of freshly baked pastries is comforting, even if the crowded tables aren't. I had a long day at work, and I just want to go home and relax.

I slip into the line behind a woman who's absorbed by her phone, shifting her weight impatiently from foot to foot. The barista hands me my coffee, Americano, and smiles like I'm a regular, even though we barely know each other’s names. As I step aside, scanning for an empty spot, someone calls out from behind.

"Katya? Oh my God, is that you?"

I turn quickly, nearly spilling coffee down my sweatshirt. My sister's best friend from college. I haven't seen her since Irina disappeared.

“Emily?”

She laughs warmly, stepping forward to hug me tightly. It feels strange and comforting, but alien, being hugged by someone who knew Irina so well.

"I almost didn't recognize you with the red streaks. How’ve you been?" Emily asks, squeezing my shoulder gently before pulling away.

"Fine, just fine. And you?"

Emily nods, her eyes searching mine. “Good, busy with work.” Her voice softens suddenly. “I think about Irina all the time. I still miss her, you know. We all do.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, feeling a pinch deep in my chest. “Me too. Are you back for good?”

“No, just flew in for a wedding. I should be back in Europe by the weekend. I’m really sorry about your sister. I was pregnant when the whole thing happened, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you needed me.”

God, I’m tired of people being sorry. Their pity, I’m here if you need anything, as if words could rewind time and bring her back. As if their concern wasn’t already too late.

“It’s fine. What’s done is done.”

"I know, I just wish I could’ve done more.” Emily’s voice cracks. “The police never found anything?”

"Nothing." I wrap my hands around my coffee cup. "Sometimes I wake up thinking she'll call any minute."

"Yeah, I know the feeling.” Emily shifts to hold her purse strap, which is slipping from her shoulder. “Look, this is probably too late, but I can’t keep pretending I didn’t notice something. Maybe it could’ve helped the police. Maybe it could help you.”

I narrow my eyes in confusion before she goes on.

She looks around, dropping her voice. “It’s been five years, but I remember those last weeks so clearly. You were out of the country with your mom, so you wouldn’t know. But Irina... she was different. Secretive.”

I lean forward. "What do you mean?"

"Well...It’s weird. Just before she vanished, Irina was different. Happier, I guess. And kept more to herself, too. Did she ever talk to you about the new guy?”

My stomach twists knowing where this was already going. “Irina wasn’t seeing anyone new. She’d been with Andrew for years.” I knew about her affair, but I’d rather my sister be remembered in a good light if she’s dead, than as a cheater.

“No, not Andrew. Someone else,” Emily insists, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “I saw them together, Katya. Twice. The first time was a few weeks before she disappeared. They were at that new Mediterranean place on Fifth. The way she looked at him... I’d never seen her like that.”

"What did he look like?" My mind goes back to the last conversation Irina and I had before I left. It appears there was indeed someone else my sister was seeing, but I never knew it would tally with the time she disappeared.

"Tall, built like a fighter. Good-looking. Black hair usually tied back. Intimidating but... There was something about him. The kind of man your mother warns you about. But—” she pauses, trying to find the right word, "dangerous-looking. Like trouble.”

My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression calm. “Are you sure?”

"Positive," she says firmly. " The second time was the day before she disappeared, at that art gallery downtown. He barely left her side. Protective, maybe possessive. I was so busy handling my husband’s sales, I barely had time to say hi. But from a distance, you could tell something was... off.”

My phone feels like a dead weight in my pocket. "Would you recognize him if you saw a picture?"

"Definitely."

I swallow hard, fumbling for my phone. “Hang on a sec.” Pulling up the surveillance photo of Nikolai, I hold it up. “This him?”

Emily squints at the screen before her eyes widen dramatically. “Yes. That’s definitely him. Who is he?”

“No one good.” I shove the phone into my pocket, barely controlling the tremble in my fingers.

“Where did you get that? Katya, what’s going on?”

"Just... research." I drink my coffee quickly. "I have to go."

“Katya, wait. What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Just—take care, okay?” We exchange numbers and promises to meet again, but my mind is already spinning toward impossible answers.

The entire way home, my thoughts spin violently. Nikolai Ramensky. Irina. The art gallery. It all fits painfully together. I was right. The bastard definitely knows exactly what happened to my sister.

I went after him initially because I saw his name in her journal. Now I know that I have to go after him because he is most likely the last person to have seen her before she disappeared.

Irina and I had barely spoken the last year I was away. After our fight, we only communicated through texts. When it became public news that she was missing, the messages stopped, confirming what I suspected. Someone else had been texting me, keeping me in the dark, playing me like a fool.

God, I hate myself for this. For letting a stupid fight keep me away. For letting pride fester into silence. I stayed by Mom’s side until the end, but maybe I could have done both. Called Irina more. Visited her. If I’d been paying attention, I would’ve known. I would’ve realized that it wasn’t her texting me all those times. I could have stopped this.

Instead, I chose to play the part of someone who didn’t give a damn about anyone but herself. The person who is keeping a grudge against her sister over something so stupid. And now, I’m stuck in this rabbit hole, chasing answers and guilt like it’s some kind of penance.

Inside my apartment, I strip quickly, stepping into a hot shower, hoping the scalding water can drown out the thoughts swirling inside my head. It doesn’t. The sting on my skin fades quickly, leaving behind the uncomfortable mess of what Emily revealed.

I need a plan—a way to make him talk without getting myself killed.

I shut off the water and step out, before grabbing a towel. My fingers shake slightly as I tuck the fabric around me, dripping water onto the tile. With my new discovery now, my two-bedroom apartment feels colder and emptier.

I sit on the bed and start drying my hair when a soft creak from behind me makes me freeze. My heart drops as I slowly look over my shoulder.

Nikolai stands there, with a gun aimed directly at my head. His eyes burn into mine, narrowed and furious.

“Hello,” he says calmly, like he didn’t just break into my house. "I see you've been busy. Still poking your nose in my business after I explicitly warned you, eh?”

My mouth dries instantly. "How did you—"

"Quiet,” he orders sharply, stepping closer. The barrel of the gun doesn’t waver. “Who sent you?”

I ignore his question. "How did you get in here?"

"You should upgrade your locks." The corner of his lips curves up as he circles me slowly. "Now, who hired you to follow me?"

“No one,” I manage, struggling to keep the fear out of my voice. “I’m not working for anyone.”

The gun traces my jawline. "Wrong answer. Try again."

"I'm telling the truth." I meet his eyes. "This is personal."

"Personal?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "What could you possibly want from me?"

"My sister. Irina Yasenev. Ring any bells?"

His expression doesn't change, but something sparks in his eyes. Recognition.

"Never heard of her."

"Liar." I stand, ignoring the gun. "Someone saw you with her right before she disappeared. What did you do to my sister?"

"Sit. Back. Down." Each word drips with menace.

"Or what? You'll shoot me? Go ahead. But you'll never know why I've been following you."

His free hand grips my throat, pushing me back onto the bed. "There are worse things than dying, little girl."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Then you're stupid as well as reckless." He leans in, studying my face. "You look like her. Same eyes."

My heart stops. "So you do know her?"

The gun presses harder against my temple. "Yes, I had to do my research on you to find out what you wanted. I found out that I did know your sister. She was a beauty that one.”

I lunge towards him. “Tell me, you bastard.”

“One step more and I'll paint your walls with your brains. Understand?"

I nod slowly and retreat. He knows something. And I'm going to find out what, even if it kills me.

"Here's what happens next." Nikolai releases my throat but keeps the gun fixed. "You tell me everything you know, and maybe I'll let you live."

"I could say the same to you." The towel slips and I clutch it tighter. "Where is she?"

Then he laughs like I’ve said something funny.

"Tell me something," he leans in, his height forcing me to look up. "Do you make a habit of provoking dangerous men, or am I special?"

"Don't give yourself too much credit. I've seen scarier guys at my local gym."

"Really?" His lips quirk. "Do they also make people disappear for a living?"

"No, but their protein shake obsession is truly terrifying."

His fingers flex on the gun. "Cute. Making jokes while staring down a barrel. Either very brave or very stupid."

"Maybe I just don't find you as intimidating as you think you are."

"Says the woman who hid behind trees to watch me."

"I wasn't hiding," I snap. "I was... conducting surveillance."

"Is that what we're calling amateur stalking these days?"

"Rich, coming from the man who broke into my apartment. At least I had the decency to spy from a distance."

A crooked smile plays at his mouth. "Next time you want my attention, try asking nicely. Less of a chance of getting shot."

"I'll keep that in mind for my next mafia stalking adventure."

"You do realize I could kill you, right now?”

“I don’t care,” I snap, gripping the towel tighter. “I need answers about my sister. So, tell me, because I know you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

His expression darkens instantly. “Ah, yes, Irina. You think I hurt her?"

“I saw your picture,” I spit back. "With her. Right before she vanished."

He stares, briefly puzzled, then shakes his head slowly. "I don’t know about her disappearance, but your sister was involved with dangerous people. Not me."

“Why should I believe you?” My voice cracks despite myself. I hate that weakness.

"Believe whatever you want. It won’t change reality." He presses the gun harder. "Tell me who you're working with."

“I told you,” I say slowly, enunciating each word. “No one.”

Nikolai pauses, releases me and then circles me again, studying my face carefully. I’m trying not to shake, but I know he sees it anyway.

"You really don't understand, do you?" His voice drops lower when he comes up behind me, sending unwanted shivers down my spine. "You're playing a fucking game with a person you shouldn’t, and one you don't even know the rules of."

"And you underestimate me." I fight to keep my voice bold as water drips from my hair, sliding down my neck.

From the mirror across, I see he tucks away his gun, and his eyes travel over me with deliberate slowness. "Do I? Or are you overestimating yourself?"

"You should leave." The words come out softer than I intend.

"Should I?" He moves even closer, each step measured, but soon I feel the hard lines of his chest pressed against my back. "When I finally have you exactly where I want you?"

My skin prickles with awareness. "And where's that?"

"Off balance. Vulnerable." His breath stirs my wet hair. "Tell me, my being so close, does it frighten or excite you?"

I turn to face him, clutching the towel tighter. A weak attempt to put some distance between us. "Neither."

"Liar." His fingers trace my collarbone, collecting droplets of water. "Your pulse says otherwise."

"My pulse says you just had a gun to my head."

"And now?" He closes the distance I just managed to find, his lips nearly brushing my ear. "What's your excuse for the way you're quivering?"

Heat floods my face. "Maybe I'm just cold."

"We both know that's not true." His hand finds my throat again, the touch unexpectedly gentle. "The same way we both know you could have screamed for help by now."

"Maybe I'm waiting for the right moment." But even I don't believe my words.

"Or maybe..." He tilts my chin up, and I hate how my body responds to his touch. "You want to know what happens next."

I should push him away. Remember why I’m here, what he might have done to Irina. Instead, I stand frozen, caught between fear and the strange warmth flickering beneath the hardness of his expression. It's unnerving, being this close, feeling this exposed under his scrutiny.

"What do you really want?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “If you wanted to kill me, you could have. We both know it.”

He studies me silently, his eyes drifting slowly from my face down to where the towel hugs my body. "Just like you. Answers, Katya."

“How did you know my—?”

“Your name is the least of what I know about you now, sweetheart. I know everything you’ve done in your life, every friend you made, every job you worked, every country you visited in your 26 years. But the thing I’m still figuring out is why you’d think it was wise to trail after me. When you know damn well what I’ve done to men who did worse. I’m just here for my answers, Katya. And maybe even something more.”

My heart races wildly as I realize the implications of his words. I can't help the flush that creeps up my cheeks, despite the situation.

"What makes you think I'd give you either?" I challenge.

Nikolai smiles slowly. "Because," he says softly, but his hands are squeezing tightly, "right now, I have all the leverage."