Page 125 of Konstantin

I step into the guest bedroom first, one of many in the house, and continue moving through each room quietly, pretending to familiarize myself with the space. But there’s nothing useful inside—no computers, no devices I can access.

Next, I slip into his study, the one room that feels more like him. Shelves line the walls, old leather-bound books stacked high, the desk perfectly organized, everything in its place.

A single lamp casts a soft light across the polished wood. I pace around, my fingers trailing along the edges of his things, but nothing stands out. No laptop. No sign of anything that could help me. Even the drawers are empty. Damn it.

I stand there for a moment, knowing there are cameras everywhere, watching every move I make, even if I can’t see them. So I have to be careful.

Walking out of the study, I enter a game room next. Arcade games line one side, and the centerpiece of the room is a large pool table. I strut around the table, my fingers brushing the edges, the polished wood cool beneath my touch. The sharp click of the pool balls echoes in the room as I pick one up, idly rolling it between my fingers.

But then it slips from my hands and skitters across the floor. I lean down quickly to retrieve it when something under the rug catches my attention. My foot grazes it first: a slight bump beneath the fabric.

What the hell is that? Access to some secret dungeon where he keeps souvenirs from his victims?

Crouching down, I lift the corner of the rug, the fabric heavy in my hands. Pulling it back inch by inch, I flip it over until I find…a handle, a metal latch fastened to the floorboards like a hidden storage compartment.

My fingers tremble slightly as I grip it, but it doesn’t give right away, refusing to open. But with a quiet grunt, I pull harder and it finally shifts, the floorboards groaning in protest as a large section slowly rises.

A wave of excitement floods me as my eyes land on the yellow envelopes stacked inside. Dozens of them. This is it. The breakthrough I’ve been waiting for. Something that could maybe help Nate.

But suddenly, the sound of footsteps grows louder.

Hisfootsteps.

Fuck!

Panic jolts through me as I slowly shut the compartment, the low thud echoing louder.

The door handle begins to turn.

Oh God!

I scramble to fix the rug, my fingers shaking as I try to smooth it out. Every second stretches into an eternity, the rush of adrenaline making my head spin.

Straightening up fast, I move toward the pool table like nothing’s wrong. My body quivers with nerves as I pretend to line up a shot, my heart racing just as the door creaks open.

Konstantin.

His eyes meet mine, cold and calculating. For a moment, he just stands there, watching me with that unreadable expression. And then a smirk slowly spreads across his face, like he knows exactly what I was doing.

“Having fun?” he asks, his voice smooth, laced with something dark and playful.

But it’s the blood that catches my attention first. His shirt is torn, crimson staining the fabric in large patches. His face is bruised, the cut on his lip still fresh, and there’s a deep gash along his cheek.

“What the hell happened?” I ask, rushing over to him. The concernis instant, the anger and fear for him rising within me.

“Just a little sparring between brothers.” His mouth tilts up.

I take in the state of him and my brow curves. “That looks like more than just a friendly fight.”

“Are you worried about me, moya l’vitsa?” His voice is smooth like whiskey as his hand reaches up, fingers grazing my cheek and sending a shiver through me.

“I am.” The words slip out before I can stop them. I don’t even try to hide it.

His gaze sharpens, the smirk curling at his lips as he watches me, studying me like I’m a challenge he can’t resist. Then, without warning, he leans down, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath hot on my skin.

“So make me feel better, then.”

The air between us crackles, like a storm ready to break.