Page 33

Chapter 33

Breaking Through

Galina

T he bobby pin quivers between my fingers as I work the lock on Vasiliy’s office door. I’ve just about reached my limit. The constant surveillance, the way everyone tiptoes around me as if I’m fragile porcelain—it’s suffocating. Even the opulence of the space feels more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary.

My hands tremble as I manipulate the pin, summoning muscle memory from childhood escapades of lockpicking. The metal scrapes softly against the mechanism, each tiny sound amplified in the stillness. I pause, holding my breath, but no one comes rushing in. The guards are stationed at the club’s entrances, not anticipating an escape attempt from their boss’s pregnant girlfriend.

Girlfriend. The word tastes bitter. What am I to him, truly? A possession? A duty? The mother of his child, certainly, but also a prisoner “for my own protection.” The familiar surge of anger steadies my hands as I return to the lock.

Just as I feel the tumblers beginning to align, voices in the hallway freeze me in place. One belongs to Jaromir—I’d recognize that gravelly baritone anywhere. But there’s an unfamiliar edge to his tone. He’s been off for days—too formal, too quiet. I assumed it was tension with Vasiliy, maybe pressure from above. But now I wonder...was he always planning something?

“We need to move everything from the basement before they arrive,” he says, his voice low but clear through the thick door. “Yakov was very specific about the timing.”

I draw back from the door, my heart pounding. Yakov? As in Yakov Gagarin? The man who’s been buying up property around the club, the one who threatened me? The very person who has every reason to despise both the Volkovs and the Sokolovs?

“What about the girl?” another voice asks—one of the newer guards, I think. “Boss’ll notice if anything happens to her.”

Jaromir’s laugh is cold, devoid of humor. “Volkov’s too blinded by his cock to see what’s right in front of him. Besides, by the time he realizes what’s happening, it’ll be too late.”

A chill runs down my spine. Vasiliy’s head of security—the man he trusts implicitly—is conspiring with the enemy. How long has this betrayal been unfolding? How much has he divulged?

“Vladimir won’t like this,” the guard comments. “He wants the club intact. Family legacy and all that.”

“Vladimir’s a fool if he thinks Yakov will let any part of this place remain standing,” Jaromir sneers. “This isn’t about reclaiming territory anymore. It’s about taking them for Ana.”

Ana. The name slices through me. The woman whose death ignited this vendetta.

“You shouldn’t let emotion cloud your judgment,” the guard cautions.

“Ana was the love of my life,” Jaromir hisses. “It’s their fault she’s gone.”

The guard makes a noncommittal sound. “What about the product in the basement?”

“Load it into the trucks. We’ll store it at the warehouse until Yakov decides what to do with it.” A pause, then: “Make sure none of the regular staff sees you. As far as they know, this is just another inventory check.”

Their footsteps recede down the hallway, but I’m rooted in place, my mind racing. My uncle seeks to reclaim the club, to restore our family’s legacy. But Yakov? He wants to raze it to the ground. And Jaromir has been his inside man.

My hands tremble as I return to the lock, but panic makes me clumsy. The pin slips, producing a metallic scratch that seems deafening in the quiet office. I bite back a curse, forcing myself to breathe slowly. I need to think, to focus.

Then it hits me—the tunnels. In my frustration at being confined, I’d forgotten about the secret passages that weave through the building’s foundation, including one that leads directly from Vasiliy’s office past the underground storage to the street. My father had them constructed; they’ve saved more than one life over the years and facilitated enough covert operations to fund a small nation.

I move to the bookshelf, fingers skimming the spines until I find the right one—a first edition of War and Peace .

With a deep breath, I pull the book. The shelf responds with a soft click, swinging outward to reveal the dark passage beyond.

For a heartbeat, I hesitate. Part of me wants to run straight to Vasiliy, to scream Jaromir’s betrayal into his ear and beg him to listen. But I don’t even know where he is. He never told me what really happened with Igor and Nikolai, and right now, trust feels like glass—shattered and sharp, dangerous to handle. Even if I found him, he’d probably just lock me up somewhere “safe,” convinced he knows best.

And maybe he does. But I can’t live like that.

I need space. I need clarity. I need a plan.

Cool, damp air wraps around me as I slip into the tunnel, guided by the thin beam of my phone’s flashlight. The passage dips beneath the street, the stone walls close and slick with moisture. Every footstep echoes, making my heart jump, but I keep going, one hand grazing the rough wall, the other resting protectively over the curve of my stomach.

What would Maksim or Grigoriy say if they saw me now? Crawling through dark alleys instead of standing beside the man I love. But this isn’t like before. I’m not running from Vasiliy—I’m trying to protect him. To protect us. This time, I won’t wait for someone else to save me. This time, I fight smart.

The tunnel forks. One path veers toward the storage level, where Jaromir and his loyal traitors will be. The other ends at an old maintenance door two blocks from the club. I take the second. My father drilled these routes into us like scripture. “Always know your exits,” he’d mutter over borscht and vodka, as if the words alone could keep us alive. He wasn’t wrong.

I miss him. God, I miss the version of him who still loved me. But I know I’ll never have him back. Not the way I need. Not after everything that’s happened.

The maintenance door groans as I push it open. I flinch at the sound, but the alley is empty except for a cat that stares at me like I’ve interrupted something before slinking off into the night. Beyond it, the city yawns open. Beautiful. Terrifying. Full of strangers and secrets.

Where do I go now? Home is out—that’ll be the first place they check. My parents? That door is locked tighter than the one I just picked. The smart move would be to vanish. Flee the city. Start fresh.

But I can’t. Not now.

Jaromir’s betrayal changes everything. If Yakov gets what he wants—if the club falls—the blood won’t stop spilling. He’ll come after everyone tied to the Volkovs and Sokolovs. That means Vasiliy. That means me. That means our child.

This baby deserves better. Better than to be born into a legacy of war. Better than vendettas wrapped in silk and fire.

Rain begins to fall, soft at first, then in thick, heavy drops. It mists my face, plastering hair to skin, but I welcome the chill. The city feels different now. More dangerous. More alive. Every alley is a threat. Every shadow could be salvation.

And I’m done hiding from both.

I start walking with no real destination in mind. My feet carry me through familiar neighborhoods while my mind races. There has to be a way to stop this before it explodes into all-out war. To protect everyone I love without sacrificing more lives to this endless cycle of revenge.

A car crawls past, its headlights slicing through the rain like a searchlight. I duck into a recessed doorway, breath hitching as the engine hums low and steady. It doesn’t stop. Just keeps going. But the scare is enough to remind me—I can’t stay out here. Not for long. Not like this.

I need a plan.

More importantly, I need information. Real intel. Not the filtered half-truths passed down from Vasiliy or whatever the men around me think I can handle. And I know exactly where to start.

Mila.

Her number’s on my speed dial. She’s the only person with eyes on both sides of this war—still welcomed in rooms where knives are hidden behind smiles. She hasn’t failed me yet. I pray tonight isn’t the exception.

My thumb hovers over the call button. Doubt creeps in like damp under my collar. Is this just another kind of surrender? Trading one leash for another, even if hers is softer?

Then I remember Jaromir’s voice—flat, cruel, full of betrayal. The way he talked about wiping us out like we were stains to be cleaned. About Ana. About burning everything down.

No. This isn’t surrender.

Sometimes, the only way out is through the fire.

I tap the screen and duck beneath a narrow awning, sheltering from the downpour as it connects. It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then her voice crackles through the line.

“Mila? It’s me. We need to talk.”