Page 13 of Only for Him (Starkov Bratva #1)

GISELLE

Morning in Homicide is a mix of fluorescent glare, stale coffee, and uncomfortable memories of last night with every step.

A reminder of my blue-eyed shadow.

Made doubly so because I’m late to work on account of having just dropped off the earrings with Arata earlier.

“Break up with your boyfriend last night, Cantiano?” One of the guys grins as soon as he sees me. “Haven’t seen any love notes come in yet.”

Before I have a chance to give him a piece of my mind, Russo appears. There’s a “don’t fuck with me” look on his face, and it stops me from throwing a retort the moment he clocks me.

Without another word, he jerks his chin toward the conference room.

I follow and ignore the stares and whispers behind me.

I shouldn’t react like this. I know that. And if I’m being honest, it’s not like the comment is any different from everything else that’s been tossed my way for the last five weeks.

But after last night?

I can still feel the heat of my stalker’s hands pressing me against his body.

Still taste his scent invading my lungs and putting down roots that I can’t dig out.

And no amount of scrubbing in my shower last night can wash out the sear of his lips nibbling my ear and kissing up my neck in that bathroom stall.

And the thing is… I didn’t want to wash out those memories.

Because I wasn’t satisfied with just kissing.

I wanted more.

Because what I hate the most isn’t what he did, it’s what I did and how I reacted.

Instead of recoiling and fighting back, I’m completely fucking smitten by it.

I should hate him. But somehow, I only feel disgust for myself.

Once we’re inside Russo’s office, he waits for the door to close, and then leans against the edge of the table as I cross my arms without taking a seat.

“You look like shit, G. Worse than yesterday.”

I resist the urge to laugh. This time yesterday, I hadn’t come close to climaxing from a psychopathic murderer choking and kissing me in a bathroom stall. Thumb on my pulse. Teeth on my ear. Hands everywhere except the one place I want them.

And two words echoing like a prayer in my ear.

Little viper .

“You plan on writing me up for that, Captain?”

He snorts, which is as close to praise as he ever gets, before fixing me with that familiar cop stare .

“The Post has given your boyfriend a nice little nickname and everything.”

I roll my eyes. “The Post also gave a rat a nickname. Why do we care?”

“We care because it’s gotten the attention of the feds,” he snaps. “They’re sending someone down to look into this. Assist us, so they say. But you know what it really means.”

I do.

Nothing good ever comes from the FBI getting involved. And since my name is literally on a growing body of evidence, I’m slowly transforming from just another detective on a case and into a person of interest.

“You taking me off the case, Captain?”

“I want to.”

Want. Not have. That’s interesting.

My hands tighten around my arms. I don’t want to be benched from this case. Because if I am, then I won’t be able to look for him. And if I’m not looking for him, then he might stop contacting me.

It’s an irrational thought, I know. And probably the most fucked-up one that I’ve had in a long time. But that’s the real reason, isn’t it? I don’t want to stop because I don’t want to lose the attention and interest of my own stalker.

Because he gets me. He knows what I want, and he delivers on my own darkest desires.

Maybe I should let myself be taken off the case. Let someone else pick up the slack. Someone who can treat this—and by extension, him—as a serial killer and not the object of my sick fantasy.

Russo’s expression softens. “What’s on your mind, G?”

“Just wondering who our babysitter from the feds is.” I meet his eyes, and it’s enough to make him look away first.

Then, right on time, there’s a knock at Russo’s door. Two quick taps and then a pause. Russo doesn’t bother to check before calling them in.

I can’t stop myself from smiling at the man who enters.

Theodore Oborin. My old friend from the academy all those years ago.

He’s exactly as I remember him: a little too tall for the doorway, his jaw clean-shaven but raw at the edges, and a regulation high-and-tight that’s already started to curl at the nape from neglect.

He gives Russo a professional nod and a curt greeting before turning to me. “Giselle, it’s been a minute.”

“That it has, Teddy,” I say.

Once upon a time, I found him attractive. Handsome even. But after a couple of dates and even a night together just to see how it felt, both of us came to the conclusion that we were better off as friends.

Because at the end of the day, Teddy is like all the other men in my life.

He’s too safe .

He’ll never hurt me, even if I beg him to do it.

And that’s just not what I want.

“You gotta be fucking with me.” Russo groans. “This was supposed to make this case less personal, not more. I don’t?—”

“Captain Russo, my shared past with Detective Cantiano is purely professional,” Teddy explains evenly. “I’m here to offer FBI assistance and resources, nothing more.”

Russo grunts. He doesn’t believe it, and I don’t blame him.

But honestly, having Teddy here is a nice reminder that there was a time before this case, and there will be a time after. And who knows. Maybe now that he’s here, all of this can just be a bad dream that I can wake up from in a few months.

But the moment that thought crosses my mind, memories of my stalker’s lips pressing against my neck and brushing at the edges of my ear return. Little viper.

An involuntary shiver runs through me.

No… I’ll always be able to hear his voice whispering seductively in the dark.

Teddy glances at me one more time before he rearranges his face and voice back into that of Special Agent Oborin.

“My office already briefed me on the basics. There’s a known pattern. All victims were either Russian Mafia or separated by one degree at most. All showed signs of pre-mortem torture, varied methodology but same calling card...”

Me.

I should feel sick to my stomach about that. But I don’t. Instead, all I feel is a buzzing of excitement.

“You got a theory for his end game?” Russo asks.

“I think he’s building to something. Or someone. Serial killers like this have an obsession that they’re working through. Whatever drives him has to be more than just Detective Cantiano. I have every reason to believe that she’s simply the conduit for his obsession and not the target.”

Oh, you have no idea.

“You said Russian Mafia.” Russo nods. “Any reason for that?”

“Nothing concrete, but the Bureau has been looking into an impressive amount of money, goods, and people flowing back and forth between New York and Moscow. A lot of intermediaries. A lot of players. A lot of businesses.”

“Businesses like Faberge? ” I ask.

“Exactly.” Teddy smiles. “Like I said, nothing concrete yet. Just the shadows of a trail connecting them.”

“Any names?” Russo presses, his voice taking on a sharper edge now.

“There’s been big shifts in the Russian Mafia in Moscow.” Teddy nods. “The old Solntsevskaya Bratva has been steadily losing ground on territory they used to control, especially in the Nekrasovka District of Moscow. Word on the street is that we’re finally getting a new player in the game.”

“Names, Oborin. Give me something to work with, for fuck’s sake.”

Teddy unlocks his phone and pushes it over to Russo, and all three of us bend down to look at the image of the man on the screen.

“Meet Timofey Starkov, pakhan of the Starkov Bratva,” Teddy says. “Came up when the Soviet Union collapsed, and tried to fight for dominance in Moscow only to be pushed out by bigger groups. He’s our primary suspect.”

I look down at Timofey’s face. It’s ugly in a brutish way, with rheumy eyes, liver spots, and a permanent scowl. He looks like a bottle a night kind of guy.

“According to our contacts in the Russian FSB,” Teddy continues.

“Starkov and his sons started taking their Bratva international after they were squeezed out of Moscow during the First Chechen War. They rebased themselves in Chechnya during the Second Chechen War. Everywhere they went, death and destruction followed. Murderers for hire. Trafficking of everything and anything—drugs, guns, and girls. Even got himself a prison under his personal control to put away people he didn’t like. Real nasty work.”

“Starkov…” Russo mutters. “You said sons?”

“Three, used to be four.” Teddy nods. “Pavel, Afanasy, Vladimir, and Ilya. Afanasy had a fallout with the rest of the family right as old Timofey started to make serious cash. He left Russia, and as far as we can tell, the family business too. And for that, Timofey disowned him entirely. We’ve surveilled him in the past, but he’s come up clean for years. ”

“And the other three?” I ask.

“Name a crime, any crime, and I bet you’ll find a rap sheet with their name on it.”

Russo grunts, unimpressed. “In other words, you have nothing for us. Russia isn’t our jurisdiction.”

“It’s not,” Teddy acknowledges. “But your serial killer clearly has a bone to pick with the Starkovs. With your permission, Captain, I’d like to speak with Detective Cantiano alone.”

“Keep it short.” Russo’s voice carries an edge now as he walks to the door. “And until you have something concrete for us , just do your best to stay out of our way. Cantiano is my detective, and this is still our case.”

Then, he walks out and slams the door shut behind him.

I can’t help but feel a surge of appreciation for Captain Russo right now. As much as he can be a hard ass, there’s no doubt that he cares about everyone who works for him. Me especially. It’s been that way ever since he specifically requested that I be transferred over here.

He took me under his wing right away.Over the years, he became the closest thing to a father that I’ve ever had.

Hell, he’s the only person other than Ida and Teddy who knows the full story of what happened to Serena.