Page 57 of Only for Him (Starkov Bratva #1)
Teddy and Dakota, hacking into Pavel’s accounts so we can liquidate his assets and cut off his rainy day fund.
Giselle and I, sharpening our teeth to tear him out of existence.
Now, Dakota sits hunched at the laptop. On the screen: a sterile login page. White and blue. A castle watermark taunting us from the corner.
She and Teddy have been trying to get into Pavel’s Swiss accounts for over an hour. The old man wasn’t just another brigadier. He built Pavel’s offshore network. Laundered everything through one hyper-secure bank in Switzerland.
Giselle stands in the doorway, arms crossed, looking like someone men go to war for. Her eyes are sharp, but her mouth is soft. Hope and dread wrestle there, refusing to give each other an inch.
I pace.
Teddy leans over her shoulder. “Try your mother’s maiden name again, with the birth year. The Swiss are anal about suffixes.”
I almost hope Teddy fucks this up—then, at least, I’ll have been right.
“Already did.”
“Did he have a favorite phrase?” Arata asks from across the room. “A song lyric? A nickname for you?”
“He called me ‘puppy’ until I was twelve.” Dakota’s voice is blank. “Or he’d use diminutives from the old Soviet cartoons. Pif and Hercules.”
I watch her hands. The knuckles are white, the nail beds chewed raw. She’s shaking, but not from cold. This is a body fluent in anticipating violence.
Nothing is working.
If we can’t get this part done… Well, I’m still hell-bent on killing Pavel.
But it’d be nice to drain his accounts first. Maybe put the money towards the victims. Dakota could certainly use it.
“Is there anything you know about his childhood? School? Any weird family stories?” Teddy asks.
Dakota’s jaw works.
“His mother’s maiden name was Zhuravleva,” she says, blinking. “He always joked about storks and who brings the babies. But he hated her. Called her ‘the vulture’ in private.”
Dakota enters: yastrebovna . Then, after a hesitation, the English: thevulture .
The cursor spins. Longer this time. The screen flashes, then the interface shifts, revealing a series of prompts, starting with “favorite color?”
Dakota’s face scrunches, like it hurts to remember. “His or mine?”
“Try both,” Teddy says. “Try everything. Start with yours.”
Dakota types in violet .
“Good. Favorite animal?”
She bites her lip before typing Capybara .
Teddy grins. “Adorable. Okay. Childhood street?”
“Leninskaya Prospect,” she says, voice wobbling as she types it in.
“Birthday?” Teddy reads aloud from the screen.
Dakota swallows: July 19 .
For a long second, nothing happens. Dakota’s breathing slows to a stop.
Then. Ping .
ACCESS GRANTED.
Dakota gasps and Teddy punches the air. “Yes! Fucking yes. You just broke a billion-dollar firewall. I could kiss you, but I value my remaining teeth.”
Dakota laughs and sobs at the same time.
“Start logging everything,” Arata says, ever concerned with paper trails. “Every time you get a pop-up, screenshot it.”
Giselle takes a step forward, hope leaking through her guard.
“Should I be scared?” Dakota asks. She seems to be talking to the room at large, but I can tell she’s asking Teddy.
And he responds almost immediately.
“You should be proud,” he says, softly. “You made it this far. Not many people could.”
“That’s not what she asked,” Arata says. “You’ll need protection, Dakota. Do you have a plan?”
I want to speak for her: she’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it. It’s no one’s business but mine, hers, and Giselle’s.
“I haven’t thought about after,” she shrugs, hiding a pain point. “I never do.”
Teddy puts a hand on her shoulder, careful not to touch skin. She doesn’t jump or twitch away, which is nothing short of a fucking miracle.
“I can get you into protection,” he says. “Real protection. New name, new place, all of it. No more Bratva, no more running.”
Something in me roars in protest. What I offer her is real protection. She’s still here, isn’t she? All in one piece? Better off than she was before I brought her home?
I rescued Dakota. Her life is mine to protect. It should be mine to protect.
But maybe that’s not entirely true anymore. And maybe, like we discussed long ago, it’s time to take what she wants into account.
And when I catch Giselle’s eye, I see that she would tell me as much.
Dakota doesn’t reply. She just stares at her hands, breathing in and out, trying to make her body believe in the possibility of escape.
My phone buzzes. I nod at Giselle, then step into the hall.
Afanasy’s voice is dry, brittle. “It’s happening?”
“It’s happening,” I say.
“Men are ready. Weapons, too.”
“Location?”
“Downtown Brooklyn. Pavel’s penthouse.”
He hangs up without goodbye. Best not to speak too long on the phone. Too many ways to trace it or listen in.
My hands shake—not from nerves, but from momentum. Everything’s in motion now. Every piece on the board is moving exactly how we need it to.
I might actually fucking win this game.
When I step back inside, Dakota’s still at the terminal. Giselle’s moved behind her, their dark hair nearly touching. The sight of it hits me like a punch to the chest—something fragile and devastating and mine.
“It’s done,” Dakota says, hitting a final key. “The wire’s set. It says we need a living signature, in person, at the Zurich office.”
“We can do that,” Teddy says.
“How?” Arata asks, wary.
Teddy gives a toothy grin. “We kidnap a banker and force him to sign. Old school.”
Arata blanches, but he doesn’t run screaming from the room, which is good.
Dakota logs out, and slumps in the chair. Her face is blank, but the sweat on her neck says everything. Giselle puts a hand on her shoulder. Dakota doesn’t flinch, just sits there, breathing, letting the contact steady her.
Teddy gives her a long look. “If you want out, say so. We can make it happen.”
“I don’t want out,” Dakota says. “Not until I know he’s dead.”
Teddy nods, looking impressed. I know the feeling. Dakota might be stronger than either of us.
Teddy, Arata, and Dakota go for ice we don’t need and vending machine snacks we do, all three needing to walk off the adrenaline.
I don’t need anything but the woman left in the room with me.
I move towards her. She turns to face me, searching my eyes for something I’m not sure I can give—but I will sure as fuck die trying. Happily.
“It’s almost over, little viper,” I say. I’ve fantasized about killing Pavel so many times, but I’ve never really wondered how I’ll feel after. There was a time when I might have felt empty, my life’s work and purpose finished.
Not anymore. Not with her.
She looks out the window, watching the wind tug at the trees outside. Her voice is flat when she says, “He’s going to kill you.”
“Not if I can help it.” I lean against the frame beside her, brush a lock of hair from her cheek and watch a shudder roll through her from my touch.
“I don’t want you dead.” She looks at my reflection in the glass, touches those earrings. Will she still do that, when the man behind her sister’s murder is finally buried? And me—will she still need me?
“Could’ve fooled me,” I say, dramatically rolling my bandaged shoulder.
She shoves me, gentle, but I let it move me. “Don’t be an asshole.”
If that’s what my little viper wants, it’s what she’ll get.
“I don’t want to die,” I say. “Not anymore.”
She turns to face me, eyes wet but fierce. “Then don’t.”
I want to tell her that I’ll crawl out of any grave they put me in, just to be with her again.
Instead, I grab her hair, gently tugging her face upwards. My other hand lingers on the curve of her jaw, fingers vibrating with the pulse at her throat. She blinks up at me, so willing to give me everything.
Practically begging for me to take it.
And I will.
I have to live, because if I don’t, everything glorious, singular, and sacred about Giselle will go to waste.
I watch her. Every line of her face, every curve of her body.
I can’t be sure she’ll still feel bound to me once I’ve given her the one thing she needs, but I know I’ll still be bound to her.
She’s mine the way blood stains. The way scars never fucking leave.
And nothing—no man, no bullet, no god—is going to take her from me.
Not tonight. Not tomorrow.
Not ever.