Page 23

Dimitri Volkov

She grows more beautiful every time I look at her, even though she changes nothing about her appearance. The stubborn set of her shoulders displays her determination to identify the men who hurt her despite the haunted look in her eyes.

She looks more than capable of destroying a meeting room full of New York City’s most business-savvy CEOs with both her hard expression and her suit. Somehow she still looks crisp and vicious despite wearing her clothes for the second day in a row.

I long to ravage and worship her, but not until I annihilate the demons lurking in her gaze.

Less than an hour later, I pull up to an abandoned building in the industrial park on the outskirts of the city.

Camilla doesn’t wait for me to open her door.

I forgive her, since she remains alert and aware of our surroundings, and when I offer her my arm, she takes it without hesitation, but the stiffness in her body warns me against pulling her closer.

She’s strung so tight I worry she’ll shatter at the slightest touch.

The two men I sent to help Yerik poke their heads up just long enough for me to confirm their locations.

Terenti sits hidden on top of a nearby shipping container with a long-range rifle at the ready while Eduard lurks between the piles of discarded building materials closer to the front of the industrial park.

Yerik opens the side door before we reach it. I lead her into the building. The stench of fear and blood clogs my nostrils. Camilla smooths out her strides, gliding over the concrete with the bearing of a queen.

I tug her to a stop a few feet away from the curtain.

Yerik followed my instructions and sectioned off a corner of the building, hiding the cruelties within using whatever supplies he found inside the building.

Old sheets of black plastic draped over broken shelves, blue drums, discarded metal scraps, and so much more create a visual barrier between us and the men waiting for death.

I tilt Camilla’s face up to mine with a finger under her chin and study her expression.

She meets my gaze without flinching, and although misery lurks within her eyes, she stands with her conviction wrapped around her like a shield.

She is ready.

I caress her chin as I release her, silently ensuring her I will always be by her side, and turn to my trusted underling.

At my nod, Yerik slips through the maze of stuff into the torture chamber he created for our guests. Chains clink. Fabric rustles. A man snarls through a gag. The sound of a blow and scuffle carries through the curtain.

Camilla’s hand remains loose on my arm.

The man I saw in the alley when I first arrived in New York City spits and curses before asking in Russian, “Is this all you can do?”

Camilla flinches before digging her fingertips into the fabric of my sleeve.

As the captive speaks again, her pupils shrink and horror drains the color from her face. She lifts her gaze to mine. Recognition shines from her eyes, sealing the poor bastard’s fate.

With a single word, I command Yerik to move to the next man.

Yerik punches and gags his captive again before moving to the second vermin. Rope slides against rope before the sound of a body flopping to the ground reverberates through the building.

Camilla holds my gaze, but despite her resilience, she trembles from head to toe. Her hand inches higher on my arm. She lifts her other arm and fists the side of my coat.

I reach across myself, take her wrist, and guide her hand to the knife at my belt. She swallows and closes her digits around the hilt but doesn’t pull it free.

Water gushes onto the concrete. An empty bucket clatters across the floor. After a wet smack rings through the air, the second man wakes with a gasp and a groan. Yerik snarls a crude word before kicking him.

The man whines like a pup still in the whelping box. Camilla’s brows furrow.

“Beg me like you did when I first caught you, suka ,” Yerik goads. “Plead for your life as though I might spare you if the sound of your voice pleases me.”

The man stutters before retching. Camilla wrinkles her nose, clenches her jaw, and tilts her head as though to hear him better.

Bones crunch. He screams before launching into a stream of desperate begging.

“That is better, but scream a little louder. We have an audience,” Yerik purrs in our native language.

Camilla may not understand the exact words, but by the tightness in her expression, I know she’s fully aware of what’s happening on the other side. Her eyes search my face, but her attention remains on Yerik and his prey.

Fabric rips. The man’s tone changes. Camilla flinches toward me and closes her eyes for the briefest of moments before training her full attention on me as though I’m the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

I cup her face and brush my thumb over the scars on her cheek. She nods, silently confirming both men hurt her.

I tuck her against my side, letting her keep her grip on my knife, and turn toward the door. But when I look over my shoulder to call out to Yerik, she speaks first.

Her voice carries loud and clear over the man’s plight.

“You pieces of shit are in more trouble than you realize.” They fall silent. “This isn’t just about you following the wrong Volkov.” Camilla waits until the air grows thick with their dread before she says, “It’s about revenge.”

The stench of piss fills the air.

She lifts her foot to take a step but leans her weight on me when her leg wobbles.

I usher her through the side door and to the car, but instead of lowering herself into her seat, she ducks toward me and wraps her arms around my midsection.

I envelope her in a hug, offering her comfort as she falls apart.

Moya so?lnyshka does not cry. She shakes and heaves, but no tears wet her cheeks when she lifts her head.

“Thank you, Dimitri,” she whispers.

I shake my head and brush my fingertip over the scars on her cheek.

“Four more to find,” I vow.

She nods and leans her forehead against my chest for a moment before taking a deep breath and stepping away. After rolling her shoulders back, she settles into her seat and allows herself a single glance back at the warehouse as I drive away.

Several minutes later, Camilla surprises me by leaning forward and reaching over the seat to slip her fingers into my collar. She rubs her thumb along the edge of my bandage. Her ring reflects the morning sunlight onto the dashboard.

“Will he kill them?” she asks.

“No. I will. Eventually,” I say.

She waits until I glance into her eyes through the rearview mirror before responding.

“Good. Could we use them to find the others?”

“We already are,” I respond.

When her expression turns thoughtful, I preemptively end the argument I know she intends to begin.

“No scheming, so?lnyshka . Feliks has many people searching for him and you saw him yesterday. He is already too close for comfort. You will not put yourself in more danger,” I demand.

She sighs but nods and traces the bandage on my neck.

“I still want revenge, but keeping our family safe is more important. I won’t paint a bigger target on my back with your children on the way,” she says.

I cover the back of her hand with mine for a moment before returning it to the wheel. After yesterday’s fender bender, I refuse to put her in danger like that again.

Traffic into the city proves a chaotic headache despite the slow progression. American drivers have no sense of direction or common sense, but I park in front of our next destination without incident.

After visiting several shops—including a boutique, a children’s clothing store, a cosmetics and beauty shop, and a corner grocery—Camilla pulls me into a jeweler.

I lift a brow but follow her lead, enjoying every brush of our bodies as she leans against me. She waves away the attendant and wanders down the display cases before heading back to the door.

“What are you searching for, Camilla?” I ask.

She lifts our joined hands and rotates her wrists. Her ring glitters in the light.

It may be the largest diamond in New York City and she may have demanded I buy it for her, but would she have chosen it without all the eyes in the store watching us?

I reach into my pocket, pull out my wallet, and give her my black card.

“Buy anything you want, so?lnyshka . It’s all yours anyway,” I say.

She shakes her head again and pushes my card away.

“I don’t want your money,” she says.

I scowl.

“Is Zoya too young for jewelry? Have Artur or Maksim ever worn watches? Or maybe we should get them new phones? Tablets? Toys? I know buying gifts isn’t the way to their hearts, but they’re coming to the United States for the first time since—”

She gasps as I lift her hand to my mouth and brush my lips over her knuckles before sneaking my tongue between her fingers.

“You are magnificent. We will get them whatever you want,” I say.

Tears swim in her eyes, but she chuckles and gives her head a small shake.

“I know nothing about them. What do they like? Is there anything they want but don’t have yet?”

Shame slithers through me. I have provided them with the best money can offer, but I have not stepped in to fill the hole Anastasia left with her passing.

Camilla presses her palm to my chest.

“Don’t worry, Dimitri. We’ll figure this out together. Capisci ?”

She reads me too well. I nip her knuckle and nod. Her pupils dilate and a blush rises from her chest, but she gives my hand a squeeze and leads me back toward the attendant.

Less than five minutes later, we exit the shop empty-handed, but Camilla pulls her phone out of her purse and makes a phone call before putting it to her ear. I guide her through the busy street and settle her into the backseat before dropping myself behind the wheel and locking the doors.

“Hey, Aurora! I noticed Tristan was wearing a watch the last time we met. Can I ask you about it?”

As she talks, Camilla searches the sidewalk and nearby buildings while avoiding looking at the front seat.