CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
IRINA
The car is an old, nondescript SUV with tinted windows that look like they’ve seen too many gravel roads. The driver doesn't say a word. He just holds the door open with a face like granite, waiting until I climb in.
I should have told Mikhail. But what would I say?'Hey so, great news, my dad is blackmailing me with a secret no other soul knows about and no, you can’t know about this secret but I need your help anyways, can you handle it?'
But I didn't. And now here I am.
We’ve been driving for forty minutes. We left the manicured lawns of the estate behind, bypassed the city entirely, and headed toward the industrial skeletons of the outer reaches. We pull into a lot that looks like it belongs to a defunct chemicalplant. Rusty silos tower over us like tombstones, and the air smells like wet iron and stagnant water.
The driver kills the engine. "Out," he grunts.
I step onto the cracked pavement, my silk dress flapping around my knees. I feel ridiculous. I’m dressed for a lunch in Midtown, but I’m standing in a graveyard of American industry.
Is he trying to kill me or something?
My father is waiting near the edge of a loading dock. He’s wearing a coat that probably costs more than the SUV I just rode in, leaning on a silver-headed cane that he doesn't actually need for walking. He’s looking out at the murky river, looking every bit the elder statesman of the Petrov empire.
I stop ten feet away from him. "You got what you wanted. I'm here. Now stop the games and tell me why."
Boris turns around slowly. He looks at me with a strange, clinical interest, as if he’s checking the quality of a product he’s just sold. "You look well. Mikhail is treating you better than I expected. You have that… glow. I suppose the Madman isn't as much of a beast in the bedroom as he is in the cellar."
I feel a flash of pure, unadulterated disgust. " Don't talk about my husband and don't talk about my bedroom. Just tell me what you want."
"Always so impatient," Boris sighs, stepping toward me. "I’m getting to it. The alliance was never the goal, Irina. It was the excuse." Boris taps his cane against the pavement.Clack. Clack."Do you really think I cared about a union? I wanted someone I trust inside their walls. From the very beginning."
I frown, the wind whipping a strand of hair across my mouth. "What are you talking about?"
"Artyom was the original target," Boris says, his eyes narrowing. "I spent years grooming you for him. I wanted you in his bed, in his head, and in his ledgers. A wife sees things a Pakhan’s soldiers don't. A wife knows where the keys are kept. If you had married Artyom, we would have dismantled that empire from the inside out within two years. I would have owned the docks, the unions, and the Morozov name."
I was a Trojan horse. My whole life... every gala, every lesson, every 'correction'... it was all just training for a heist.
"But Artyom rejected you," Boris continues, his voice hardening. "He chose that nurse. He humiliated me, and he humiliated you. For a moment, I thought the plan was dead. But then, Mikhail came back from Italy. The volatile brother. The one with the temper and the reputation for being unmanageable."
"Mikhail isn't unmanageable," I snap.
"No, he’s just a mad man. Which is better." Boris smiles, and it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve seen all day. "He found you. Hebrought you back. And now, you are exactly where I intended for you to be from the start.”
"No," I say, my voice steady. "I'm not doing anything for you. Mikhail stood up for me. He saved those women in the warehouse—the ones you wanted to ship off like cattle. He’s a better man than you'll ever be."
Boris’s face darkens. The mention of the warehouse clearly still stings. "Those girls were a necessary sacrifice for an expansion. Mikhail’s 'heroics' cost me millions. He’s a child playing at being a king. And Artyom is a fool for letting him run loose."
"Don’t speak like that about my husband," I hiss surprising even myself.
"Then be a good wife and help your father," Boris says, stepping closer until I can smell his expensive cologne. "The Morozov empire is overextended. They’re dealing with leaks, they’re dealing with the police, and they’re dealing with the fallout of their father’s 'retirement.' They’re vulnerable. I want you to give me the security codes for the North Dock servers. I want the names of the silent partners Artyom is using to fund the expansion."
"You want me to ruin them?" I ask, my heart sinking. "You want me to help you destroy the Morozovs?"
"I want Artyom to realize that he cannot survive without my help. I want him to come to me, hat in hand, and ask for amerger. And when he does, I will take sixty percent of everything they own. You will be the one to tip the scales."
"I won't do it. I'll tell Mikhail. I'll tell him everything, immediately."
Boris doesn't look worried. He just reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. "Mikhail is a very possessive man, Irina. He’s volatile. He likes to be the only thing in his wife’s head. If he finds out you’ve been keeping such a big secret… if he finds out you’ve been sneaking out behind his back to find someone he knows nothing about… how long do you think it will take for him to turn on you?"
"He wouldn't hurt me." I don’t know if I believe myself.
"Are you sure? He won’t forgive betrayal. They certainly don't like being made to look like fools." Boris pauses, the silence heavy. " I can tell him everything. I can tell him about your secret meetings. I can tell him exactly what you've been searching for. And then? He'll leave you used and broken on the street. He’ll take back the name, take back the protection, and leave you with nothing. And you’ll never find what you’re looking for. Ever."
