Page 33 of Forced By an Obsessive Bratva Stalker

It’s a pattern. Can’t you see? Three encounters with someone we can’t identify. A name that shares initials with the person controlling the structure we’ve been tracking for two months. A stranger who didn’t flinch at the one word that should have made anyone flinch.

As I said, none of that is evidence. It doesn’t prove anything.

Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s an angle worth looking at.

I lay back down, my heart still beating faster than it should over a photograph and two initials. I rubbed my tired eyes, making myself acknowledge the part of this that had nothing to do with journalism at all. The small, unwelcome flicker of something that wasn’t fear, sitting right alongside everything that was.

Because if Rodion Tarasov were R.T., it would mean he controlled the structure I’d spent months building a case against. It would also mean that he was the reason Daniel had gone white at the sight of a stranger in a coffee shop.

I honestly wasn’t sure how Anton was connected to all of this. But the man had the right answers to every question I asked—almost as if he had rehearsed.

Of course he gave you the right answers—you asked about his job, for Christ’s sake! How do you expect him not to answer correctly? said my voice of reason.

His responses were too accurate, and I meant it when I told him that he didn’t sound like an import consultant. He was way too composed and confident.

I didn’t realize confidence and composure were now signs of insincerity.

I ignored my voice of reason because my gut was telling me something was off about Anton. That strange sense of familiarity, coupled with the familiar feeling that coursed through me when we shook hands, was convincing enough.

And if I wasn’t wrong, then the man currently occupying an embarrassing amount of space in my head might not just be connected to all of this.

He might be the brain behind it.

Jesus Christ, Aria, don’t you think you’re taking this too far?

Aren’t you supposed to be the voice of reason? It’s your job to think about stuff like this—and you should be edging her on.

I ignored the two voices in my head and threw my hands under my head. I honestly should have been afraid of that thought. Some part of me was. But underneath the fear, infuriatingly, persistently, there was something else—a pull I had no good word for.

Maybe my voice of reason was right. Maybe I was taking this too far. But why couldn’t I drop it?

I thought about how even if for some reason R.T., Rodion Tarasov, and Anton were the same person, there was still the case of my mystery man left unsolved.

Whoever he was, it was clear that he was keeping tabs on me. And that should unsettle me more than it did.

Was he watching me, even now?

I didn’t have an answer.

However, I had a feeling I would find out sooner or later. The question is—was I ready for it?

Chapter 12 – Rodion

Yuri’s report landed on my desk at eleven in the morning as I stood by the window watching the city sprawled beneath me. I swirled the glass of whiskey in my hand before lifting it to my lips and taking a sip.

I’d been so busy with work that I didn’t have the time to look at the CCTV footage from her place. The Bratva had a pressing land dispute with the Irish that needed my full attention. It was a welcome distraction, actually. One I didn’t think I needed.

“Boss,” Yuri called from behind me, the scent of his cologne mixing with that of mine in the air.

“Do you have it?” I asked, lowering my glass as I turned to face him.

He set the document together with a flash drive on my table. “I’ve compiled everything she’s done within the last few days. And in that drive, you’ll find the sped-up version of the footage from her apartment.”

“Good.” I sank into my chair, glass on the table.

Yuri paused. And although he hadn’t said anything yet, I could sense his urge to speak.

“Is there something on your mind?” I asked without looking up at him.