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“Maybe, but you’re real.” He runs a thumb over my lips before pulling away his hand. “Even now, hating me, you’re real. You don’t pretend to be someone you’re not.”
I want to say that I don’t hate him, but he swivels on his heels and walks out of the room, leaving me with blood on my conscience and the sweetest declaration of obsession.
11
Alex
A part of me hoped I’d never have to expose Katerina to every facet of my life. I wanted her to have the good and pretty portions I worked so hard at building. She doesn’t deserve the ugliness, but it’s part and parcel of who I am. If I’m keeping her, which I am, it’s unavoidable that I peel away every rotten layer and give her the truth. She may hate me, but I’ll work hard on winning back her affection.
She will give me her love again. I’m a determined man. Once I set my sights on a goal, I never fail to achieve it. I’ve worked for everything I have. My company, my properties, this palace… nothing was handed to me on a silver platter. I broke my back to build an empire from scratch. I earned every penny with my own two hands. Yes, these hands are dirty, but that’s the price for living my lifestyle and not bending a knee to either of the forces ruling my country: the government and the bratva. Yet I’ve never worked harder for anything than I have for Katerina. I’ve pursued her with everything I’ve got. I’ve gone after her with every resource at my disposal, using every tactic in the book. I’ll be damned if I lose her now.
I roll my neck to alleviate the stiffness of my muscles. After changing into pajama bottoms, I walk barefoot into the bedroom. The bed curtains are pulled closed. I slip a finger into the opening and lift the left one. The bed is empty. My kitten is probably hiding somewhere in the house, appalled at the prospect of sleeping next to a murderer.
I drop the curtain and leave the room. I meant it when I said I understood that the situation is hard on her. I said I’d give her space, and that’s what I’ll do, even though every cell in my body demands I take her to bed and make her say things she can’t possibly mean, things I desperately need to hear.
All in good time.
At the study, I punch in a code on the electronic pad mounted on the wall to unlock the door. Until I’m certain Katerina won’t run or call the police or the embassy, I’m keeping my laptop and cell phone locked away when I’m home.
Making myself comfortable in the swivel chair behind my desk, I pour another shot of vodka from the bottle Lena left for me and wake up my laptop.
A message from Adrian awaits me.
That was quick.
I upload it to the decryption app and read the text. Adrian did some digging into Stefanov’s dealings as I requested. There’s no mention of Vadim or the gang. Nothing out of the ordinary jumps out. I check the list of Stefanov’s recent movements that Adrian attached. Stefanov had met with Oleg Pavlov, a bratva boss who’s big in Moscow, in St. Petersburg a month before the assassin took a shot at me and a day after the event. On both occasions, they met at a club that Stefanov owns near Detskiy Severny Beach. There’s no information about the business they discussed, but in between those dates, Stefanov also showed up at Oleg’s house in Moscow. I look more closely at that date. It was a couple of days after Katerina was attacked near Romanoff’s.
Dread slithers down my spine at the memory. If Katerina hadn’t walked into the restaurant that night… If I hadn’t been there, having dinner with Mikhail… I can’t even think it. I can’t put into thoughts what could’ve happened, never mind into words.
Leaning back in my chair, I take a swig of the vodka as I consider the information.
Vladimir Stefanov and Oleg Pavlov.
The names are familiar, even though I’ve never had the unpleasant experience of crossing either’s path. Like every businessman with a certain net worth in Russia, I know who they are. That’s not the familiarity I’m referring to, though. There’s something else, a faint memory at the back of my mind. It’s a niggling awareness, like a word you can’t remember that’s hovering on the tip of your tongue.
And then it comes to me.
My mind flashes back to the apartment on Vasilevsky Island where I grew up. I remember myself at fourteen, lying on my bed and reading a comic book I’d smuggled into the house. My father didn’t want me to read those books. He’d said the pictures would make me too lazy to read.
